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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

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you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.4k

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, thank you!

My pleasure.

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

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

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

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

I wouldn’t want it any other way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens Thursday on two occasions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to regret that.

Pinky promise?

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What...What are these?”

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

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

Then it all clicks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just...it’s like…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it fucking worked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am, I can’t hold—”

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

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

“Do I make myself clear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?”

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

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

“Mm-mm. What?”

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

He feels her heartbeat trip.

“And you know what I do to brats?”

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

“I fuck them until they break.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

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

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

“I...I want you to spank me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours.”

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

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

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

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

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

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

“You drool in your sleep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Truly. His dad was hotter.”

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

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

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

“Couldn’t be me, either.”

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

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

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

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s definitely something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How chivalrous.”

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

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

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

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

“You’re a dick, you really are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.”

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

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

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

“Wow. I feel used.”

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

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

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

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

“We could UberEats some iHop.”

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re so dumb.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, like you’re any better?”

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uber for Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh...my God.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The irony of it all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like Hamilton?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You are vile.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry, I’m serious—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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duvetsandpillows · 4 years

Text

Lucky One

Pete Davidson x Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, mention of needles, slight angst, drug use

A/N: This is my first Pete fic but I think I will definitely be writing more. Please let me know what you think!

I sat in bed, joint in one hand, lighter in the other. I’d been staring at the wall for the past half hour or so, drowning in my thoughts, forgetting the joint I’d been fiddling with was there to be smoked.

I was thinking about everything and nothing all at once. Have I taken my antidepressant? What do they do with the bagel holes? You’re gonna be alone forever. Don’t forget your earring is behind the back left leg of the desk. New thoughts beginning before the last one could end. I was exhausted yet I hadn’t done anything to warrant feeling so drained. I’d only left my bed to piss.

“Hey you home?” I glanced over at my door, reality setting back in, before realizing how messy my bed was; sketchbook and pencils scattered everywhere, weed crumbs and ash from not paying attention to what I was doing and empty monster cans. I kicked as much as I could off the end of the bed before putting the long forgotten joint to my lips and sparking it. The door slowly opened, Pete standing in the doorway holding a bag and a coffee.

“Whatcha doing in bed B?” he asked climbing into the bed handing me the coffee. I took a toke and thanked him while passing him the joint.

“I just don’t feel like moving. I feel like shit, my brain won’t stop for just a second. I just want everything to stop.” My voice breaking as I began to fight back tears. He blew smoke into the air, putting his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side, handing me the joint.

“Breathe B, you’re gonna be okay. I know that sounds like bullshit but I’m here to help you through it.” I took a take and wiped a stray tear from my eye. “It’s always been me and you hasn’t it, that’s not gonna stop now. Did you take your antidepressant today?”

“I can’t remember,” I squeaked, letting the tears win the battle. Pete put his other arm around my chest and squeezed tight, resting his hand on the back of my head and rubbing his thumb.

He would whisper little pick me-ups every few minutes while I cried. “At least you didn’t walk straight into a street light like I did.” I looked up to see him pointing to a small bruise on his forehead. “I saw a woman carrying a dog in a baby sling thing and then boom! Street Light.” I giggled before taking a deep breath and wiping my tears with my sleeves.

“I guess you could say she threw you off your rhythm.” He rolled his eyes and pushed my head playfully before chuckling.

We’d been friends practically our whole lives, yet it was rare for us to talk about deep shit. Not because we didn’t care but we were good at talking each others minds off all the bullshit.

“Movie, smoke, munch? I brought gushers and twizzlers.”

“Only if I get to pick.”

“Obviously, you always pick.” I scoffed and sat up, rolling my eyes.

“Bullshit, we constantly watching The Mule.”

“Not my fault you can’t appreciate a masterpiece,” he said as he grabbed my rolling tray from the end of the bed and I began flicking through Netflix for something to watch.

“Your hair looks nice by the way,” he mumbled, eyes focused on rolling the joint. I glanced over at my reflection in the mirror, I looked as if I’d just climbed out of the hedge. I smiled and thanked him, deciding to put on Knocked Up.

Pete told me what he’d been up to all week and who the guests were gonna be while we watched the film. I made him a twizzler ring and he attempted to make me a bracelet but he couldn’t work out how to get the knot to stay tight.” After a couple more joints I sat up on my knees and faced him.

“Could... I maybe colour in your tattoos?” I asked, placing my hand on his leg to stay balanced, realizing how high I was after not moving for so long.

“Yeah of course, which one first?” I smiled and pointed to the unicorn on his arm and leant off the end of the bed to grab my pens, Pete grabbing hold of my foot as I almost fell off. After I’d finished the unicorn I moved onto the direwolf underneath. Pete was flicking through the pages of my sketchbook as I added icy blue to the eyes.

“Y’know,” he started, passing me a joint, “I reckon you could be a tattoo artist. You could even practice on me.” I stopped and looked at him a bit taken back.

“I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Maybe you should.”

Once I finished the direwolf I looked up to see Pete had dozed off, I smiled and pulled a blanket over him, moving the sketchbook off his lap. I rolled a joint and glanced at the open drawing of a group of clouds I’d been working on but hadn’t yet worked out what should accompany them.

I thought about what Pete said and picked up the sketchbook and a pencil. I smoked while drawing Frank the bunny’s head from Donnie Darko. It was my favourite film and Pete had watched it with me countless times.

After an hour or so I finished the outline and most of the infill with different shades of blue. I felt Pete roll over and put his arm across my lap. I looked down to see him, eyes half open, observing my drawing.

“That’s amazing.” His voice gruff and low.

“Thank you,” I said passing him a monster from my bedside table. He sat up partially and took a sip before handing it back to me. “Good nap?” He nodded and laid back down into my side.

“You should put that on me,” He kicked his leg out from under the blanket and pointed to the side of his thigh. “Here would be perfect.”

“If you’d like.” He sat up again and gently tore the sketch out of the book.

“Come on then.” I frowned and tilted my head slightly. “There’s a guy that could do this now, you could get one too?”

I stared at him in a bit of shock, not expecting him to actually want one of my pieces on his body. I thought he was saying it just to be nice. Also as I’d never considered getting a tattoo before. Not because I didn’t like them but more because I was nervous; I wasn’t great with needles and if tattoo’s would suit me.

“You up for it?”

“What if I look awful with one?” I blurted, Pete’s smile morphed into confusion.

“Why would you look awful?” You always look great.” I could feel my cheeks getting warm and I couldn’t help but ever so slightly smile. “Plus I think you’d look hot with one,” he mumbled handing me the sketchbook, open to a small drawing of a sheep I’d done high while watching Shaun the Sheep.

“It’s small, if you want it to be hidden then it’s easy.” I looked down at the doodle and thought about it for a moment.

“Fuck it lets go.”

I sat on a chair next to Pete watching as the tattoo artist, Jon, carefully traced over the light purple outline in dark blue ink. I began adding to my sheep. A few clouds in the background, similar to the ones on Pete’s.

“What you doing?” I handed him the paper, glancing over at his leg, in awe at how it was turning out. I looked back at Pete who was smiling at the drawing. I held out the pencil to him, when he didn’t notice I poked his arm with it.

“Ow, dick,” he said pouting and rubbing his arm. “What am I meant to do with this?”

“Add something to it, you got a piece of me,” I pointed to his leg. “Your turn.”

“I can’t draw like you and-”

“And I don’t care. Draw.”

While Pete drew, not phased at all by the needle going in and out of his leg, I chatted with Jon, asking him question about how he became a tattoo artist and what it’s like. I was slowly becoming more interested the more I watched him work. Once he was done he turned to me.

“You ready?” he asked, I nodded nervously and Pete passed him the design. Pete swapped places with me after taking a look at it in the floor length mirror. I decided to get it on my arm as I decided I wanted to always be able to see it now Pete had added to it. I told them I didn’t want to see it until it was finished, wanting Pete’s addition to be a surprise. I looked over at Pete, nerves starting to kick in a little.

“Have I ever told you I’m not brilliant with needles?” He chuckled and took my hand in his.

“Yep,” I winced as the needle hit my skin. “Like the time you gave blood because you thought that nurse was cute and threw up all over him before fainting.” I chuckled before biting the inside of my cheek and gripped his hand tight. “You’re good, just keep your eyes this way,”

Pete kept chatting with me and rubbing his thumb on the back of my hand, keeping me distracted from the pain.

“Should I be nervous with what you drew? It’s just clicked how much trust I’ve given you.” He pursed his lips, holding back either as smile or a laugh. “Pete...”

“Nah nah nah, it’s not that bad, but you said to add a bit of me. Trust me you’ll love it.” I raised my eyebrows before gripping his hand again, feeling a muscle in my arm unintentionally spasm.

“You’re good, it happens sometimes, we’re almost done here.”

After ten more minutes it was all done and he was wiping it up. It was aching it a little but I was really excited to see it.

“You ready to see it?” I nodded and looked at my arm to see the best tattoo I could imagine. The clouds were a beautiful combination of greys and whites, my sheep now with a spliff in its mouth and a second, slightly wonky looking, sheep with a spliff also in its mouth and sunglasses on. It kind of looked like a child drew the second sheep but I loved it even more for that.

“I put our initials at the bottom so we don’t forget who is who.” I giggled looking at his scruffy handwriting underneath. “So... what do you think?”

“I fucking love it!” I said wrapping my arms around him hugging him as tight as I could. “Thank you Pete.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek and let Jon wrap my arm up in cling film.

We grabbed some Taco Bell on the way home, I was designated DJ and he driver. I was, questionably, rapping along to Colson and Corpse’s new song while Pete laughed at me. He slipped his hand into mine, giving it a small squeeze and continued driving and started rapping along as if that was a normal for us to hold hands. I smiled and gave his a squeeze back even though I was a bit shocked. Shocked but yet it felt normal.

“You can roll the next one, my arm aches,” I said flopping onto my bed.

“Is that gonna be your excuse for the next week?”

“Did it work?” I looked up to see him shaking his head and chuckling as he picked up the rolling tray.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” I smiled and winked as it sat up.

“You’re lucky too, you get to look at this cute face all the time.” Pete leant forward and took my hand, pulling me into his lap.

“What would you say, if I asked you out... to dinner or something?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and furrowed my eyebrows.

“What like a date?” His smile and confidence drained from his face immediately and I had to force myself to hold back a laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be no, I just- aw fuck.” I started pissing myself laughing, holding onto him tight to keep my balance.

“Yes I’d love to go on a date, if you hurry up and roll that joint, I teased winking at him, swinging myself off his lap. “I’ll even put on The Mule yeah?”

“I’m definitely the lucky one.”

#Pete davidson imagine #pete davidson x reader #pete davidson x you #fuffy #angst

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taendrils · 4 years

Text

industrial (m.)

― ❝there are lines you shouldn’t cross, things you shouldn’t touch and skin you shouldn’t mark when your hands are missing your gloves.❞

• genre: fluff, smut • tags: piercer!reader, client!jungkook, smitten!jungkook, mentions of needles, inappropriate things you shouldn’t do with your piercer LMAO, koko is subby AND needy AND a sweetheart, also a bit of a brat, teasing, sexual tension, praise kink, dirty talk, messy handjob, grinding, aftercare • pairing: jungkook/female reader • wordcount: 8.1k words

PIERCER AU.

It’s human nature. Not having a care in the world for picture sceneries in favour of the mundane you’ve grown to adore—fixating on a sight, a scent, a story so much that is unnatural to go a day without it. Missing a sensation to the point it buries so deep behind your chest you can’t reach through your ribs anymore to prod at it. No, no, no. You have to be indulgent. Bad human nature. You have to relieve it.

Guilt about indulgence doesn’t pack the same punch when it comes to you. It’s easy to sink when you get to relieve it every day—ripping the seal to get your hands on the metal, taking your time presenting the needles, inhaling more of the isopropyl that lingers in the air when you pop open the disinfectant. Even from down low, the vapors float in tendril motions, enter deep only to sting right after. They are consistent—they move the same when you’re close to someone and you get to inhale again before piercing.

It’s pleasant, it makes you focus. It also should say something about you—whatever it might, you don’t blame yourself too much. Rubber feels good on your hand. It’s human nature.

People like things they shouldn’t. People like things that hurt.

The act itself reaches in a place that’s personal, and so does the background. It’s perfect, and it’s silent, and yet it keeps going. There’s music you don’t mind when the place fills out too much—you get restless when there’s a heavy break between people, like it is now. You love calming them down since the act mirrors the effect on you. It has been so long you assume it would create a crack in your persona if you voiced the restlessness out, if your tone reached any frequency other than that of relaxed. The tattoo place, along with your platinum piercer on the other side would eat you dare you break your composure—Yoongi would give the process the same attention he gives to his skin in ink. His tattoos speak for him more than the metal on his tongue dares, touching up to his neck and disappearing under his sleeves, and so does the dove under his ear.

You’re less marked, so people find fascination in other parts of you. Jungkook thinks he doesn’t have to dig deep, he sees their surface as soon as he walks into the parlour. He notices how each element of the hall is in harmony with another, the designs on the walls modern enough to light up innovation, the wood they’re framed by sculpted so they pay tribute to old school. The details hit him all at once, and a beat too late he realises he would have got lost in them, delayed his appointment in favour of marvelling, weren’t it for you waiting at the reception.

You’re leaning against the wall fit between two pictures in asymmetry, watching Yoongi who sits near the said desk with a girl. The piercer gestures towards the jewelry displayed, and Jungkook can make out a few bits of their conversation before his eyes drift towards you again. Soft classics play on the speakers, supported by the tap of your fingers on your thigh. A passive action, and then another.

The bell tingling doesn’t steal your attention from the focal point, instead walking up to join the pair at the desk, but Jungkook catches the black-haired man behind the counter turning in his direction and offering a warm smile.

“This yours?” you tilt your head towards the tattooed man.

Yoongi doesn’t take his eyes off the jewelry, just makes a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat.

“What’s she getting?”

“Two flats, opals.”

“Mm. Pretty stones for pretty girls,” you acknowledge with a smile the girl mirrors. “He has a lot of opinions, but don’t listen to him. If he’s one hair away from the place you suggest, tell me after and I’ll file a complaint, ok?”

The tension in her body eases, and you don’t miss the hints of the grin Yoongi suppresses as he shakes his head. “You need to stop before all my clients leave.”

“Rich from the guy who keeps telling them he’s a master of stabbing with pointy objects,” the same guy who noticed Jungkook tuts as he fixes Yoongi with an eyebrow.

“Jimin has a point. No one else at this hour for him to scare?”

“None for him. None for you either until one hour before closing–you have three then.” He fidgets a bit before the calm smile he’s been sporting turns devious. “Well, none except for him.”

Your eyes settle on him at last, and funny fact it is, how the brain gives so many commands to the muscles faster than the hundredth part of a millisecond, yet Jungkook’s body cannot form a single reaction.

“So you’re mine then, aren’t you?” You nod in appraisal before Jungkook can even stutter, bottom lip jutting out. He’s rendered speechless at the exchange since words weigh heavier on Jungkook’s tongue, and the process takes longer to finish. With strangers he’s careful, he pauses and drags out the sound long enough to avoid mistakes, similar to what you’re doing now when you are analysing him. He’s confident enough to guess how for you they seem easier–you speak as each sound floats on water, weightless before it drifts away.

The heaviness lies buried in how you watch, the same way an audience would as a play begins, attentive and searching for meaning in the deeper crevices of him. He regains access to his breath the moment you step away, hands working behind your back and words neutering some of the acid burning his loins.

“Unless you’re here for a tattoo. None of our artists can talk to you at the moment, they’re all caught up with appointments.”

You’re the only one to come closer to him, and that triggers Jungkook’s sense of self to search for an answer. He fights with it at the tip of his tongue, and he sees the way you’re waiting, staring. He pictures you hanging onto the silence, waiting for his words to continue the thread.

“Uh, no, I–I’m here for you. For the piercing.”

And his words, supposed to be picked with care, crumble under power that’s passive, getting Jungkook tangled in their meaning.

You’re dressed casually, the clothes loose enough for the fit not to disturb you. He focuses on the smooth curve of your shoulder that has yet to be marked, the smallest trace of a collarbone hidden in the depths of your dark turtleneck. He’s gliding up without meaning to, so lost in details he doesn’t know where to look anymore.

“Alright. And you know what you want?” You don’t react until he nods and satisfaction seeps through the corners of the smile you’ve been fighting, his gaze the same level as the lifted corners that lead his gaze to your ears.

Maybe to the three hoops decorating your lobes, complemented by the little heart on the inside of your ear, or higher, where he sees the object of his desire in your right ear, a long silver bar that sits high on your ear, length pressed diagonally and ends adorned with metal spikes.

“Industrial,” he breathes out.

It’s hard to say what defines the pause taken.

“Great. Please take your time and complete the form, okay?” Your hair is pulled up, revealing more hoops stacked on top of the other ear he gets to look better at as you turn around. “I’ll wait for you inside.”

Jungkook finds said form on Jimin’s desk. Less flustered, he listens to Jimin filling in the blanks. “We have a machine for sterilising jewelry. Takes around fifteen minutes, long enough for you to read through this and ask questions.”

Now that he has nothing to dote on, despite the sight Jimin is, Jungkook feels weirdly self-conscious as he waits, the reminder that you would have started by now if he made a move when he should have a constant in his mind. He fidgets, thighs squeezing together to distract his mind before the thought spills out, “Did I keep you guys for too long?”

“The appointment’s yours.” Jimin shrugs as he passes the papers. “First time at a studio?”

Jungkook thinks in retrospect at the lobes he did by himself when he was younger and still wearing his emo bangs–half rebellion, half need to appear cooler to his peers. He nods with his lips pursed tightly enough so they contain his embarrassment.

“There are lots to come by nowadays. You shouldn’t be worried, she’s very lithe and quick. Patient too.”

His heartbeat finds its steady rhythm and doesn’t suffocate him like it did before. It calms before it takes the leap into his stomach, when Jimin, whose gestures lack the innocence his face suggests, forgets to add:

“Talks like that to cute little things.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Good, he swallows. You’re patient. He’ll keep that in mind.

A boy true to his word, a boy that keeps to his promises, Jungkook’s mind wraps up on the idea after signing the ink into the paper and as soon as he is near you.

“All done?” you ask with no hurry, and Jungkook hums as he sits on the piercing table, careful so he does not move the sheets of paper. “Good. Let me look at you?”

The coil in his stomach tightens so easily, he’s so easy to rile up and you’re not even doing anything. You’re not trying to. And that drives him a little crazy. Fantasies Jungkook has never dared to imagine with anyone he kept a professional relationship with stretch his mind open, and he’s open to them when more enter through the cracks he created.

“I need to see your ear, see if the fold’s right.”

He swallows as you come close, hands already gloved. Without missing a beat, he tilts his head to give you better access and doesn’t quite realise how long his hair got until you brush it away from his ear, fingers holding the strands in place. His lungs are still from the proximity, inhaling as much as they can take after you voice your approval. And the more he tries to detach from the situation, the more he dives headfirst into the fantasy. Jungkook feels you twist the ends and pin his hair aside.

The mind is a strange place.

“Don’t want you to get scared, alright?” you coo and this careful treading around him makes him dizzy, stirs in his loins, and the feeling presses deeper there, deeper and hotter than it should from the heat brought by Jimin’s words. “I’ll explain everything to you as we work, hmm?”

“Yeah, sure,” he speaks and is reminded this is his first attempt at conversation in a while. “I’d like that.”

It dawns upon him how to you he sounds willing, much too willing, and he blames it on eagerness. Besides willing, he’s much too aware of everything surrounding him, of every little sound in the quiet room. The tick of the clock is a nice diffused background noise as you check the form to the last detail. “Who did those then, Jungkook?”

Your prying is gentle, a puzzle piece taken from a waiting game that coaxes him out until his answer rises naturally. Of course you’d feel better if he talked. That much is obvious, and he is a fool, but that obvious matters less to him when he sees how pleased you are with your question. A look which he aspires to cause, which pulls his want deeper–a look he needs to see again.

“Uh, another studio. But I didn’t like it.” The explanation that follows comes out of his mouth at once.

“I had a friend, Namjoon,” he begins and takes note how your eyebrows raise and your gaze turns playful at his word choice. “I mean, have. He had his tongue pierced here, and I bugged him about it until he told me.”

The first truth.

“Was it recent?” you ask as you change the pair of gloves, tossing the used pair away.

“He got it done after his girlfriend, but he refused to tell me. I asked for a while.” His shame drifts away in tone with his ramble and he is bold enough to let his gaze fall down the curve of your waist.

“Namjoon, you said? Doesn’t ring a bell. Wish it did by your reaction though.” You turn back to him and his gaze snaps back up.

“Ah, he’s kinda hard to miss though.” His lips remain sealed, but the corners of his mouth rise as high as they can go. Jungkook doesn’t know how or why he’s still talking, but he can distinguish a tender amusement. “Tall, huge dimples and smiles like this.” He keeps the same smile until you acknowledge it, cheeks puffed up and lash lines surrounded by endearing creases.

You shake your head in endearment. “Stubborn, are you?”

“Texted him about it for weeks. Pestered him to tell me. Threatened to do them myself.” Half a truth. Sure, he did that too, but for the most part he whined about it, rattled him to Seokjin and sent messages with questionable emojis. Seeing his friends take the leap for an interest Jungkook spent days looking up, it flickered light back into Jungkook–a passion for something he thought he buried long ago. “I even unmuted the groupchat.”

He sees the effect of those texts in real time. All those ‘joonie hyungg 😊😊~’s were worth it because he earns a laugh from you.

“Glad you let me do my job. I will mark you now, okay?” There’s so much comfort in your conversation he almost forgets what he came here for. As the realisation comes, a sigh threatens to leave his lips. He’s not as worried about the pain as he is worried he’ll embarrass himself somehow. Jungkook is strong now, can handle pain better than the bunch of his hyungs combined, but it doesn’t make him any less self-conscious.

“You have to lie down for it.” You guide him through it, Jungkook lowering his body slowly after the lead of your palm. Maybe he did it wrong?

One dot, two dots. The time to obsess over it passes. On his left, the paper crumples under his fist and he hates the way it sounds, yet he grips the sheet like it is a lever holding him to reality.

“Everything okay?”

“Mhm,” he says, breathing out his bravery and focus. You mention something about titanium and how good it is for piercings in passing, or maybe you linger on it more. He retains nothing, just breathes in the alcohol. Your hands are delicate, and no matter how light your grip is, it seems assured.

Rubber feels good, so does your touch.

“Breathe in for me.” Eyes glossy and mind hazy, he tries his best to listen– “One, two, three, and out. You’re doing well.”

The sting is a lot more than he expected, and he feels the blood rushing to his ear, warm and muted. Everything is more. Its pain lingers, but so does the ghost of your touch, balancing the pleasure. Your voice is breathier, and it sounds closer than comfortable, so close that the warmth of your breath spreads across his skin and a tremor follows it along his spine. When his ear reddens, he hopes you assume it’s because of the piercing.

“There we go,” you whisper. “Halfway done. How’s that?”

“It’s good.” The lump in his throat doesn’t budge. If you notice how his voice trembles, you don’t mention it, and neither do you give him space to think. Your thumb and index massage circles over hard tissue, and he braces for what’s coming next. The fact that your movements do not change pushes against his wish to stay composed, and Jungkook barely suppresses the soft sighs tickling the roof of his mouth.

“Tell me when you’re ready.”

Jungkook sinks into it and nods in rhythm complimentary to your touch. “Read–oh.”

The sound he lets out you take in with a sharp inhale. Despite it, your next steps are smooth, bar settling in cozy in the tight space, but there’s a pause that extends past a few heartbeats where he grows more aware, more sensitive to the tips of your fingers. He feels them tremble as they screw in the ball–feels it tingle on his skin and past his gut.

“Don’t get up so fast,” Jungkook tries to listen, but he’s also impatient. It never dawns on him how close you might be until he’s half-up, propped on his elbows and overwhelmed by the clarity of your features. He is hung on the line that defines your cupid’s bow, and how foul his cravings are. He could run his finger across it–has a feeling you wouldn’t stop him. Driven by his boldness, he’s thinking of dropping his gaze lower. When he does, his heart pummels and a surge of anxiety has his eyes dart back to yours. The effect is cathartic, bits of his rationality falling down in chains.

His mouth drops open at what he finds, the pair of pupils dark and blown out. Less professional. More like you want to cross a line.

The reaction for when you break away is much slower, and your intention misses the mark as Jungkook teeth lightly scrape his lip. “Have you thought about more places?” you blurt out.

Jungkook’s mind goes to the place you’re staring. “My mouth.”

And he swears by anything he has you leave a shard of your composure right there and cut him open with it, reach into his flesh and tug. It’s bad, he shouldn’t let you, but he is good at observing. He has the experience, sees his own behaviours as patterns he’s picked from others. He is right about this. He is sure.

Yet he never expects you to confirm it, reaching out to drag your thumb across his bottom lip, moving in circles to trace the top as well before you come down again and press.

“It’s soft. Gentle.” you breathe out. “I like it.”

It’s gentle and it’s pliant cause his mouth opens more under the weight, and you’re reaching a tint deeper, nail getting dangerously close to his tongue.

“Makes–makes a good fit.”

Rubber feels good there too. He doesn’t mind the taste either.

“But your piercing–” you stutter and his eyebrows shoot up at how you get up all of a sudden only to return with a mirror, grip tight around its rim. Less relaxed. “Here. You should see it.”

You end up passing him the mirror and he gasps at the image, at the bar that’s sitting on his ear. Even with your previous position, excitement is impossible to contain. “I love it.”

“Please tell your groupchat too,” you tease, part of the tension eased from your shoulders, obvious in the delight that surges through you at his words. He’s still peeking in the mirror, yet the reflection that steals his attention is the one of satisfaction in your smile. His satisfaction.

“I will. It’s amazing, really. I like it a lot,” he adds as if he hasn’t said enough.

“I’m glad. Can’t wait till Yoongi hears about this.” You’re busy with a Q-Tip he braces for a second too late, yet does nothing but obey when you ask him to stay still, then clean the piercing for the last time. The story continues. “He missed the angle last time. He’s gonna be so threatened.”

“Why did he miss?” Jungkook says, curiosity making him lean closer. His height was not something you cared for when he walked in, you note, but he’s hard to ignore now that he’s standing up. You give up trying to organise the items scattered on your table and wipe a hand across your forehead.

“Ah, well. He’s a bit... unorthodox, but gets the job done.”

“And what about you?”

You purse your lips as you muster the answer, unsure of the letters pouring out. “I... I like to play it safe.”

And safe you played, a bitter part of Jungkook would retort. But now that he’s opened the can, the curiosity about you reigns beyond his pettiness. His mind, an ocean on the road to regaining tranquility, has its waters disrupted when he poses questions about parts of you that interested him.

“Is it like that with the tattoos?”

“I do keep them safe.” By the speed of your reply, this is a frequent topic of conversation. Your words, however, match two puzzle pieces that share the same colour, but they don’t fit near the other. They’re jumbled together, corners forced and unnatural. His stomach burns regardless. So they’re hidden from display, bordering on personal.

Like him, you’re responding to questions reserved for people you have some sort of a relation with. The one with Jungkook is supposed to be inexistent. He’s a client, you’re a piercer, he remembers, as he fears to call you his piercer yet. Places where you might have ink pop up in his mind and replace the guidance of his conscience: neck, chest, stomach, thighs.

“Didn’t do the same for this one.” You point to the ear with the bar matching his. “Toughest to heal. Got it when I barely knew anything.”

The angle is not perfect like his, he can now see after the first glance.

“You like it a lot though.” He pouts, and it’s a statement he tests under his confusion.

“It’s one of my weaknesses. A fun memory.”

“So you didn’t do that always?”

Jungkook is a boy true to himself, but much too proud to admit things often. He has a goal, has found more means to the end he chases. Out of the possibilities, there are fairer choices, but all of those lead towards a path with chances and time he doesn’t have. Guilt eats at him about pressing, but his heart speaks over his brain.

“Didn’t do what?”

Jeon Jungkook doesn’t do things in halves–does his best and sweats hard for his aspiration. Thus, he’ll find time later to appeal to his conscience. The distance between you clears the fog out of his mind, his need clear. He cannot leave it like that, not with knowing you never attempted to shut him out.

“Play it safe?”

“No. But you… you shouldn’t.” You’re frowning, deep in thought, every second spent waiting pressing layers into both his hope and uncertainty–fighting a battle that your hesitation wins over whatever desire he thought you may have.“Here’s my number. Call me if you’re experiencing any troubles during the healing process and we’ll see what we can do.”

Distracted, you pass him a card he puts in his pocket. You continue on about the cleaning process and offer him options for where to buy them from as the part of him full of hope deflates, hates the reversion to nothing, hates it more than is considered normal. Whatever this was, he doesn’t want to lose it, but he respects you, sits and accepts. “Of course. Will I have to answer as many questions?”

“Ah–no, not really. I wanted you to be comfortable. I just saw...” There’s breath caught in your throat, lodged between the cracks in your calamity and assurance. You pant to let it out. “You’ve been looking at me.”

Hope is fragile yet devious. A parasitic entity that leads and bites off however much it likes from whoever it pleases. Even as he meant to give up, its last particle was left to grow.

“Yeah?” Jungkook is scared yet bold, the step he takes placing his boot on the line you’ve never dared to cross before. His eyes are big and there’s a glint that’s pleading to be noticed. “And if I call… you’ll take care of it?” He fears your answer, he fears how rushed he is, how much it means.

“I will. We’ll look at it once you come back to downsize the bar.” You try to soothe him, reaching to squeeze his shoulder. His shirt gets pulled a tint, and what you meant to do renders forgotten. The tips of your fingers are lured towards warm skin. Weak and indulgent, they dip under the cotton.

A brief contact and the intent changes. Your touch borders everywhere–a slow drag up the nape of his neck and down his front, fingers splaying out to cover more surface.

“Anything else?” he gulps, lost in the sight of your mouth.

“Don’t touch it. Don’t sleep on it.” Your hand rests over his throat, thumb brushing up and down his pulse point. “Promise you’ll listen?”

“Yeah, I’ll listen.” The admission is quiet, not risking to tear apart at the tension. With close he is to you, the words are breathy with his whisper. “I’ll listen to you.”

The mind is a very strange place. Curls around the impossible and tortures until you do something about it. It’s human nature.

Jungkook’s voice breaks with the last bit of bravery he has.

“I’ll do how you ask.”

“Fuck, Jungkook–” You leave your sentence unfinished because you’re way too busy with your lips on his, you’re kissing him, tongue licking into his mouth before you turn aggressive. There’s no second to wait, no moment to take for breath, his senses are overwhelmed from you gripping his jaw to bring him to your level. Jungkook can’t think, he just touches, makes it clear how much he likes it, nails digging into your sides. He brings you closer, tattooed hand fitting how you like it over your waist, needy and hurting your ribs from how tight you’re pressed against him, while the other slots over the nape of your neck, big enough to cover it whole.

He clutches you as if you’re a silver lining in an open space, and there’s so much Jungkook all at once and everywhere around you. There’s electricity buzzing under your skin at the way he moans into the kiss when you bite his lip, pulling you back with him as leans against the drawer, thighs spreading for you to fit until you’re pressed flush against him. Your skin is so hot and you’re so drunk on need you’d peel the layers off and fit yourself into a piece of him, feel his moan reverberate through your being. You would, and you do.

When you break away, you don’t care, that’s what Jungkook registers. You’re nosing his neck, lips closing around a sweet spot under his ear. He winces from the sting, though it is short-lived. Another wave of arousal hits you exhale over the raw skin like the breath has been fucked out of you. He’s so sensitive there, and you don’t care to be gentle, don’t care to soothe the ache—you’re taking for yourself. It’s you being selfish.

His head spins so hard around the idea he has to hold onto you to stay on his feet.

Jungkook wants that, wants you to take. To ask. It thrills him how dangerous that notion is, what he would do.

There’s a soft sound you make right after you bite, a sigh that drips into his blood and travels straight to his dick. Faint cries of his name echo in an empty head, shake him to a blurry reality, paired with kisses under his jaw, on the mole that’s so close to his lip. “Jungkook, we can’t.”

With his inner voice gone, his head is empty and a beat too late he registers you’re speaking to him. He nods into your hair, chest rising and falling shallowly, again and again until he’s able to speak. He swears. Swears he understands but no part of him can do so, if you tell him to stop and yet coax him into giving in.

His neck is wet with traces of your lip balm. “Okay, okay, just—give me a second,”

“No, no—” Frantic, you cup his cheek and without thinking he leans into it, expression softening. Your thumb rubs circles onto the bone, caress it until you pry his eyes open, until he can look at you. “Not here.”

Before he can act, you lace his fingers with yours and lead him towards your bathroom, pull hard on the handle, and in your rush, you use the same force to press him into the door as it closes. Jungkook whines, shameless, hips bucking into you. In his high pitch you can capture the exact moment his last thread of sanity bids its goodbye, leaving him with putrid needs that shudder out of him like they do whenever he is close.

“God, look at you,” you whisper in wonder, latching to his mouth.

Cold runs up his arm and to his sides when you pin his wrist away, knuckles brushing against the tiles. The room’s dense, its width a fraction of the main hall. Its monochrome walls are closing in on the both of you, two specks of colour squeezed together in the tight space.

All at once, he’s hit with how good you smell, tinges of his cologne having rubbed off on you. A different aroma, one that’s sweet and masculine, pierces his senses with the same strength of an alcohol, but instead of focusing, it makes him hazy—hazy and restless. Even in his current state, he can more or less see the same effect on you.

Jungkook looks at you through strands of hair and dropped eyelids, head thrown against the door. “You like it?”

You grin, fingers hooking in the belt loops on his sides and use them to move his hips so his cock drags right into the space between your thighs. “Should I show you or let you guess?”

His hips work with more vigour, coil in his belly pulled too tight while you take your time reciprocating. The softest friction you give back is enough to have him gasping, dick hardening against you.

“You’re the one who seems to like this quite a lot,” You reach under his shirt to stress your point, molding your palms in the deep lines that define his abdomen. They explore, trailing higher until they brush against a nipple, the image of how a bar would fit there a dangerous addition in your head.

“Yeah,” He bites his lip, no point in not being honest now that you have him like this. “I do.”

Once you hear him, you grow more determined, hand closing high around his side and on his ribs. Next thing he knows you're back to his nipple, rolling your thumb over it, the stimulation too much too soon. Jungkook seeks to take your focus from it, but you don't relent.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he pouts before biting back a moan, “I wouldn't want to keep you.”

The moment you hear him, you laugh, fond and delirious—and press harder when you touch. “Yes, Jungkook, I do.”

If he had any walls left, he's sure you would have them crumble when you ask with your other hand hovering on the elastic of his boxers, “Do you?”

He nods, speaks from under his breath, “You have no idea.”

Mischief and anticipation dance in your irises, and when you smile, you do it with full teeth, every bit the bad wolf who's waiting to eat him up. You've chosen to prolong the said wait because instead of gripping, your finger branches out to trace the underside of his dick.

“You can’t do that to me,” he whines, soft voice murmuring pleas.

Jungkook’s torso, yet to be marked, is a pleasant path, one you’d cross again and again, warm and smooth and addicting—it takes most of your willpower to stop, staring him right in the eye with an eyebrow raised. “Can’t do what?”

“You shouldn’t touch me,” Meek and sincere, he lifts your chin and you freeze with your chest pressed against his. “Not if you want to tease.”

It’s a silent beg, because even if he missed being teased, he needs you. He’s so wound up he doesn’t think he can stand it, but he's still proud. Somewhat.

Your expression remains unreadable, but your actions speak loudest when you touch him skin on skin, hand sneaking under his boxers, and—oh.

He restrained himself the best he could when he had close to nothing, but now, with his head fallen back, he moans for you like he’s singing. The more you tighten your grip, the more his octave jumps over the classics you’d been so fond of.

“Careful, baby,” you tut as you spread the precum over his tip and use your body weight to still his shaking thighs. “You could hurt yourself.”

“S-sorry, ah—” he stutters, hand caught between the both of you, squeezing yours over the cotton of his sweatpants. “Feels good.”

He's not used to it, being the centre of attention, people putting lights too bright on him. Can't decide if he likes it or not, though it has him weak. His mind is on you, your time, your pleasure. On how he craves for you to feel him, needs you to feel good. On how he is going to make use of the semblance of control he hasn't given up yet to show you what you're doing to him.

So he does. He walks you back until your hips knock against the sink, pins you the side that is closest to him. Eagerness overcomes him at the impact, pulling at the hem of your shirt, and you cater to his wishes, letting him remove your top. With the layer peeled off, the scene is rougher and more intimate, secrets shared by the two of you tangled in this background, he sees them, lets them drive him crazy.

“How about this?”

It's such a delicate thing, how your bare shoulder connects with its reflection in the mirror. His gaze explores your body, landing on the upper parts covered in ink. Beginning at your sternum, a young lotus connects to a larger piece spread on the top of your torso, adorned with leaves and petals that bloom from its center. The thread between the flower and the full piece is so thin, his tongue would cover it whole.

It's the swell of your breasts that has him distracted and split between choices. But there’s something so primal about the object of his desire in front of him, and his made-up mind can't wait for encouragement, cupping them in wonder under your bra. Your gasp when he brushes against a nipple is so delicious he's the one who can't help himself, dipping his head to get a taste. He sucks like he's expecting praise, grinds more into you and he can't decide if the action is for you or himself.

“Jungkook, ah—” you groan, and the reaction stirs him up further. That mind of his which has been empty is quick to fill out with more than he can handle.

He'd drop down to his knees and crawl as long as you moaned and waited for him like that. He'd kiss and lick up the thigh that's pushing against his dick, hold it as he spread you open with his tongue. By nature, he's a pleaser, and thoughts like these are natural—as natural as those that keep coming, those about himself. They retell how easy it was for him to lose himself, far to the point of no return. A sweetheart in the face of sin.

It's almost laughable how gone he is and what it might say about him, about how down below he really belongs. Well, it's comfortable. He likes it down there.

Lower places are for those who lose, and Jungkook wouldn't mind losing to you, as long as he has a place down and a fighting chance.

He drops to his knees slowly, tongue dragging through the middle of your tattoo and down, kissing his way to the button of your jeans. In a snap, he pops them open, considers letting go, all doe eyes and messy waves that cover folded cartilage and stop right before a lobe marked by matching silver hoops, and now an industrial. Without thought, he catches the flimsy zipper in his mouth then drags it down where he said he belonged, holding onto the metal until the end. His arms flex under your thighs, gripping you tighter as he drops the zipper but not the eye contact. He has to be sure your eyes are on him when that playful glint takes over and his tongue flattens against the front of your jeans.

He's not bad for wanting it, is he?

Your fingers in his hair yank his head back, and oh, this one's different from the sting before—it spreads tingles across his scalp. “But I liked you this way…” He sulks, soft hair putty in your hand.

And he did, still does. Thighs on either side of his head, your face, breathless and grinning above, there's nothing wrong with this angle. “And here I was trying to take it slow.”

On his knees for you, it seems that now he finds the time to be a brat. “Your hands down my pants is slow now?”

You arch an eyebrow. “Lots of things you want to do, hm?”

Equal parts eager and shy, Jungkook nods, moving to lean on your thigh. You're fast to react, hand in his hair coming in between to protect his piercing. He nods with his head in your palm, noses along the inseam of your jeans.

“You just need to...let me.” His hand slithers under the soft flesh and splay on your ass to make his point. For the final dot, he feels for your back pockets, uses them as support to drag down the material until he can see your underwear.

“What about what I want?” you scoff when he's midway through pulling your pants down. “Aren't you being a little selfish?”

He's taken aback by your pout, your always-tender touch. “Uh—”

“You didn't sit to think about it, did you baby?” Wide eyes look up at you, a pang of strange guilt overcoming him. “Whether I want you like this?”

Jungkook wonders about the game you're playing. “I'm sorry—”

Habits force him to be polite, guide you to be patient.

“Poor little heart.” You caress his jaw, his mouth, and this time, his lips close around your finger. “Get up.”

He obeys but not without a fight inside him. Body to body, you soothe the frown off his face with kisses up his neck, paying attention to the noises he makes when you tug at his hair again.

“You looked so good before. Right here,” you whisper when he drops into the touch.

Praise relaxes him, opens up his every pore, pours heat straight to his gut. He knows. Yet part of him has yet to get over how you denied him, occurrence too rare for him to get used to it.

“It's less fun like that.” Jungkook's aware of how he sounds: like a little brat, petulant. As good as he is, it thrills him when he gets to act this way.

“Is it? Baby got a taste and now he can't get enough?” You're mocking but gentle, how he likes to be teased.

He did miss it: missed being teased, missed tearing up a bit.

“I didn't even have to ask to bring you to your knees.” You grip his hair tighter and he moves to the direction your reins are pulling. Ah, missed having his senses tortured. “So willing. So easy.”

“Yes—” he babbles, doesn't care for much when you handle him like that. Neither can he speak much, yet he is aware of everything, is sensitive to everything—shivers as your heel nudges his calf.

“I think it's more fun when you work for it, don't you agree,” You motion at his pants, and he scrambles to drop them to his knees for you stroke his cock, “there's thrill in the chase.”

How true that is. Jungkook aches for a chance to show to you how he is when there's chase involved.

“For you,” he says, tone flat and tired.

“Then it's not the case?”

He shakes his head, now bordering on a dangerous edge. Competition never hurt him. Neither did playing it safe, but he doesn't care to play it safe now that it's about you.

“For you, all for you—” he grabs your wrists and brings them down until you cup him with both hands, rocks his hips into the loose space. “Please let me do something.”

Or make me, is the sentence he leaves buried. More important for him is to hang tight onto your permission, yet hatred over not feeling needed threatens to swallow down his arousal and purge back anger. It's a twisted game he often plays, how long he can deny himself, how much he can hold before he snaps.

He's been close to snapping from the beginning, so out of his mind, he'd do anything you asked. Why weren't you asking? Jungkook would love for you to tell him how to make you a mess, say the word and he would be on his feet, down on his knees. He’s aware it paints a pretty picture when he does it.

Taking pity on him, you bring his hands down to your underwear and remove it together. It flies right past his ego—the immediate reaction is to reach for his own, but you stop him by shaking your head.

You peek down, shudder when you see how hard he is. “Leave them on. It's not safe.”

“Like this then?” Jungkook holds you spread for him as he drags his clothed cock over your clit. He's moving so slow he's shaking. There's so much desire which had to be buried down for him to keep to his word, to respect the promise that he'd listen. “Good?”

“Mm, good.” His chest swells with pride, and he gasps when he feels how wet you are, staining the material. Tentatively, he slides a finger in, then another, scissoring them inside. He goes deeper until he's sure they're coated, gathers the strings of arousal and brings them back to your clit. “That's it—”

The pressure is built with his thumb over your clit, careful and decisive the more you pick the volume. He'd muffle those noises with his mouth or make them louder with his tongue, yet he doesn't have the courage, thus he settles for your neck. It's a welcome distraction, a purpose that's holding him to earth when you're rocking back against him, the sight of you so desperate doing things to him.

“Fuck, you're leaving marks,” you whisper to yourself. It sounds holier, more like a revelation you have bare for him, with your hair messy and neck bit.

“I just. Need something to do, with—with my mouth.” He hurts through the seconds he takes to explain. Exists through his need. “Don't like it empty.”

A call of his name breaks the hold he had.

“If you want to be rough, you can.”

“What?” His head shoots up, confusion written across unfocused eyes. “W-Why?”

“I see you.” You swipe at hair matted over his forehead, mold your print in the drops of sweat laid over the veins in his neck. “And I want you to have it.”

Best case, Jungkook would need a few moments to process this, but you don't give him the pleasure. Every word is a shot fired on his self-control.

“I need you to feel good.” your voice is saccharine, its echo dripping in pleas through his bones. “That's what will make it better.”

“But then...” You're wrapping your thighs around his waist, letting him in. He has no idea what he's protesting.

That urge to suppress, that need, their noise is not yet muted—he hates how he's not done enough. Almost feels useless. But you need him for something else. Proof to his statement is the conviction attached to your request.

“You said you'll listen.” Although you don't mention his behaviour until now, implications hang heavy. “Why aren't you doing that when I tell you to do as you please?”

He's still lost, but now a new desire creeps up, whispering to him how nice it would be to obey. To stomp on his previous effort.

Too many sounds ring in his head, like radio static that shuts off when you press your forehead against his. “Be good, baby. Let go on me.”

Nice and sweet.

Jungkook listens and unravels before you. With rough drags of his cock against your pussy, you can't differentiate whether the mess on his boxers comes from you or him. He's messy yet mindful, angling up his thrusts, making the hit land right onto your clit, deep like he wants to fuck into you.

“Yes, yes—ngh—” This time it comes from him, but you're not far, with how you dig your nails into his muscles. Memories he'll feel for days, along with the strain it takes to keep the both of you upright. He speeds up as soon as you urge him to go faster, a toy on arches, flared up because of your request. Drifting away with the sensation, he almost loses footing when you whisper you're close.

Instead of hazy, the words are electric—he's more awake than he's ever been. Puts in so much work his bones rattle and lids screw shut when you cum, sounds so pretty and long they stretch out to rip his orgasm out of him.

Solemnly, his world quiets.

“You good, baby?” Serene, you massage the nape of his neck and let him cling to you until he can breathe again, “Gave me plenty to clean.”

Jungkook stares at the mess between your bodies before he's puffing out a laugh, “I could be better.”

You sit with him until he parts from you, then put your clothes back on. “Wait here, there's stuff in the cabinet that can help.”

“Hey...” you turn to him in question and he kisses you again. “Thank you.”

You return with the necessary supplies, handing him some wipes as you bend down to disinfect the sink. “It's not much, but it's not like I expected guys throwing themselves at me in my own shop.”

“I did not!” he puffs as he cleans himself up, winces from the sensitivity. “You just... well. Did that!”

“My job?” His eyes are wide and accusing, full of indignation. When you look back, he stares back as if challenged, ready to debate you. “I won't repeat the offense.”

Jungkook steps in front of you, confident and looming. “I'm not leaving until you admit.”

“I'll admit.” You nod, face brightening up as you tease him. “I was too good at my job and made you starstruck.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I'll be here all day.”

“There's security.”

“I'm strong.” His arms wrap around your waist for emphasis. You relax in his hold.

“I saw, big boy.” He's about to say something else but you're quick to cup his face and steal the words off his lips, tap at his pocket. “Hold onto this, okay? And call me if there's any trouble.”

Minutes after exiting, he has the gall to unmute his phone and sees the notifications pop; the top being a text from Namjoon in the groupchat sent over 20 minutes ago.

that guy [4:16 p.m]: jsyk i respect your opinion but i'm putting this shit on mute if you mention anything about the PC version being better again

joonie hyung [4:50 p.m]: Jungkook? joonie hyung [4:50 p.m]: Well? How did it go?

Jungkook chuckles to himself, sitting on a nearby bench, mindful to the saline solution he bought from the front desk that’s now in his lap. Further contemplates the message as his fingers brush over the bobby pin still in his hair as a distraction from the piercing.

There is a bunch of nonsense that follows in the chat from Taehyung and Hoseok, but that's always easy to ignore–he blames it on the force of habit. The parlour's sign is a clear view diagonal from his position, background he sees fit for him at the moment. Jungkook angles his body so he's facing the opposite direction and snaps a picture of his reddened ear, careless to the rosy marks blooming right under. Your contact details are secure in his pocket, printed over the card you gave him, and despite how light they are, they bear the force to keep him grounded.

Tapping the screen to quote Namjoon's reply, Jungkook keeps to his fashion: he's not the one for many words when it isn't needed.

He breaks into giggles. Thumbs up and peace sign emojis suffice.

a/n: namjoon getting his tongue pierced is actually a reference to emma @.personawife’s fic piercings and piercer!yoongi is available over at @.yuengi in bad boys bring it to you which you should totally check out if u want more pierceverse! major thanks to lo for listening to me ramble about this cutie and helping me with the last bits of his character! • remember don’t get pierced with a gun OR a hoop and if you enjoyed please consider leaving a comment i’m starving and koko is not showing sleeve

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gins-potter · 4 years

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What are your winx and specialists tattoo headcanons? Who would have tattoos and which one would they have?

Heyo, as usual sorry this took me a little bit but I wanted to properly organise my thoughts and find reference pics as well. and tbh I could end up coming up with more stuff but this is what I have so far. (under the cut because it ended up kinda long af and tagging @catlliecal because she also sent an ask asking for this).

Bloom:

Ok so my headcanons for Bloom’s tattoos have changed a bit over the years

but at the moment I imagine her with a fairly large hip into thigh, full coverage piece of the Great Dragon

she chose it’s position because i imagine oritel is probably a conservative old man when it comes to tats (even tho i can so see miriam also having a dragon tattoo) so she puts it on her thigh so she can easily cover it by wearing a long dress for royal events

it would probably be in black and white but I can see the Dragon being intertwined with some flowers, probably Daphne flowers for her sister (which you can see in the two images on the right) and I can see those being coloured a pale pink kind of like in the middle reference pic

and because this is the magical dimension i imagine it’s been spelled so while it stays confined to the one area, it can move a little bit and change positions

so because bloom is both a basic bitch and completely extra i totally see her having more than one dragon tat

her second one would be a lot smaller and probably be a lot more simpler in design compared to her thigh dragon, so something more like the top two images in the second graphic

also in all black but maybe spelled to breathe red fire?

and it would also be enchanted so it can fly around her body, and unlike the bigger dragon it’s not constrained to any area - it’s favourite places to be are flying in circles around her wrist or sitting on her left collarbone over her heart

the other two pics in the second graphic are just older ideas i had for bloom’s tattoos, i was convinced for ages she would have it going down her back like the one on the left (i might eventually give this tattoo to either miriam or daphne) and i just love the design of the one on the right so i briefly considered her having like a shoulder/half sleeve dragon

Flora:

all of flora’s would be in colour i think and she would definitely have that sort of water colour effect on them that’s really popular now

her first two are similar in design to the pic on the left and she would have them on either side of her torso, sort of upper rib area, to the side/just underneath her boobs and they’re like a mirror image of each other

these ones probably wouldn’t be spelled to do anything special

the one on her back is similar in design to the pic on the right, but i can see it also being drawn more like a full tree

the writing down the centre would be her and helia’s family names (because i can definitely see them hyphenating when they get married) and then on each leaf is a name, first helia, then each of her children

i’m playing around with the idea of this one being spelled to change with the seasons, the writing would always stay the same, but the leaves change colour and eventually fall off during autumn and then grow back in the spring.

Layla:

for the moment i can actually see layla only having one tattoo

and that’s this yin yang/opposites fish design that you can see in the reference images (they’re all more or less the same i just found too many cute photos)

it’s actually based on a mosaic in the andros castle that layla loves, and she gets it because it brings her peace when she’s feeling upset or anxious about anything

they would be all in white, one fully white, and the other just a white outline

i think the fish would probably be on the inside of her forearm so she can see them and they would be spelled to swim in circles around each other

i can see her maybe getting nabu’s name somewhere after he dies but i’m not 100% sure where she would put it

Musa:

musa’s are actually the hardest to pin down for me just because i can see her having A Lot

like at least one full sleeve and maybe two

one sleeve would be mostly made up of the music notes for a song her dad wrote for her mother before she died and that would run down most of her arm and would be decorated with birds and flowers important to melodian culture (like the flower top right)

like bloom’s hers would be mostly in black with a few pale red and orange accents here and there

the music notes would be spelled so that when you touch them they play the song

her other arm is more just a collection of stuff she thinks is cool or pretty like the bottom two pics or the boxing art below

and i can eventually see her completely filling her arms so the tattoos spill onto her back

Stella:

stella in my opinion just has two

they’re very minimalistic designs, plain black, and on the inside of either elbow

she has a sun for solaria on one side and a moon for celestia (her mother’s home realm) on the other side

the moon tattoo causes quite the controversy when she gets it because some solarians think it isn’t right for their crown princess to show such strong ties for another realm but stella refuses to remove it

they aren’t spelled to move or change or anything but they do have the ability to glow a bright gold at night

Tecna:

like stella, tecna’s tattoos are rather minimalistic as well

but unlike stella, tecna’s are very meme-y

literally

tecna gets a QR symbol on the inside of her upper left arm that when scanned is actually a rick-roll

and she eventually develops a spell for it that allows the QR code to change so that it takes you to whatever meme tecna currently finds the most hilarious

her other tattoo, which is on her right forearm, is written in binary code and no one actually knows what it says

they can never get a straight answer out of tecna about what it is, and everytime someone asks her she tells them something different, so they assume it’s meme-y like her other one

but actually it’s a short sappy quote that reminds her of timmy but she’ll never admit it to anyone

(don’t ask me what that quote is i haven’t decided yet)

that one has a simple spell on it that makes it look like someone is typing out the code over and over again

kind of like musa i can see tecna having more tattoos than this, i just can’t decide what they would be, but i think they would all follow the same simple, minimalistic design

Specialists:

it was hard for me to find reference pics i liked for the guys so i’m just going to give a brief description of some of the tattoos i think they would have

i don’t know if i’ve written about this on tumblr before, but i have a long-held headcanon that heros have a big tattoo culture:

getting their first tattoo is part of their graduation ceremony from red fountain

they’re encouraged to get tattoos that remind them of their family/friends/loved ones - some yada yada about remembering who they’re fighting for when facing evil forces

and it’s very common to honour fallen team members by getting a tattoo of their name or something that reminds them of the person

Sky:

sky’s tattoos are mostly on his chest and back

his graduation tattoo is an eraklyon prayer of protection that runs down his spine

he doesn’t get any other tattoos after that until nabu dies which is when he gets his friend’s name on his ribs (right side) and that’s where he adds other names of fallen friends/team-mates

later after he and bloom get married he gets her name on his left pec (right over his heart the big sap) and then adds his kids names beneath it after they’re born

none of sky’s tattoos are spelled or enchanted

Brandon:

brandon’s grad tattoo is a list of his siblings names on his left forearm and Stella’s name on his right arm

eventually, like sky, he also gets his kids names added to stella’s

all his name tattoos are individually spelled to burn really hot when that person is in trouble

brandon struggles to decide for a while where to put nabu’s name but eventually decides on the centre of his back because he likes to think that wherever nabu went after he died, he’s still there in spirit watching his back

Riven:

riven shocks the fuck out of everyone when he graduates and gets the red fountain school motto (”live with courage and die with honour”) tattooed in giant fuck off lettering across his shoulders

they all figured he lowkey hated red fountain and maybe he did at first because come on he’s a rebel without a cause at what is basically a military school, of course he kinda hates it there

but he also acknowledges that red fountain more or less turned his life around as well as brought him into contact with the people who eventually he comes to regard as family (much more than his biological one)

like musa i can see riven getting a bunch of other tattoos just because they look cool and putting them all over his arms, chest, and back

but his right bicep would be reserved for tattoos of his fallen friends

unlike sky and brandon he doesn’t get names however, but instead gets symbols, the first being a likeness of nabu’s staff after he passes

Helia:

helia i think would have all of his on his back because he understands the importance of having them but also doesn’t need to see them every day

his grad piece is kind of unorthodox because he gets his favourite line of poetry to remind him that there’s still beauty in the world even when he’s facing evil

later i feel like he would get something like outstretched bird wings just below it

and under that he gets nabu’s name in really nice script

Timmy:

timmy is probably the least prone to tattoos of the group and he has to think for a long time on what to get for graduation

and people assure him that he doesn’t actually have to get one just because most everyone else is

but eventually he decides to get a small coloured blaster on the inside of his elbow

when he was in freshman year at red fountain he was lowkey ashamed when all his classmates took to using swords almost straight away while he preferred using his gun because he thought it meant he lacked the physical strength and courage to use a short range weapon

but he slowly came to realise that it wasn’t a weakness, but just that he had different strengths to his friends and classmates and that wasn’t a bad thing

so he decides that’s a good thing to remember

and when nabu dies again he debates whether or not to get a tattoo commemorating him but ultimately decides he will and gets ‘his name written near his blaster

#answered #winx club #winx rewritten au #bloom #sky #stella #brandon #tecna #timmy #musa #riven #flora #helia #layla #aisha #mywriting

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hidiingplace · 3 years

Photo

TODD HEADCANON + FOX VIGILANTE OUTFIT

general. okay i’ve been wanting to do this HC for AWHILE now but I’ve only recently found the perfect recourses for his fox-suit revamp. I’m going to break this post down by each picture/equipment and talk about the properties of each peice and then I’m going to talk about the functionality of the suit overall. HERE WE GOOO.

mask. okay so there are TWO fox mask pictures, but thats because one appeals the the shading aspect and the other refers to the shape of the mask. The first (far left) mask is a perfect example of the colour and shading on the mask. Distinct black ears, white trim, darkened eye holes. however the second mask (far right) is a more accurate shape. Because The Fox’s abilities are rooted in speed, it’s important that his ears are not massive and able to catch wind. even though he’s magical and it doesn’t really make a huge difference, it would be a nuisance to constantly have your head pulled at by the wind catching the ears of your mask.

logo. the middle picture at the top is the Fox’s logo. Originally he didn’t have a logo at all, but when people in NYC started showing their support by slapping a specific fox tag everywhere with his slogan ‘I ain’t no hero’ all over the place, he kind of leaned into it. The logo sits in the centre of his back.

claws. the Fox has very sharp claws, which are technically his only TRUE weapon. The Fox does not use knives or batons or anything, but it doesn’t make him any less deadly. The claws are sharp enough that he can cut glass enough to weaken it, slice through thinner metal, and definitely slice through flesh. it’s important to note that the Fox HAS killed people before, whether it was accidental or purposeful the public doesn’t really know 👀

necklace. The Fox’s necklace is the ONLY thing that Todd and the Fox share entirely. Tehy share aspects of one another, but the necklace is really the only thing that does not change AT ALL from his life as the Fox and his life as Todd. This necklace is the beacon through which The Fox and Zipp’s magic resides –– similar to that of a genie and it’s lamp. The Necklace is the only thing that Zipp’s illusion magic cannot affect, and thus it is something that if you are up close with The Fox, you may recognize. However, the Fox does an excellent job of wearing high collared suits that help hide the necklace pendant from view. but every hero makes mistakes from time to time.

shoes. meant to look like your average wear, these shoes are actually more custom than they look. The laces are tight and unable to be untied while in the suit. In addition, the bottom of the shoe is INCREDIBLY sticky. This helps for both free-running, climbing, and also just straight up speed. Having good traction means having the ability to be far more agile and quick on his feet.

suits. The Fox has two suits, one for summer and one for winter weather. these suits are both designed from the same material, and give the Fox adequet protection. I’m going to explain each suit’s properties now.

summer suit –– this is the far left suit (i’d recommend clicking to see the full suit). it is made of thinner lyrca material with leather at key impact points such as the chest, his knees, and his hands/wrists. The longer glove on the right hand is there because when he does his free running and climbing, he often will use his elbow/forearm differently (either for support or to hoist himself up) so it acts as extra protection. This suit is sleeveless, and as I’ve covered before, the illusion magic The Fox has makes Todd’s tattoo’s disappear and make him look tattooless. As mentioned above, the leather vest if so extra protection against his most vulnerable section of his body. The x across his left bicep is actually as way to add additional support from a pervious injury, plus it just looks cool. his suit has multiple mesh components, and this is to help breathability in the hot months. If you’re a runner at all, you know that a lot of running pants have ventilation through mesh or other lighter materials. The mesh around the Fox’s upper thighs act in this way, ventilating his body so he doesn’t over heat. The mesh on his right arm is there for the same purpose, seeing as that is his dominate arm and he will likely use it more and create more energy/heat in that arm. both suits have the circular orange bit on the back, and this is where his logo sits.

winter suit –– this suit is esstentially the exact same as his summer suit with some minor adjustments. There is no more mesh or exposed skin, and instead the full length sleves are made of plyable leather to keep him warm in winter months. There is an additional leather jacket that sits over his vest that clips in the middle to keep it from flying open and being annoying while he’s doing vigilante things. the pant portion of his suit is made of warmer material, but not leather as it would be next to impossible to run in leather pants for any length of time. the opening from the end of his rib cage and the beginning of his pant line at his hip is purposeful for better movements like twisting, bending, and contorting which he does a lot of in his fighting style and free-running movements. in the winter he trades his shoes for some clean, ankle height boots so as to allow for extra warmth and traction in the snow while also allowing him free movement in his ankles while running.

extra notes –– the Fox does not have any strap on weapon holders, and his design is sleak. The throwing knife/weapon holds at the knees in the middle and right photo are not of the Fox’s suit as it would do him a disservice while running, fighting, or even trying to slide into places he shouldn’t. The Fox also has complete control and creative freedom with his suit. His suit looks this way because it’s how he chose it to be. As a result, The Fox can easily switch from winter to summer and vice verse in the blink of an eye.

functions. as as I’ve discussed in other HCs, The Fox is a magical super hero. think sailor moon without the flamboyance. his magic comes from Zipp, the celestial spirit fox who has protected Todd since he was about 10 years old. Zipp’s magic is contained outside of his body in the fox necklace that Todd and Zipp share. When Todd transforms into the Fox, Zipp needs to be inside the necklace on Todd’s body. The first thing that appears is the mask, and then magic spins outwards from the necklace, coating his body with it. The suit allows healing in all the ares where the suit covers him. It’s not instant, but it’s mild enough to generally keep broken bones and internal bleeding from becoming a huge problem. In order to change out of the suit, The Fox must remove his necklace or his mask –– the Fox generally removes the mask as it’s far easier than removing the necklace from his suit.

illusion. The Fox only has the ability to use illusion magic when he is fully covered in his suit. meaning that Todd’s identifying features, like his tattoos and piercings, will not disappear until his suit is fully formed. the whole process doesn’t take very long (between 1-2 seconds) but it’s long enough that if someone saw him do it, they could likely identify him later. in addition, Todd’s eyes go from their bright blue, to absolutely glowing and slitted like that of a fox. in addition, Todd’s filed down canines go from noticeably a different, pointed shape to a much longer and sharper point to resemble that of a fox.

#( RIP this is long )#todd rebane ( general ).#todd rebane ( headcanon ).

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pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles · 4 years

Text

Part 3 of my little Dad Calum series featuring Lucy. This is fairly PG-13, mentions of sex and pregnancy and the girlfriends.

You’re ready to tell your daughter Lucy she’s going to have a new sibling, but you and Calum are worried how she’ll react to the news. Both you and your husband think back to when you learned you were expecting Lucy, and how truly unexpected life can be.

"Whatcha making babe?” Calum grabbed the pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge, ducking around the island to stay out of your way.

“Cookies and cream cupcakes for Saturday. Kay's overwhelmed being stuck in the house with three kids, I guess four if you count Ashton. I think it’s better for everyone involved if I volunteer my services. Wouldn’t you agree, your majesty?”

“What are you-ah, I forgot,” he laughed, removing the plastic crown from his head. He’d been playing dress-up with Lucy to keep her occupied. “Are you saying Kay can’t cook?” He poured himself a glass before moving to the faucet and refilling Lucy’s water bottle, screwing the lid back on.

“I am not saying that, but I’m not saying she can either. I remain neutral about the subject for the record,” you responded as you weighed out your dry ingredients.

“Very diplomatic, not at all like you,” he teased, leaning with his back to the counter watching you work.

“What can I say? I’m in a good mood, I got laid last night.” You shrugged while turning away from him to check your mixer and add the oil and eggs. When you bent down to grab the muffin tin, you heard a low whistle behind you, making you shake your head.

“Stop it,” you protest, “I look like a potato right now.”

“Don’t you dare,” Calum scolded, scowling at you.

You paused, looking back at him, momentarily confused at his sudden change in his demeanor until you saw the little crinkles around his eyes giving him away.

“That’s my wife you’re talking about. Those are fighting words.” You could feel his presence behind you, close but not touching. His voice a low rumble next to your ear, his breath tickling your skin.

“You’d fight a pregnant woman? I thought you were a gentleman.” You turned around, batting your eyes at him.

His fingers grazed your jawline before cupping your chin. “You are most fortunate, for while I would fight to the death for my Queen’s honor, I could never strike a lady,” he proclaimed, adopting a Scottish accent that never failed to give you giggles. He leaned in closer, dropped the accent, and lowered his voice, both in tone and volume.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t bend you over give you a spanking if you don’t watch that mouth.”

You shivered despite the heat in the kitchen from the oven. Or was it something else? His lips were so close, so tempting, and the next thing you knew you were on your tiptoes going in for a kiss. His hands slid around your waist and his thigh pressed between your legs.

“Why are you kissing? You said I could have a drink, Daddy,” Lucy interrupted before you got too carried away.

“I’ve got your cup right here, Lulu,” Calum said over his shoulder. Turning back to you, he whispered, “I’ll take care of you later.”

“Feels like you need taken care of yourself, Daddy,” you purr in his ear, brushing against his crotch with your hip as you turn back to your cake.

“You’re gonna get it later,” he hissed.

“Promises, promises,” you reply.

You turned towards where your daughter was waiting for her dad to return to their game. You stifled a laugh at the sight of her, hands on her hips, her toes brushing the edge of the tile floor, knowing the kitchen was off limits without permission. She made quite a sight in her yellow princess Belle dress, and green butterfly wings she’d squished her pigtails into her blue sparkle crown to keep it somewhat balanced while wielding a light saber.

Lucy loved making up characters and thanks to after Halloween sales she had a trunk full of costumes and accessories. Queen Koa, Ruler of the Butterflies, was her new favorite. Since they brought Astro home last week she even had a sidekick. The only costume that fit the corgi/shepherd mix was a pair of reindeer ears from the previous Christmas, and while he patiently wore the headband, the dog did not look pleased.

“I’m coming, Lulu, we’ll leave Mommy to finish her baking. Come on, Max, we’re hitting up Whoville in the morning.”

“He’s not Max Daddy, he’s Astro,” Lucy scolded, shaking her finger at him.

You rolled your lips in tightly to keep the smile off your face and turned away so she wouldn’t see. Lucy was a handful and a half already, and she definitely didn’t need her sass encouraged.

“Are you making cupcakes for me?” Lucy asked, spotting the paper muffin cups in your hand.

“I’m making cupcakes for Annie’s birthday, Saturday,” you answered.

“Annie is my other best friend, she’s gonna be five,” Lucy told Astro before turning back to you. “When do I turn five Mommy?”

“You know that Lulu, your birthday is in two months,” Calum reminded her.

“Can we pretend it’s my birthday? Then I can have cupcakes and presents.” Lucy tugged on her dad’s pant leg, turning her pleading dark eyes on him.

“I think you get enough presents, sweetpea. You just got a dog five days ago. That’s a big present for it not being your birthday.”

“You buy Mommy presents all the time, and it’s not her birthday,” Lucy pouted.

Calum reached down and pushed her bottom lip back in before scooping her up, careful not to knock off her wings.

“That’s because she’s the love of my life, that’s why I married her. Mommy takes such good care of all of us, and I want to make sure she knows how much I love her. She gave me the best present I’ve ever received. She gave me you,” he told her, tickling her ribs and making her giggle.

“So you don’t get divorced like Uncle Luke?” Lucy asked, and you exchanged concerned looks with your husband. Lucy questioned everything. Recently, she and Annie, the eldest of Ashton’s three girls, discovered the concept of divorce and kept bringing it up.

“I’ve told you sweetpea, you don’t have to worry about that. Now let’s go play and leave Mommy alone. Maybe she’ll let us have a cupcake later,” Calum winked at you before setting Lucy back down. As he did her wings knocked over his tea glass, spilling the bit of remaining liquid onto the counter.

“I’ll be there in a second, let me wipe this up,” Calum told her, but she stayed where she was.

He reached across you to grab a paper towel, and you couldn’t resist landing a kiss on his bicep as he did. He paused and flexed his muscle allowing his t-shirt sleeve to ride up revealing a line of slightly paler skin.

“Come on, Daddy,” Lucy whined.

You kissed him a second time, right on his tattoo of Lucy’s baby footprints. You then gave him a little nip on the tattoo just above it, a brightly colored geometric floral design which he let you pick out. He’d gotten the ink when he took you to Costa Rica after being kept apart ten weeks by a lockdown. You had a similar flower on your shoulder, right where Calum landed his own quick kiss, leaving a heated spot on your skin despite the fabric of your shirt.

“I’ll take care of you later babe, after she goes down for the night,” you whisper.

“Not if I get to you first,” he growled before grabbing his crown and following Lucy and Astro back towards the playroom.

*******

The vacation to Costa Rica was the first vacation you’d taken without any of the other guys, and for the first two days you’d barely seen anything past the walls of your bedroom. Finally, on day three you’d dragged Calum, who pouted but went along with you, to peruse the shops and wander the beach. He’d found the tattoo shop and after talking to the artist, he’d convinced you to get one along with him.

The artist inverted the color palette of Calum’s design for your tattoo when Calum had explained how you were opposite expressions of the same thought. He’d held your hand the whole time, and you’d been so giddy from his presence you didn’t remember feeling any pain. Afterwards he’d taken you out to a restaurant overlooking the beach.

You’d split a bottle of wine with dinner before walking back to your beachfront cabana. Calum’s cheeks were flushed red as he kissed you and pulled you into the hammock tied up on the screened-in veranda. You shifted so your head was resting on his chest with his arm behind your neck. At first you were both quiet, listening to the waves crashing and the faint sounds of other tourists in the distance.You were getting drowsy, but then Calum began talking. He started by going through all the ways he’d kept himself occupied during the previous couple of months. He told you he’d been trying to write while stuck at home, but boredom combined with anxiety didn’t birth creativity. You were so enchanted with the sound of listening to his voice that you weren’t concentrating on his words and almost missed it.

“That morning was when I finally realized that I was in love with you,” he confessed.

In that moment your world contracted, time seemed to stop, all other noise ceased as your brain focused solely on him. He pressed you against him skin to skin so you could feel his heart racing and knew he could feel yours. You had barely let yourself imagine this happening.

The past eight months had been the happiest you’d ever been in a relationship. You were hopelessly smitten since he’d kissed in the car after your first date. He’d given you every sign he was seriously into you. You slowly met the friend group, first Ashton for coffee, followed by dinner at The Clifford’s house and finally, Disneyland with the group. Six weeks ago, his sister’s trip to the US was canceled, delaying your chance to meet his family.

The way you caught him staring at you or playing with your hair when he thought you were sleeping. The small gifts and notes he sent you from around the world when he traveled, when he found something that reminded him of you. Staying up late discussing life and love and later hearing your own words woven into the lyrics of a song. Experimenting with different pancake recipes to make you breakfast because you hated the smell of cooked eggs. Calum showed you he loved you before he ever found the courage to say it.

The words made it real. Your throat constricted in fear, as his words made you admit the enormity of your own feelings. Everyone you’d ever loved had used it against you. You shifted, lifting your head from his chest so you could look into his eyes. You felt a twinge of pain seeing the same apprehension and fear of falling you were feeling. Despite that, Calum was trusting you with his heart, and if he would hold your hand, you were ready to jump with him.

“What did you say?” You whispered, needing to make sure you heard him correctly.

Calum frowned, disappointed you hadn’t been listening. You shift again, moving in the hammock so you were lying on top of him.

“I heard you, but can you please say it again,” you were embarrassed how squeaky your voice sounded in your own ears.

Calum smiled again, and the sight made you flush warm and tingle all over.

“I said I realized I was in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for quite some time. I was too chickenshit to say it, and I knew you’d never say it unless I did first.” Calum paused, biting his lip, waiting to see how you’d respond.

“You know me so well, another reason I love you.” He met your words with a kiss, followed by many more kisses. After some careful maneuvering to get out of the hammock, Calum pulled you into bed and showed you the love he struggled so hard to put into words.

You remembered every electric detail of that night and thinking about it made you squeeze your thighs together, standing there covered in cake flour. Calum swore it was that night, making love for the first time after his confession, tangled in each other, looking down at you, and proclaiming his love as he found his high, your daughter was conceived.

You smiled to yourself as you measured out the cupcake batter, trying to remember how many times as you’d made love on that trip. You made yourself stop thinking about it. You had to open the freezer and let cold air calm you down a bit. This pregnancy had your hormones raging and if not for Lucy you’d call your husband into the kitchen to have his way with you for the next 22-25 minutes.

*******

Lucy’s eyes went wide when she saw the bright wrapping paper and bows as Calum pulled two boxes out from behind his back. She’d scarfed down the cupcake you’d given her for dessert. It was no mystery where she inherited her sweet tooth from. You spotted crumbs on Calum’s shirt, and he’d already stolen one earlier, before you even frosted them.

She began clapping gleefully and bouncing in her chair, “Pretend birthday, birthday, birthday,” she sang out, catching Astro’s attention.

The dog wandered over and rested his chin on her chair. You pulled her out of her booster seat, took her hand, and the three of you followed Calum into the living room.

“Ok Lucy, Astro, come sit down with me,” Calum sat on the floor and placed the packages in front of him.

“You can help me open my presents, Astro,” Lucy plopped down and grabbed for the closest box.

“Hold on now, what have we told you about grabbing without asking?” Calum snatched it out of her reach.

Lucy thought about it a second, her face flashing from outrage to sadness, and you thought she might cry until she saw tears would not sway her father. She frowned, and you saw a stubborn glare settle in that made you cringe a little knowing she got it from you. As she glanced at the presents and back to Calum your daughter decided to skip the theatrics tonight and went straight for her secret weapon. Her brown eyes went wide, and she smiled sweetly.

“Please, Daddy, can we open my pretend birthday presents? Thank you,” she paused. “I love you, Mommy,” Lucy blinked up at you, covering all her bases.

Calum pretended to think it over until Astro whined and he couldn’t keep a straight face any longer. He handed the packages over and Lucy tore into the paper and ripped the lid off the box. She stopped short when she found a folded up garment instead of a toy.

“Its clothes,” she stated, still excited but very much puzzled. She pulled it out and tried to sound out the letters across the front. You and Calum both took time with her each day for “reading time” and she was getting good at her ABCs and some small words. She worked out “I’m” before she needed help with “going.” She shushed him and carefully read “to be a big” word for word until she got stuck.

“Sss sss is,” Calum prompted, and you saw it click in her head.

“Sister, it’s sister,” Lucy was so hyped about reading that the meaning wasn’t sinking in.

“Read it all together,” he pointed to each word.

“I’m going to be a big sister,” she read out loud. “What did Astro get?” Lucy loved presents and unwrapping was her favorite part.

You held back a giggle as Calum shot you a frustrated glance where you sat, still recording the scene. Astro’s present was a smaller box with a bandana. She held it up, recognizing the words that matched her shirt until the last one.

“Brother,” Calum interrupted, a bit impatient now.

“Babe, she’ll get it,” you winked at him from behind your phone. “What does it say, Lulu?”

She looked up at you and held it up, posing for the camera with a big grin before turning it back around. “It says, I’m going to be a big brother.” Now she was hamming it up and using her Miss Menkin voice from her favorite show, “She-nanigans.”

“Lucy honey, what does yours say?” you asked, trying to keep her attention.

“I told you, Mommy,” she let the tiniest hint of exasperation creep into her voice. “Mine says I’m going to be a big sister.”

“What do you think that means, sweetpea?” Calum prodded.

Lucy’s features scrunched up as she pondered it for a second before she looked up at him.

“Are you getting a puppy?” She asked and Calum cracked up at her crestfallen face, which made Lucy mad because he thought he was making fun of her. She still held a grudge against all puppies for the one that peed on her last week, so she was not happy at the thought of them getting one.

He tried to apologize and pull himself together, but she squirmed away and came to you almost in tears.

“Mommy, I don’t want a puppy,” she threw her head in your lap. “Please don’t give Astro back to the fosters.”

“Lucy, sweetheart, please don’t get upset.” You pulled her up onto the couch with you as Astro’s wet snout nudged your ankles. You glanced at Calum who had stopped laughing and now had the hiccups. He was fumbling for his phone since you’d put yours down. “Astro isn’t a foster puppy. He’s part of our family now, he’s got going anywhere, I promise. I need him to watch out for you and the baby.” You gave your belly a pat and smiled at her. The words hit with a jolt and her hands fluttered up to her face.

“You’re gonna have a baby?” Lucy asked, her eyes dropping to your stomach. “Like Aunt Kay?” She leaned over and placed her hand on your belly the way Kay taught her.

You held your breath, waiting for her reaction. Annie cried both times when they told her she would be a big sister, but it had delighted Kat. Lucy’s face broke into an enormous smile and she leaned down to kiss your stomach.

“Hi baby,” she said before you scooped her up for a hug.

She gave you a hug before hopping off the couch and jumping up and down in place. This got Astro riled up, and he started bouncing on his front paws, throwing his head back and barking at the ceiling. She ran over to Calum and tried to hold still so he could pull her big sister shirt on over her clothes. She chattered excitedly into the camera, telling her Nana Joy about how she was gonna be a big sister.

“I wanna call Nana Joy,” the whine that crept into your daughter’s voice made you check the clock, and sure enough it was almost bedtime.

You started to get up, but your husband stopped you.

“I’ve got this darling, you need to rest,” Calum told you.

“I’m fine, Cal,” you insisted, standing up. “While you put her in bed, I’m gonna finish up in the kitchen so I’m not worrying about it later.”

“Say goodnight sweetpea, it’s bedtime. We’ll call Nana Joy tomorrow and we can all tell her together,” Calum told her as he cleaned up the torn paper and discarded ribbon.

“Goodnight mama,” Lucy looked up at you as she wrapped herself around your legs. She reached up and patted your belly. “Goodnight baby.”

Your heart melted at the gesture and you bent down to give her a kiss before sending her off with her dad.

“Can I have a story and a song?” Lucy asked, and you knew Calum wouldn’t be back for a while.

You puttered around in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and making overnight oatmeal for Lucy’s breakfast. You could hear the faintest sound of Calum whistling and you grinned, picking up the tune yourself. “Little Surprises” was Lucy’s favorite song and one of the band’s biggest hits. Not to mention your one and only number one hit as they used your whistle on the track, giving you a writing credit.

Ashton heard you whistling at Calum one night while visiting the guys in the studio, three weeks after you’d gotten back from Costa Rica. He’d made you record the cadence while everyone else took a break to eat. Calum was waiting outside the booth with a kiss and a plate of food. Ashton was fussing over Kay, who had a paper plate with two slices of pepperoni pizza carefully balanced on her hugely pregnant belly. She was set to have the baby any day now, and Ashton refused to let her out of his sight. The baby bag was resting in the corner, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

You settled next to Kay on the couch while the guys sprawled on the floor. You hadn’t cared for her when you’d first met. She reminded you too much of yourself, boisterous and opinionated whereas Sierra and Crystal were much more chill. You’d sorted things out over a love of hockey and Wednesday ladies’ night at Kyoto Sushi. You realized however that she needed a forceful personality to be with a man like Ashton. Ashton was prone to dark moods, as he called them, and she’d been his rock when he’d crumbled just weeks before their wedding. Ashton had recovered in time and then managed to get his new wife pregnant on their honeymoon. You had no doubt her ability to find serenity amongst chaos would serve her well juggling a new baby and Ashton.

You looked at your plate and your stomach turned at the sight of the grease congealing on top of the gooey cheese. You pushed the pizza to the side in favor of the salad. You nibbled on a cucumber, listening to the guys until you caught Kay looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“Are you ok?” She asked dipping her pizza crust into the cup of garlic butter sauce and you laughed at how happy she looked. She’d mostly stuck to a super healthy diet throughout her pregnancy, but pizza was her weakness. Normally you’d be fighting her for the garlic knots and she noticed.

“Yeah, I’ve just had terrible heartburn this past week. I’ve eaten two rolls of Tums in three days,” you told her.

“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” Kay joked, “because that was me seven months ago. My doctor put me on famotadine. It saved my life.” She fished a bottle out of her bag and handed you a pill.

“What the hell, don’t try to curse me just because you got knocked up,” you felt your cheeks get hot as you mentally counted backwards to your last period.

Her eyes met yours before they dropped to your belly, then Kay winked at you and laughed. You looked over at Calum who was laughing along with her until he caught your expression. His eyebrows shot up in a question but before he said anything he glanced around remembering where you were. Kay yelped with pain, drawing everyone’s attention to her.

“Wooo that was a big kick. Your daughter has strong legs babe,” Kay laughed and conversation picked back up. Ashton got up to check on her, unable to keep his hands off his wife for very long.

She thinks I’m pregnant? Holy shit, what if she’s right? You didn’t want to think about it. Calum picked up on your change in mood and nudged your knee and motioned for you to lean down.

“Everything good?” He asked, and you kissed his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” you replied, but you were trying to do the math in your head.

Calum grabbed your hand and brushed his lips across the back of your fingers.

“We’ll leave soon. I think Kay’s reached her limit for the day,” He nodded towards Ashton, helping his wife make her way to the bathroom.

You watched Michael drag Calum back into the booth to work on something. Ashton came back in trying to whistle your tune, but he kept messing up the middle.

You whistled back, hitting the notes in order. “I want a writing credit for that,” you told him.

“Tell your boyfriend to write something then. He’s helped fuck all with lyrics lately. Hard for him to write when he’s happy,” he teased, but you felt a little guilty.

Ashton saw your frown, and he plopped down next to you on the couch.

“Hey,” he nudged your knee with his. “Calum’s really happy, I’ve never seen him like this before, and that can be hard to write. Turmoil, heartbreak, anger, those are much easier, and that’s why we have Luke. We’ve been riding that codependency train for a few albums now.”

You were skeptical. “You’ve been writing, and you’re happy.”

“I’m thrilled,” Ashton grinned at you, “but I’m also fucking terrified. I can’t believe we’re gonna have a little girl. Who decided I was grown enough to be in charge of a baby?”

“You’re gonna be fine. You’ll make a great dad, and besides, Kay will not let things get too out of hand,” you told him.

He reached his arm around you and gave you a little squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. He tried to whistle again, frustrated when he couldn’t get it right.

“Keep trying, you’ll get it,” you laughed as he pouted.

Ashton never got it, neither did Luke. Fortunately, Michael and Calum figured it out rather quickly. These days the audience did it for them. You were still whistling as you kicked the dishwasher door shut and Calum walked in just as the water whooshed. Your husband whistled back and began playing air bass and beginning to sing the song.

You hopped up on the counter and watched him bop through the kitchen. You loved watching him on stage. He came alive under the lights, in front of a crowd, playing with his brothers and bandmates. The way he smiled and teased the crowd, sticking his tongue out, his fingers working over the strings, turned you on more than anything else in the world. Although having him singing and dancing in your kitchen looked pretty good right now.

He leaned in for a kiss at the “never knew love, until I found you,” line, and when your lips met, the song was momentarily forgotten. You pulled him closer, so he stepped between your legs as you wrapped them around his waist. You gave him several quick kisses on the lips before you landed one on his nose. You were kissing your way across his jawline when he whistled again.

“Really?” You laughed as you pulled back to look at him.

“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin. “It’s really stuck in my head.”

“I was thinking about the night in the studio when Ashton got all pissy when he couldn’t get it but Michael could. That night was something else,” you said.

Calum’s eyes got huge. He shook his head, and he exhaled in a rush of air. “That night, yeah, it was something else all right.”

On the way home from the studio, you’d been quiet. Calum asked you several times if you were ok and you brushed him off until he finally pulled into the parking lot of a CVS Pharmacy.

Calum reached over and rubbed the back of your neck. “I heard what Kay said and you’ve been acting weird ever since. How about we get a test and see if there’s really anything to worry about?”

“What if I’m not ready?” You snapped, hating how you sounded. You knew you were being stubborn, but you got defensive easily. You expected Calum to start an argument or at least get mad. He’d never had a temper with you, but you kept waiting to see when it would come out. Every man in your life, except Calum, had let you down. You didn’t want to be wrong again.

Calum took your hands in his as he looked you in the eye. You could feel his hands tremble, but he didn’t let go.

“Whenever you’re ready, this isn’t about me. I mean, I’m involved, but I’m not going to push you to do anything you don’t want. I love you and I want to be with you no matter what. Will you at least come back and stay with me tonight?”

You nodded, and he started the car. You stopped him as he reached for the gearshift. He shut the car off and looked at you. You opened the door and hopped out, not looking back as you made your way into the store. You bought three pregnancy tests and got the female pharmacy tech to ring you up so you could avoid the bored teenage boy playing on his phone working the cash register up front. You rushed back out to the car where Calum was waiting.

“Just drive, please,” you told him. You stared out the window the whole way there, chattering the entire way.

“This is so dumb. We used protection most of the time and I was only a couple weeks late getting the shot because they canceled on me. They tell me it can take months to get pregnant after being on Depo so there’s just no way. Kay has my brain scrambled with all her pregnancy energy.” You stopped talking when he turned onto his street, and he reached over and squeezed your knee.

“I have to pee, anyway. I’ll be right back,” you told him.

“You wanna do this now?” He asked, and you saw the fear he was trying so hard to hold back.

“Would you rather stare at the bag and wonder?”

“You’re right. I’ll be in the kitchen. Do you want a cup of tea?” Calum asked, and from the way he was fidgeting you knew he wanted a cigarette.

“Thanks Cal, why don’t you go smoke, and then tea would be nice. Love you babe.“

“I love you more,” he called out, and you heard the backdoor slide open and then close.

You took two tests out of bag and managed not to make too big of a mess peeing in the little cup. You laid the little square piece of plastic out on the sink before you unwrapped the other test and took the cap off the end. You took a deep breath and dipped the rest edge before adding three drops to the test window. You refused to look or even clean up and ran out of the bathroom straight into Calum’s chest where he was waiting. You were shaking, unable to figure out what you were feeling as your emotions whirled and fought for control of your brain. Calum said nothing. He hugged you and stroked your hair, but you could feel his heart racing against your cheek.

"How long do we wait?"

"I forgot to look"

He pulled out his phone and looked it up. "It says three minutes. Has it been three minutes?" Calum asked you.

"I think so."

Calum grabbed your ass, "Jump," he commanded, and you did. He grabbed you under your thighs and carried you into the bathroom with him.

"I can't look," you told him, burying your face in his neck.

You felt his head move, and you waited for him to tell you the results. When he said nothing, when he didn't move but slowly took a deep breath, you knew what it said. You lifted your head to see for yourself, but your vision was too blurry as you tried to hold back tears. Calum set you down, so you were back on your feet and wrapped his arms around you, clutching you to him as you sobbed. When you heard Calum sniffle and felt his chest heave your feelings of guilt overwhelmed the fear. You pushed back, not wanting to let go of Calum, but you had the hiccups and needed to blow your nose if you wanted to breathe.

When you finished you wiped your eyes and finally saw the tests. Both were positive. You sat on the closed toilet lid, unable to look at Calum.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you told him, and started crying again. "This is all my fault. I should've been more careful."

Calum crouched down in front of you and pulled your hands away from your face. His hands cupped your chin and lifted your eyes to meet his.

"This isn't your fault and there's nothing you have to apologize for. There were two of us in that room, and I'm the one who didn't wear a condom. If anyone should apologize, it's me. It's a bit late for that now. I love you and we'll figure this out together."

You nodded, but you couldn't stop crying. "I love you too, but I'm scared. I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I know how to do this."

"I'm scared too, and we don't have to figure everything out tonight," Calum stood up and held his hand out. You let him lead you out of the bathroom and into the living room.

"I know how you are, you need time to think and process everything. We don't have to talk, but can you cuddle with me, please? I just really need to be close to you right now."

You sat on the long lounge side of the couch propping yourself up against the armrest and Calum laid against you, his head resting on your shoulder, your hand held in both of his as you turned on the TV. Neither of you paid any attention to the show, both lost in your own minds until you fell asleep holding on to each other. When you woke up Calum was already awake, writing lyrics in his journal.

"Come back to me" Calum stroked your cheek , and you smiled at him. He didn't like to think how afraid of losing you he'd been when he started writing that night. Between your parents multiple divorces and your own rocky history you were more afraid of commitment than he was. Together you'd been able to overcome that fear, but Calum wasn't sure you even wanted kids. The line "nothing scares me except the thought of losing you" was the first line he wrote of what would become "Little Surprises."

"Remember how we were rudely woken up after we finally fell asleep?" Calum asked.

"That 6 am phone call," you shook your head, the melancholy moment drifting away as you remembered the panic when Kay went into labor the next morning. It took 14 hours for Annie to be born, and Ashton didn't leave his wife's side for more than a few minutes. "Remember when Kay said the baby looked like a potato and Ashton got mad when we all laughed."

"Not as mad as when Luke asked if Annabelle Rose was a name they got from Twilight," Calum responded.

"He was completely over the moon with Annie. Remember how he'd hold her like he was afraid she'd break?" You mused, thinking back to Ashton holding his tiny baby girl in those enormous hands, so proud and so nervous.

"We got our first number one hit out of it though," Calum responded.

Ashton managed to tear himself away from his new family after a month to team up with Calum to finish his song. They got it recorded just under the deadline for the album. The fans were in a frenzy leading up to the album's release with the guys telling them this album contained the most personal songs they'd ever written, especially from Calum.

The lead up to "Little Surprises" each of the guys dropped a picture of how their family changed since the last album. Michael posted a sunset pic with his wife, two dogs and a new puppy. Luke posted a behind the scenes look at his dance rehearsals with Sierra for their first waltz as a married couple. Ashton posted a collage of artsy black and white silhouettes of his wife while she was pregnant. Calum was so secretive that no one even knew you were in a serious relationship with him.

"I'm still amazed we kept it all a secret," you told him. While some fans suspected something was up, most overlooked you as not being his type.

The fans lost their minds when the day the single dropped Calum released a picture of his then three week old daughter's fingers grasping his thumb. The caption "I'd like you to meet Lucy Koa Hood, I've never been happier. Life's really full of little surprises."

"I believe I made a promise earlier that I intend to keep," Calum raised his eyebrows and pulled you down off the counter. You looked at him, puzzled, as he tugged your hand till you were standing at the far end of the kitchen.

"Turn around," he instructed, and when you did he pushed you up against the kitchen island so your back was to him, you could see the entrance to the kitchen, while keeping your lower half hidden from view. He eased your yoga pants down over your hips and got on his knees behind you.

"Keep an eye out for the little one and try not to be too loud," you heard his muffled voice before you felt him kissing his way up your thigh.

"I'll whistle," you half moaned as your husband hummed against your skin.

(If you want added or removed from the tag list lmk. I’m really flying blind on this one)

@sublimehood @tea4sykes @be-ready-when-i-say-go @scribblesos @wildmichaelflower @notinthesameguey @sexgodashton @irwinkitten @mermaidcashton @malumsmermaid

#calum hood #calum 5sos #dad!sos #dad!calum #dad!ashton #ashton irwin #luke hemmings #michael clifford #5sos #Lucy and Calum #lucy koa hood

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rose-tarts-and-angel-hearts · 4 years

Text

Twisted Wonderland OCs; Ignatius Aquarii and Kelly Linette

{Art Credit: Pic crew}

Twisted from Maui from Moana

Name: Ignatius Aquarii

Name meaning: Ignatius; Means fiery one, I chose this name for him as Maui’s name meant “the god of fire” so I tried to choose a name somewhat similar ( hopefully) Aquarii; I took Ignatius’s surname from one of the brightest stars in his zodiac sign; Aquarius, the star’s full name is ‘beta Aquarii’

Age: 16

Birthday: February 9

Star sign: Aquarius

Myers Briggs Personality Type: ESTP- A

Alinement: Chaotic good

Gender: Male

Height: 184cm (6ft)

Hair Color: White #ffffff with strands of very pale blue hair #ebebff

Eye Colour: Very light blue #94caff

Dominate Hand: Ambidextrous

Homeland: Land of Pyroxene

Species: Human

School: Noble Swan University

Dorm: Riffmond

Year: 1st

Occupation: Student

Club: Basketball club

Best Subject: Practical magic

Favorite Food: Sashimi, Unagi (freshwater eel), roast or fried chicken

Least Favorite Food: Fried Eggs

Likes: tattoos, The beach, Telling/ Boasting about his achievements.

Dislikes: People who don’t walk the talk ( In other words, People who does not do what one said one could do, or would do, not just making empty promises. ), nagging

Hobby: Surfing, Playing the guitar, DJ’ing

Talents: Shadow puppets, Arcade games, Lock picking

Unique Magic: ink world

Ignatius has the ability to send people into an ‘ink world’ in their minds, which leaves them in a vulnerable and dazed state. To explain in detail, the person Ignatius uses his unique magic on, turns unresponsive as if they are in a trance. ( For example In the song “ You’re welcome” Moana was in a different (?) world in her head while her body was spun into a cave so that Maui could steal her boat. )

Appearance

Ignatius is Tall and pretty muscular, with naturally tanned skin. He has light cyan-ish eyes that are slightly pointed and upturned, his hair is white with strands of very pale blue hair, that is brushed back, he has a short blue braid hanging down the right side of his face. Ignatius has many ear piercings and Tattoos, ( on his upper body, neck, chest, arms ) he proudly displays them by wearing a black singlet, and an unbuttoned white collared shirt that is slightly pulled down to show off the tattoos he got on his shoulder. He wears black cargo pants that are secured with a black belt and are tucked into military boots. His purple dorm ribbon is tied on one of the belt loops (?). He also dons many silver rings and an enchanted charm bracelet made by Kelly.

Personality

Ignatius gives off a rather..hmm what’s that word...oh oh! F-boy impression, as he’s always teasing and seems to not be serious about anything, but he’s actually quite a sweetheart, going out of his way to help people he considers friends, though he may be quite mischievous and tactless. Ignatius is rather boastful and egotistical, which would usually lead people like him into trouble since he’s a quite rash person, but he doesn’t get into physical fights, he usually uses his unique magic to just embarrass the person in some way. Though Ignatius make act like a dumb dumb sometimes, he’s actually really smart, both street smart and academically, in terms of grades he comes in fourth place in his level. He can be rather perceptive too and will show care and concern for those he cares about, but mostly prefers to keep things fast-paced and silly rather than emotional or serious.

Backstory

Ignatius’s mother remarried a wealthy business man a few years after Ignatius was born. ( Ignatius’s father passed away before he was born) As Ignatius’s step-father didn’t have any kids of his own, he doted a lot on Ignatius, thus spoiling him a lot. Ever since Ignatius was young he showed a lot of potential and talent of being a good wizard, thus receiving a lot of praise from his parents, teachers, and friends. This soon got to his head, and he became very arrogant and disrespectful towards people he considered ‘lower’ than himself, he lost a lot of friends in the process, and was out casted by most of them. At first Ignatius acted like he was fine with people ignoring him, though he actually felt a bit lonely inside. Soon he grew tired of people out casting him but was too prideful to apologize, so he decided to play truant, his mindset was changed after meeting an ‘angel’ during one of his escapes.

Trivia

-Ignatius is ambidextrous but prefers to use his left hand.

-He has 10 ear piercings in total, and over 16 tattoos

-He got his first tattoo at 13 years old ( His mother screamed at him when she found out )

-He has 1 ‘magic tattoo’ on his arm of a mini him, Ignatius will ‘activate’ mini Ignatius to dance and perform on the other tattoos he has to entertain people.

-Kelly used to be the one who’ll braid his hair but since they’re in different dorms, he recently learned to do it himself.

-Ignatius is horrible at cooking thus he hates fried eggs as he doesn’t know how to control the heat, so his eggs always end up burnt.

-Ignatius would be in Scarabia if he went to NRC

{ART CREDIT: top-left to right; Drawing done by me ( I know it sucks..sorry for scaring your eyes), Picture from V roid Mobile, Picture from Pic crew. Middle-Left to right; Yerenica from seduce the villain’s father ( I thought they looked pretty similar! Hence why I used her photo here.), Kelly’s uniform link here!, Yerenica, Bottom-Left to right; V roid mobile, Yerenica, V roid mobile}

Name: Kelly Linette

Name meaning: Kelly; Means warrior or Bright minded ( In Kelly’s case I wanted to utilize both meanings in her name, As I wanted her to be both smart and strong, someone who does not give up easily, and uses her wit and intelligence to solve problems.) Linette; Means pretty one. The name is also derived from a songbird, the Linnet. ( I wanted to use this as her surname as I wanted her to be pretty I wanted this to symbolize how she’s good at singing, like how linnet birds are known for their melodious voices.)

Age: 15 (She’s a year younger as she skipped a level/grade)

Myers Briggs Personality Type: ENFJ- T

Alinement: Neutral Good

Gender: Female

Height: 147 cm ( 4′10ft )

Hair Color: Very pale pink #ffe9f0

Eye colour: Very light Cyan #87d6eb

Dominate Hand: Right

Homeland: Empire of Fortune

Species: Human

School: Noble Swan University

Dorm: Briable

Year: 1st

Occupation: Student, famous singer

Club: Board Game Club

Best Subject: Magical Enchantments

Favorite Food: Strawberry and Milk Kakigori , Spicy food

Least Favorite Food: Cilantro

Likes: Winning, free time

Dislikes: Disappointing others/letting people down, People who shrink away from their responsibilities.

Hobby: Making enchanted Charm bracelets, exercising

Talents: Singing, weight lifting, reading and manipulating people

Unique Magic: Lucky Stars

Kelly’s Unique Magic is called “Lucky Stars”. This ability gives her an automatic and continuous supply of good luck, she’s able to use this ability by saying “ Star light, star bright, The first star I see tonight; I wish I may, I wish I might, Have the wish I wish tonight” , whenever she recites this things will always turn in her favor, be it a test or a battle, her wishes will always come true, she is able to project this into her charm bracelets, though it’s not as effective and acts more like warding charm, she’s only able to use her unique magic for a total of 40 minutes in a day, as it takes a lot of magic and effort to keep it up.

Appearance

Kelly is short and petite, with a very fair complexion. She has long pastel pink hair that is styled in a half-up do tied with her dorm ribbon, her hair ends below her butt. She has big doe like eyes that are a pale cyan, which are framed by long and thick eyelashes.(very pretty! I wanna be pretty too~~) She has a very innocent doll-like appearance. She wears grey checkered uniform ( uniform in the picture! but the skirt ends around her mid-thigh) with a ribbon of her dorm colour, tied around her collar and is secured with a white and gold brooch, she wears black mary jane shoes with lacey white ankle socks. She has a very ethereal-angel-ish vibe overall.

Personality

Kelly is very kind and understanding person, accepting everyone as they are and doesn’t judge anyone, she’s a passionate altruist, warm and selfless, sometimes even to a fault. However, Kelly is quite manipulative, she’s gifted in people reading and is natural-born leader, full of passion, charismatic charm and a natural confidence that begets influence, she isn’t always manipulating people to hurt them or for personal gain, she simply wants people to do more or better because it will benefit them or help them realize some potential. She’s likeable and trustworthy and, as a result, others are generally compelled to listen and follow her. Though Kelly can and will purposely manipulate those who treat her friends badly. Kelly has good control of her behavior and words, but she will purposely snap to those who try to use her or her friends, before simply covering up her actions with her silver tongue. “ Can’t you put on a better show for me? pretty please!” * Smiles cutely* Despite having a natural confidence, she defines her self-esteem by whether she’s are able to live up to others’ ideals, so she’s quite insecure, always wondering about what she could’ve done better. If she fails to meet a goal or people’s expectations of her, her self-confidence will undoubtedly plummet.

Backstory

Kelly came from quite a normal family, if having renowned parents were considered normal at least, her father was a famous fashion designer and her mother, a world-wide known actress, both ‘fell in love’ after Kelly’s mother was scouted as the main model for her father’s brand. Since Kelly’s parents were very prominent people in the entertainment world, she been in the spotlight since she was born. As both of Kelly’s parents were workaholics, she was often brought along business trips and photoshoots, she was famous among scouters for her beauty and sweet voice, thus it wasn’t long before Kelly herself was offered contracts. One of her contracts required her to go to the Land of Pyroxene for an advertisement, where she met a peculiar boy.

Trivia

- Kelly has a insanely high spice tolerance, she can probably eat a Carolina reaper like it’s a snack.

- Kelly doesn’t know how to use social media so she doesn’t have a magicam account...(yet)

- 1st in her grade for studies.

- Kelly has wavy hair that tangles easily, it may look super soft to run your fingers through-and it is-only if you can get through the knots first.

- Kelly is very innocent she doesn’t understand about *cough reproduction cough*

- Isn’t educated in the way of memes, trends, vines, slang.

- Kelly is gifted in singing, but she’s horrible with music instruments.

- Known as the ‘Angel’ in NSU.

- F e n c i n g

- Kelly may be small in size, but she’s surprisingly strong! She could probably carry Jack around all day if she wanted to.

-Puppy dog eyes 24/7

- Kelly sucks at computer games or any online game.

@twistinghearts @nobleswansong ( Hehe! I was anon who asked if I could tag you! I hope these OCs aren’t made super badly...)

#noble swan university #twisted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland fandorm #twisted wonderland fan school #NSU #twistinghearts #nobleswansong

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crazyclownthanos · 4 years

Text

The 12 original dragons

Explaination on their heritage, their involvement in the XII bellum, breaking down each character and there purpose.

The Dragons origin

Dragons have been living since the beginning of time. Bringing good luck, offering protection, creating landscapes of eternal beauty. The home of the dragons was in another realm referred to as Nidhogg. A beautiful and enchanting land where the grass dances in the sun and the lake glows like pearls, tall and mighty wooden houses spread across the land, where everyone calls each other family ruled by the royal family.

Forms of Dragons

The citizens of Nidhogg were to have at least 2 forms max.

Jormungandr form. This form allows to have an apperance of a human but have dragon like features for example a tail sticking out or wings pointing

Dragon form. In full dragon, ordinary dragons with magic abilities based on their type of dragon

Who are the 12 original Dragons

The 12 Dragons of Nidhogg represted 12 elements that were told to create life. These dragons were immortal compared to a normal dragon lifespan being 6000 years. The royal family held authority over the 12 dragons, reasoning of how these dragons got given these titles is a ritual is called the dragon blood ritual, where a baby bathes in each blood of the five dragon kings, allegedly if the baby Grows it wings, develop its horns and flourish their tails the five dragon kings have successfully blessed the baby with their treasures.

Faffnir’s circle

Right outside the royal palace laid a circle of most importance, the circle had 5 layers decreasing on size. On the 5th/outer level had Latin words speaking peace. The 4th/2nd largest circle projecting Coptic language of generosity. The 3rd/middle layer showed the language of Sumerian projecting words of governance. The 2nd/second smallest circle displayed words from the Akkadian language of conquest. The smallest circle demonstrate words of the Sanskrit language of balance. The circle did not just carry fancy writing of ruined empires but held something that no mage could offer that was universal seeking. Faffnir’s circle was used to see other universes from their view from places of stone cold planets or worlds of shining emeralds.

History

The royal family proposed an idea of utilising Faffnir’s circle to its full extent of opening the circle big enough for the 12 original dragons to fly through and bless a planet as an experiment to their kind. This experiment came at a cost to open the circle they will need a sacrifice. The citizens of Nidhogg were wary of the experiments success refusing to volunteer. One dragon raised their hand, the kings daughter understanding what this experiment could bring to their land she took it upon herself to be that sacrifice. The princess walked along ripping her dress in a graceful manner throwing her crown into the deepest water the kingdom of Nidhogg witnessed history. As much as the king didn’t want to approve of this he did eventually gave in and had never felt more proud as a father. All the 12 original dragons stood on the fifth circle having a space for one of each meanwhile the princess stood in the middle on the smallest circle. The circle started to move like a ticking clock any form of symbols in Nidhogg started to illuminate, the five dragon kings blood poured faster than before. The experiment resulted as a success, the 12 original dragons made it to a bleak world where the circle of Nidhogg lies, sadly the princess had died fulfilling her purpose to the kingdom the dragons do not grieve but promise themselves and each other that the princess death would not go in vein and a bless a planet. Using there elemental gifts the 12 dragons shaped a world of misty meadows, blue skies, snowy mountains, animals to wander, deep waters of reflection, grassy hills and many others. The dragons would stay loyal and protect this world forever however the XII bellum provoked the dragons into becoming an opponent to the devils who wanted the worlds existence to be removed. the XII bellum came to an ending point when the spirits and the Midgard nomads get involved, their power was that overwhelming it sent the devils back to the underworld and the dragons forced to leave their physical dragon bodies in their elemental field though their souls had to wander searching for souls to entwine with for the day they return to Nidhogg.

Dragon Vessels

A dragon vessel is when a human soul and a dragon soul are entwine with each other. This process happens when a dragon soul finds a human who haven’t manifested an attribute yet meaning the dragon grants the human power to use their magic attribute, turn into a dragon and sometimes appear with dragon like features however these do come at a cost to maintain powers like these you will be reacquired to have a stable magic control, endless amount of training and connect with the dragon producer. Soul separation happens at the age of 6 this will be the year dragon vessels will eventually learn of the power and most importantly the person dwelling within them gaining this new ability the producer or vessel can soul separate however they like but they have limit on how long it goes for, the affects of soul separation are the vessel cannot do magic however the producer can use magic but cannot transform into a dragon. Due to their physical bodies being hidden away dragon producers do not appear having dragon like features appearing to look human. Dragons do use grimoire’s but instead of having a clover or spade at the front instead its a dragon symbolising the strong connection and a color scheme matching the dragons elemental purpose.

Each original Dragon

Ondaerrass

Burden dragon

Dragon vessel: Dove Holmes

Satus: alive (soul entwine)

Species: dragon

Gender: male

Affinity: burden magic

Age: 41 (human years)

Birthday: March 9th

Constellation: Pisces

Height: 197cm (human form), 23ft or 701cm (dragon form)

Eyes: purple

Hair: red

Likes: Jumping off buildings, baths

Appearance

Dragon form: Ondaerrass color scheme’s are black and dark purple. He possess illuminating narrow purple eyes whenever he opens his mouth illuminating purple smoke comes out. Two long horns sprouting out either side of his head. Ondaerrass has black scales all over his dragon body, some scales tend to be bigger and stick out. Protruding wings on the outer side it’s black and on the inner side it’s dark purple side the shape of the wings appear to have the look of ripped curtains very unsymmetrical. A long black tail with spikes pointing out at the end. Details to be pointed out are the smaller horns standing out, above his eye, on his nose, mouth and jaw.

Human form: Ondaerrass has a masculine body, dark skin, a tattoo of a serpent on the left side of his face, a griffin on the middle of his neck, tattoo of a wendigo on his right upper limb, mermaid on his nape, unicorn the left side of his lower back, centaur on the ride of side of his waist, a dragon showing on his abs,sphinx on the right thigh, werewolf on the back of the left knee, chimera on his left ankle, all purple. Narrow lilac eyes, long yet spiky red hair half up in a man bun with a few twigs sticking out. Ondaerrass hates wearing clothing pefers to let it all out though he gets force to wear a purple toned star pattern shoulder cape with a golden piece on the shoulder on the buttom he wears white stained dhoti pants and no shoes.

Personality

Ondaerrass has a chilled personality dosen’t take everything too seriously he tends to cracks up a joke or two in a meeting or tease one of the other dragons, being a big fellow he likes using his height to intimate others before showing off his signature laugh “Bojobojobojobojobojo” . In times of seriousness Ondaerrass does get more quiet and listens more, “shut up and listen to your gut” he would say to anyone making a hard decision.

Battle powers

Burden Magic: This magic attribute allows the user to use his magic as a way of misfortune taking the life out of any environment or creature

Dragon magic: Ondaerrass can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Rhaegal

Lava Dragon

Dragon Vessel: Rekka Marron

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Male

Affinity: Lava magic

Age: 15 but appears to be 40 (human years)

Birthday: April 1st

Constellation: Aries

Height: 203cm (human form), 40ft or 1219cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Ember

Hair: Navy Blue

Likes: Chicken, Booze, nap time

Apperance

Dragon Form: The color scheme for Rhaegal protrays illuminating lava oozing through the brown surface. Wide eyes of hot orange and red illuminating no pupil called for as well as a tongue of steaming hot lava. Horns three sets of horn from smallest the biggest sticking out. Similar to the body of the dragon the wings also share the same flowing lava oozing out of the cracked brown skin. The tail is short and stumpy a brown tail. The snout has rocky features chipped sometimes when falling small specks of rock could fall down. Out of all the 12 dragons Rhaegal is the biggest meaning the more tired you will become after transforming into a dragon

Human form: Rhaegal shares the same body type as Ondaerrass of both being super masculine. He has fare skin usually can be seen wearing one earring pierced and have light pink scares from battle his most recognizable is the scar going vertically down his left eye and another scar horizontally across his face with a few navy blue beard hairs to add. Rhaegal possess ember eyes. His hair navy blue hair is uasually styled slick back with one piece sticking at the front. Clothes wise Rhaegal wears a medieval base open jacket with the collars standing straight, on the collar dark blue designs could been seen then a soft light blue covering the rest of the jacket (usually the sleeves are rolled up) on the bottom are light olive green baggy pants rolled up, for shoes it’s black boots.

Personality

Rhaegal values are drinking and sleeping he is quickly to get into other peoples face if he thinks of them as an opponent pulling a so called “scary face”. Rhaegal does have a heart of goal looking out for everyone in the Nidhogg kingdom and soon his own devil vessel often taking the time of babysitting him while the parents are off performing magic knight duties. Rhaegal isn’t short tempered and has shown be very paitent. In battle Rhaegal can break anything that stands in his way and once he has made up his mind on something he stays on that.

Battle powers

Lava magic: This attribute allows Rhaegal to create and manipulate lava. Rhaegal has shown impressive skills of manipulation even manipulating the mantle of the earth.

Dragon Magic: Rhaegal can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Ju-Long

Bliss Dragon

Dragon Vessel: unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Male

Affinity: Bliss Magic

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: September 23rd

Constellation: Libra

Height: 167cm (human form), 15ft or 457cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Blue

Hair: White

Likes: Being on time, Strong cappuccino

Apperance

Dragon form: Ju-Long has the dragon form of any common dragon. His color scheme is shiny white with tints of grey. The color of his eyes are glowing blue that shines of diamonds along with blue mouthsmoke having the scent of pureness. One set of curved horns pointing upward moreover sets of horns in perfect form in sets of two scaling down the dragons spine. The scales have a look of a shiny white and at the end you can notice tints of grey. Ju-Long has a common dragon wings but not only one he carry’s 3 sets of wings on either side though from an angel you can see his wings be a little too big for his body. The white dragon posses multiple tails of atleast 6 tails all of them have horns sprouting out average size. Details can includes the goats beard dripping down his chin.

Human form: Ju-Long has a thin body type, light skin and has piercing blue eyes together with white hair that covers his forehead and sides of the hair shorter then the rest resting on his shoulder the rest of his hair is quite long and keeps a loose tie at the bottom. For the types of clothing he wears Ju-Long likes wearing ancient traditional clothing his favorite appears to be a traditional ancient Chinese kawaler robe colors consisting of bright red and gold yellow.

Personality

Ju-Long is a cautious individual who’s quick to scream in every situation leading to have little self control and always aiming to be a perfectionist. His main propriety are schedules and following the rules if he dosen’t achieve this he is quick to panic and end up in a emotional state. Whenever crowds ask him for battle strategies he dosen’t give a battle strategy instead an emotional talk of never giving up only making the other original dragons to sigh. Ju-Longs signature move the “tail whip” dosen’t necessarily work but it’s enough for Ju-Long to give himself a pat on the back.

Battle powers

Bliss Magic: This magic affinity grants the user to confuse their opponent into thinking their walking into a dream of eternal bliss but in reality it’s form of hypnotizing paralyzing the opponent

Dragon Magic: Ju-Long can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Alizeh

Sky Dragon

Dragon Vessel: unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Female

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: June 3rd

Constellation: Gemini

Height: 175cm (human form), 20ft or 607cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Grey

Hair: light Pink with black chunky highlights

Likes: Winning, Yogurt

Apperance

Dragon form: Alizeh’s color schemes are are a mix of blue, green and white. For its eyes it carry’s green and mouthsmoke of white clouds. The sky dragon dosen’t have any legs for it has been told that dragon forever remains soaring in the sky. Unlike the other dragons who have rough snouts the sky dragon has a smooth snout along with thick single horns starting from the top of the head to the start of the tail. The scales aren’t normal dragon scales actually they are feathers of toned blue into green. The sky dragon possess angle wings to contribute of flying at a faster speed. The tail is pretty standard having fluff starting at the tail and ending at the point of the tail on both sides so not covering the entire tail.

Human form: Alizeh has an hour glass body type, tanned skin. Eye color wise she possess grey eyes however she covers her eyes with Golden silk cloth. Alizeh’s carry’s light pink hair with black chunky hair lights usually let out with no hair clip or hair ties. Clothing choices she wears a female warrior gladdiator outfit, Pieces of gold wrappped around her chest, elbows, wrist and a belt of gold dripping down not too low aside from all the gold she rocks a sleeve less top brown leather with some lace included for the skirt it’s upper thigh length brown leather skirt separated, shoes she wears female gladdiator sandlas length ending at her knees. A noticeable feature on Alizeh is that she’s always wearing a animal skull large enough to fit her head as a helmet

Personality

Alizeh assumes everything is a race to her, examples like who can clean the fastest or who can get to the door first. Quick to get competive and hates wasting time resulting her to be unimpaitent and unprepared not often caring about small details. Nobody knows why she wears the silk cloth over her eyes however Alizeh has stated that her eyes have magic of its own.

Battle powers

Sky Magic: This sky attribute allows the user to partly manipulate the sky and air creating natural disasters like typhoons and not to forget control clouds

Cloud Creation: This ability does not require any form of water simply creating clouds

Dragon Magic: Alizeh can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Nereus

Water Dragon

Dragon Vessel: Nereida Silva

Status: Alive (Soul Entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Male

Affinity: Water

Age: 15 but appears to look 30 (human years)

Birthday: August 15th

Constellation: Leo

Height: 180cm (human form), 24ft or 731cm (Dragon Form)

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Purple

Likes: Songs, Creating tools and landscapes or eternal beauty

Apperance:

Dragon form: The color scheme for the sea dragon are solid colors of blue, all types of blue. The head of the dragon is rather sharp a pointy nose and two small horns sprouting from the chin and two horns at the top, his eyes are a piercing pastel green olive shape as well as a mouth of sharp teeth the shines white also water sprayed out whenever it pleases. Fish like scales on both sides of the head and the top, smooth scales all over the body and right on the spines are enchanting water that flows on the top. Similar to the sky dragon the water dragon dose not possess legs. As for the wings they are a normal pair of wings good for thrusting in water quicker, they have a unique design to a turquoise color toned down to a dark blue of bubble designs and water whirls. Small details include dribbles of water popping out every now and then

Human form: Nereus is considered to be a decently masculine, long legs and pretty big biceps. Light skin and on his right arm you can see a patch of fish scales, Nereus has blue eyes nothing new and long purple hair usually tied up on a high ponytail with two strands as bangs. Clothing of choice Nereus wears a iron chest plate tightly fitted around his abs and chest attached to his chest plate right below his right hips and held onto by his leg is a sachel filled with tools and on the left side hanging is his hammer on the bottom he wears high waisted black pants with a few side pockets shoe wise he’ll be wearing brown boots.

Personality

Referred to as the sea god Nereus is one of the most popular original dragons having good social skills and is quite skilled on tool making and architecture known for his love of songs people made tales about him singing to restore the oceans calm. Nereus is very friendly and unless you offend you won’t be expecting an hammer to the face anytime soon.

Battle powers

Water magic: This attribute allow the user to manipulate and create vast amount of water

Sea domain: Reponsible for creating the oceans Nereus has taken upon himself of creating worlds of sea temples and unique people.

Dragon Magic: Nereus can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Srebrenka

Metal Dragon

Dragon vessel: Unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Female

Affinity: Metal magic

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: November 5th

Constellation: Scorpio

Height: 179cm (human form), 26ft or 792cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Yellow

Hair: Black

Likes: Foreplay, Artifacts

Apperance

Dragon form: The Metal dragon have color schemes of shiny bright iron mostly because of the armor the Metal dragon wears because of how harmful the magic can be. The eyes are bright and large red eyes with grey mouthsmoke whenever the mouth opens specs of metal fall out. The Metal armour covers the head, chest and stomach to tell the difference between the scales and the armor is the touch, the arm stores heat and it’s used as a weapon to melt metals and use it as a weapon. Srebrenka’s horns on the top of her head are extremely pointy, the scales have a sharp texture even continuing onto the tail less then average size and has scales pointing upward. The wings are normal size though some area of the wings are so sharp they can pierce through the toughest of surfaces. Small details include the black teeth

Human form: Srebrenka has an hour glass body type, fare skin and an hour glass tattoo on the middle of her stomach along with pink glossy lips. Beautiful yellow eyes you can see mountains away to go with it big eye lashes. Long black hair tied up on low pig tails connecting the two pig tails by a hair tie at the end. Srebrenka usually wears a black coverage only sealing her nipples and a little of the side of the boob hanged on the buttom is a fluff belt attached to a belt hanging on the right side, for shoes she’s seen in black velvet upper thigh heels.

Personality

Srebrenka lives on attention, consentantly needing the pleasure of all men leading to the infamous nickname of the “alkali playboy”. Not afraid to show off her body and usually using it has her biggest weapon no one really knows how she got blessed with the blood of the five dragon kings. On the battlefield she’s known to have her strengths of studying her opponents and finding there weak spots from experience.

Battle powers

Metal magic: This magic attribute grants the holder to manipulate and create metal of every type and choose the boiling point

Compound magic: Using compound magic Srebrenka can use it to mix two metals resulting into creating a stronger met

Dragon magic: Srebrenka can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Bryony

Nature Dragon

Dragon Vessel: Unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Female

Affinity: Nature

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: February 10th

Constellation: Aquarius

Height: 170cm (human form), 30ft or 914cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Green

Hair: Pink

Apperance

Dragon form: The Nature dragons color scheme are mostly green but there other colors including brown, pink and blue. It contains illuminating pink eyes like sakura’s and coming out of the mouth are birds flying out. The dragon has brown antler horns representing branches poking out. It dosen’t not wield scales instead the nature dragon significantly has a image of a forest imprinted on her body, on the body the inferior color is green representing the grass you can also see a somewhat a river curving her body, pink flowers on the ground. The dragon wings are curved having the same foresty look imprinted on. The tail is long and thin there is a noticeable green toned brown near the end of the tail. Small details include sharp wooden looking scales on the each of the 4 legs.

Human form: Bryony occupied a triangle body type with noticeable freckles all over her entire body. She owns wide green eyes that look like green apples and a hair color of a light shade of pink knee length always down parted in the middle topped with a flower of flowers from all over the world. Her clothing of choice is inspired by victorian fashion of a white long sleeve ruffle blouse and a high waisted skirt with two sets of buttons at the top to knee length a pattern consisting of flowers and twigs or she could be wandering the place in corset.

Personality

Bryony is said to be a kind sweetheart who offers help to anyone In need however she has days of when she’s off in her own world often spotted crawling around or getting afraid of her own shadow, she has shown high survival skills making last minute decisions on the spot, fighting against someone she uses her magic to trap their competitor before moving onto the next. Off the battlefield Bryony has shown an interest of doing new thing that won’t cost her life one of them are definitely baking and gardening often doing it while crawling.

Battle powers

Nature Magic: Allowing the user to manipulate and create new environment such as vines, trees, plants and flowers and use it as her main weapon to destroy her enemies being the mother of all environment related attribute being known be as the “Mother Nature”

Dragon Magic: Bryony can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Dagda

Earth Dragon

Dragon Vessel: unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Male

Affinity: Earth

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: July 22nd

Constellation: Cancer

Height: 173cm (human form), 28ft or 853cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Red

Hair: dirty Blonde

Likes: Gambaling, blackmailing and shiny objects

Apperance

Dragon Form: Earth dragon has a color scheme of well the color of brown. The earth dragon is one of the many few dragons who share the same eye color as them both containing narrow intimidating red eyes but the left eye remains shut , mouthsmoke can be dust. There are horns scatted all over the earth dragon sharp and tall all different sizes making them one of the thickest dragons of the 12, some of the taller horns have white tips looking like mountains. Earth dragon dose not have scales but a rough surface like rocks people mention. The wings and tail share the same idea as the spine, rough and hard altogether with stubby legend of toe nails of grey stone. When flying the dragon can fly out dust to blind fly enemies from behind or taking a dump.

Human form: Dagda has a rhomboid figure, fare skin. Dagda wears a traditional Japanese clothing called the kataginu-hakama clothes for warriors, the solid color are the front is red though the white sleeves have been appeared to be ripped off, wearing straw sandals and carrying a fan ticking on the top of his belt

Personality

Dagda is a devious character has been appeared to get ahead of thinking and making silly mistakes like dropping plates on the floor. Dagda has known to be a master of blackmailing and for sure in gambling of blackmailing his rival some people call him a cheater but has his ways of good acting and getting away with those type of situations. On the battlefield Dagda likes underestimating his opponents leading into making them believe they gained victorious before getting brutally crushed, well known for his good team strategies.

Battle powers

Earth magic: This type of magic affinity allows the creator to create molds of earth and manipulate it to their advangtage with any mineral of earth or dosen’t matter. It can be manipulated

Dragon Magic: Dagda can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Lumina

Light Dragon

Dragon Vessel: Unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Male

Affinity: Light

Age: uncomfirmed

Birthday: January 20th

Constellation: Capricorn

Height: 150cm (human form), 18ft or 548cm (dragon Form)

Eyes: Light Grey

Hair: Blonde

Likes: Red velvet cake, tearing peoples ego

Apperance

Dragon form: Color schemes consist of illuminating yellow and white, the light dragon is the only dragon to be glowing. The head of the dragon has husks coming both ways out of the mouth, eye color is a glowing black and whenever opening it mouth a ray of shine is seen. Back to the husks out of the mouth there is a candle with even wax on the tip to complete it the look, horns are in a strange pattern some small some bigwith the same troop of candle waxing, scales on the other hand are pretty confusing having some point the flip side and some on the normal side. The wings have a bat form nothing special. The tail is pretty standard keeping the same line of weirdly shaped horns. A detail on the light dragon is red scar located on the stomach.

Human form: Lumina has a small stature and very little muscle despite training for so long. Skin details includes a red scar located on his stomach. His light grey eyes are sorta confusing making other think he only have small black eyes. Lumina’s blonde hair is in a style of a bowl cut topped with a golden black stripped hat with a Lilly spider flower as a decoration. Matching the top hat is a shimmering golden suit and black stripes underneath his coat appears to be white collar and a black tie, spotless black shoes despite having short legs he sits on a cloud controlling the cloud wherever he goes.

Personality

With his short height many believe Lumina as a harmless and innocent child when in reality he’s an aggressive boy. As the saying goes don’t judge a book by its cover. Lumina is known for picking fights with anyone and having a somewhat sociopath personality. Quick of making death threats giving the impression of a devil floating in this child. Inside Lumina cannot stand on his own and thinks of the other dragons as brothers and sisters often seeking comfort and warmth from them. On the battlefield he is maniac roaring in your face and going for brutual physical attacks over magic attacks.

Battle powers

Light Magic: Lumina can manipulate and create light in whatever area. Sometimes he can create spheres of light in unconscious hours the more spheres of light he’s having a dream less more likely he’s having a nightmare

Dragon Magic: Lumina can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

Hestia

Fire Dragon

Dragon Vessel: unknown

Status: Alive (soul entwine)

Species: Dragon

Gender: Female

Affinity: Fire magic

Age: unconfirmed

Birthday: May 18th

Constellation: Taurus

Height: 187cm (human form), 26ft or 792cm (dragon form)

Eyes: Green

Hair: Orange

Like: Plumerias, hearing other people laugh or smile because of her cooking

Apperance

Dragon form: The fire dragon possess colors of red, orange and black. The head was big and looked standarded, eyes glow emerald green and whenever it opens it mouth fire comes prevailing paired with a tongue of ash. The red bumpy yet curved horns grew all over the dragons spine, tail and stomach, scales of different shades of red are view signifying the reflection of flames. The shape of the tail is long and at the very tip it was on fire. The wings are the most recognizable feature looking like they’ve been on fire the flames glowed of reds and oranges lighting up the dim sky. Small details include the red bushy eyebrows

Human Form: Hestia is a masculine woman and is tall compared to an average height of a woman, a dark women how wears her orange hair in cornrows. Skin details include the red multiple swirls covering both of her arms as well as a on her chest and on her back. Her emerald green eyes are quite big. Hestia has shown been seen in a Fijian tapa dress length below her knees and above her ankles with a straw sandals and she likes wearing a white plumeria flower behind her right ear.

Personality

Hestia is an awkard girl who finds social interaction as a pain and dosen’t understand the system of getting to know them and understand leading to her first meetings get awkard. The first time she met the original dragons Hestia would find it embarrassing to talk about anything with them soon she realized these dargon folk didn’t care how you acted as long as you have pure intentions. Some situations she would try and do something nice but would end up in flame literal flames. On the battle of war Hestia knows her surroundings well and picks up very fast, she isn’t scared of getting dirty or bloodied looks we’re not important it matters that you contributed.

Battle powers

Fire Magic: This attribute allows the user to create and manipulate fire whenever it blue or Orange it still has an affect. In dragon form Hestia’s wings would shine of blue flame

Dragon Magic: Hestia can transform into a dragon or appear to have a dragon like features (before XII bellum)

#White Clover #The 12 original dragons #dragon #joe biden #part 1

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years

Text

day five: ba & jort

ohmygod these boys are two of my faves, can’t have one without the other which makes the longest of all the posts abt my clone boys. i guess you can say i have favorites even tho i will vehemently deny it

playlists: jacob & ba - jort/belladonna

fics: who’s my commander & 13x7=28

a/n: jacob & bella belong to @capricornrabies & the art was made by @persaloodles

warnings: mentions of smut

is a soft and precious boy who tries his best

got his name from this one time when his squad had to take shelter in a barn & the sheep wouldn’t let him sleep with his brothers in the loft area, instead keeping him by them the whole night and threatening to bite jort when he tried to free his batchmate

also has v v floofy hair which also works with the name

he and jort have joint ownership of best older brother ™️ title to naturally, a soft and pure medic-in-training (refer to 13x7=28 for details)

absolute mother hen to anyone and everyone. doesn’t matter if he met you an hour ago, you’re going to get mothered by this soft sniper

“you could pour soup in my lap and i’d apologize to you”

was selectively mute for several months after leaving kamino, jort helped him come out of his shell again and it’s fabulous

jacob sutton (younger sister to jamie) is an admiral for the 91st and their star cruiser crashed, and the 25th was the closest to send aid

ba sees jacob for the first time and tried to flirt but instead inserted his foot into his mouth with his awkwardness

but it gets better between them as time goes on. these two are my personal goal for the future

they have a precious massif named yogurt

jacob found him as a puppy by a dumpster on coruscant eating from a yogurt cup and was like “yes this is my boy”

ba would sometimes get to take him on campaigns. would have to fight who half the time just to see his girlfriend’s dog. when yogurt is a puppy the 25th will carry him around in one of those pet/baby backpacks

in a world where the war ends without order 66 and clones kinda get rights (but jacob doesn’t really get them bc of her status as a not-quite-person), they get a rude awakening when they realize that they wouldn’t legally get the post-war life that they deserve bc the republic isn’t letting her go

other clones help ba smuggle jacob (yogurt was listed as an emotional support animal) off-planet and they settle down in a house they build together. there’s a wraparound porch, a porch swing, fence for yogurt, etc.

since the republic doesn’t know what to do with the baby clones, kamino is commandeered and turned into a clone adoption agency. jacob and ba end up adopting four little boys who are their absolute world. they’re batchmates and were toddlers when adopted (so like 2-3 standard years, 1-1.5 clone years)

cabuor - his name is mando’a for “protect”; the oldest of the four, as he’s older he is the most protective of his bros. is basically jamie 2.0 and even tho he loves saviin they butt heads A LOT.

saviin - name is “violet” in honor of the 25th’s paint colors. jort 2.0. absolutely chaotic but highly lovable. there’s a problem? 99% chance sav caused it. first to start trusting ba and jacob. is the kind of child you would want to put on a leash

ciryc - his name means “cold” simply bc he runs colder than the rest of them. from the time they knew how, they would all dogpile w ciryc on the bottom to keep him warm. gets free pass to snuggle closest to jacob to get warmer faster. will steal jacob’s shirts (that once belonged to ba). sunshine baby!!!

meer - personification of 🥺. got his name from jacob who affectionately calls him a meerkat (he’s smaller and skinnier than the rest). jacob has a second shadow and his name is meer. has mute spells similar to when ba was young but eventually they only happened when he was startled/in new environment

so the boys were hesitant abt their new parents at first. it was only marginally easier for them to warm up to ba bc he was a clone but it took them nearly a year of living together for them to look at jacob and think “this woman is mom-shaped”

but once they get comfortable with her, these boys are all 100% mama’s boys

jacob has a metal spine (incident during her training) that clicks when she walks/moves/does anything. ba and jacob hear it and think of the trauma that led to it, but the boys hear it and their young minds correlate it to “mom, safe, comfort”

it leads to them being able to know when jacob is close to finding them during games of hide-and-seek

ba and jacob both get tattoos that represent their sons (and yes, yogurt too)

jacob has tattoos of handprints of ba, the boys, & yogurt’s paw on her back

ba would get tiny ones for the boys: a meerkat silhouette, a splash of purple “paint”, a shield, and a snow cloud

then he gets a massive one for jacob — a copy of her metal spine tattooed over his

jort:

he’s a bastard child and is proud to be one

scout & chaos bisexual

is a whore at first but when he’s w someone, has eyes for only them

got his name when he turned his blacks into a crop top and short shorts while on felucia during a heatwave

he ended up getting a handprint tattoo on his thigh/ass bc of how often he was smacked when he wore the short shorts

he and ba have joint ownership of best older brother ™️ title to naturally, a soft and pure medic-in-training (refer to 13x7=28 for details)

prankster af

look into his eyes, there is nothing behind his eyes except for elevator music. the only time he’s allowed more than one coherent thought is when the dvd icon hits the exact corner of the screen

will play up his dumbassery around ppl he’s uncomfortable with

will bully/blackmail his bros into going to the medbay — “don’t make nat’ika sad by hiding things, he only wants to help you” bc jort isn’t gonna get caught slippin. you won’t know he’s soft on you until he’s mother-henning you the way ba and naturally do for literally everybody

can bullshit his way out of any situation

isn't the best w crying ppl and will just try to make them laugh and hope that someone that can talk abt said emotions arrives soon usually this person is ba

“and i also don’t want me to be doing what i’m doing”

ends up dating the daughter of a very prominent mob boss who runs a fashion company in the form of seven feet and eight inches tall belladonna tomb, bella for short

has no idea whatsoever that he’s dating the daughter of a very prominent mob boss

bella thinks it’s an unspoken agreement to not bring it up but jort just. doesn’t know.

since bella is seven foot eight, jort can fit into her tops and is unashamed to wear “women’s clothes”. bella will design him clothes (and LOVES to be a model for bella’s clothes). his civvie fashion is comparable to harry styles

bella’s species is half soleon/half skeleton-monster-thing (soleons are an original lion-like species & the skeleton details are all made by cap, mentioned above) (also bella’s partly translucent and you can see some organs thru her torso) and she has talons and very pointy teeth and eyes that slightly glow jort ends up getting a tattoo of her teeth marks in his ass opposite to the handprint but that’s another story

when him and bella start becoming intimate, there are lots. of. marks. teeth, talons, you name it. the medics (esp no, poor man) are frightened that jort is bragging about these marks

then jort has the brilliant idea of sneaking his giant mob boss girlfriend into the barracks while on leave. somehow, maker only knows how, but NO ONE NOTICES until

late that night when everyone’s sleeping, her and jort are sharing his bunk (it’s a tight fit but they make it work). no is doing bed checks to make sure his bros are doing okay, as a concerned medic does. since bella is dark grey in color, she blends in to the dark barracks.

jort starts to fall from the bunk in his sleep and no sees that he’s abt to fall (but does not see bella) and just as no walks to jort’s bunk to fix him, a finely manicured and taloned hand snatches him back into the bunk and gives no a death glare and she deadass GROWLS

poor medic thinks his bro is abt to get eaten by a monster but doesn’t actually do anything to protect his bro from the “monster”

no immediately runs to find who and wakes up nearly everybody in the process. by the time no returns to the barracks with who in tow, jort is awake and is like “hey guys what’s up”

“WHAT IS UP?! THERE’S A KRIFFIN MONSTER WITH CLAWS IN YOUR BUNK!!” “oh no this is bella. bella, meet the boys. the boys, meet bella.” “hi”

ba wakes up during no’s windows shutdown, looks around and sees everyone wide ass awake and then sees bella and jort, “oh hey bella” and then goes back to sleep bc he knew bella

jort did hold ba’s hand while his bro got the spine tattoo for jacob

#blue jay’s boys: valentine’s celebration #blue jay’s boys #clone oc #oc clone #clone trooper jort #clone trooper ba #ba and jort #25th battalion #clone trooper oc #oc clone trooper #swtcw #star wars #star wars oc

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world-of-horrors-au · 4 years

Text

Horrors au - Horrors appearance headcanons

Jeff:

Same general coloration as expected - black hair, pale skin, etc. He was born with brown hair and dark blue eyes, but when he was born as a Horror, his body transformed. It had nothing to do with bleach, fire, or bullies.

He did give himself a 'smile' when he was born as a Horror, however it got horribly infected, and was eventually sewn up once he was picked up off the streets. There are scars where the cuts once were, along with one at the deepest part of the infection site.

Can't grow a beard, rip

Actually, he's completely hairless other than his head.

6'2 feet tall

Eyes look either gray or pale blue depending on the light

Clothing wise, the white bloody hoodie is how he's mostly pictured in the media. And he does wear white sweatshirts or hoodies when he wants to make an impact.

Around the others, though? Soft pajama bottoms in solid, dark colors, thin t shirts or sleeveless shirts, no shoes, even in the depths of the Forest. Will wear a dark hooded overcoat over his clothes in the rain.

Eyeless Jack:

Gray skin

Small, pointed ears

Traditional empty sockets full of black ooze. Despite the lack of eyes, he can see in his own way.

Brown hair, and lots of it. His hair grows very fast and thick. He doesn't bother to cut his hair until it's at his waist but does shave. He has semi permanent stubble on his face.

6'4

His mask is blue, of course, and stained from his mask. There's a faded smile painted over the mouth, just a thin, happy line, and a jagged cut on one eye hole where Briar attacked him during his first meeting.

He has wings. Draconic in style, they seem to shrink and grow as needed. They are the same color as his skin, with a blue tinted membrane and black stud like bumps on the top ridge and back.

His fingers and toes turn into claws at his command, turning black and sharp. Otherwise they are human like, with normal, blunt nails. His feet can transform into talons, five claws in front and one in back.

He doesn't have many different types of clothes. His black pants, dark shirt and hoodie are something of a uniform to him. He has multiple copies of each item.

No shoes. They get in the way and can be painful to try and transform his feet through.

Ben:

Blonde, fair skinned, freckles. Eyes are there but entirely black with a red pupil that grows and shrinks with his emotions.

Being a digital being, however, he can and does change his appearance with ease, and completely without warning.

One day, blonde hair just touching his next. The next, long blonde hair streaked red and in a spiked, sky high ponytail. The next, he's covered with tattoos, and his hair is a mohawk the color of the trans flag. The only thing that he doesn't change while being himself is his eyes.

Can be any height. Today he's 5'3. Tomorrow, 6'9. Doesn't like being too tall, he has trouble holding his form together.

He can transform himself into any person he has personally interacted with, or has a good amount of footage/photos of. When disguising himself, he does change the look of his eyes, but he dislikes it.

Yes he is trans, more info on that when his hc post comes out. He passes completely as male, looking next to nothing like he did while alive. He can transform into a woman if needed but he hates doing it as it gives him bad dysphoria and he'll need to abandon having a form at all to recover for a while.

Clothing is whatever the fuck he wants, it's all digital just like him. Catch him walking around in a crop top and a floor long neon green fur coat, or a graphic tee with two middle fingers over the boob area, or black pleather tights and a red sleeveless turtleneck. Whatever it is, it's probably not subtle.

He sometimes goes around naked to try and embarrass Briar. It almost always works.

Laughing Jack:

Doesn't look much different from how he's normally viewed. Tall monochrome clown man with ragged black hair, a pointy striped nose, and sharp teeth. His fingers are similar to Eyeless Jack's in that he can turn them into claws, only his claws are much bigger, and even when normal, the ends of his fingers are pointed, with sharp nails.

Is a living doll, whether that's obvious on the surface or not, so when you hug him he is soft and warm and a bit fuzzy under his clothes. Considering he's the cruelest of all the Horrors, it's very... weird.

His nose looks deadly sharp but in reality, when you press against it, it crinkles like foil, springing back into shape as if nothing happened when released. Press it in all the way and you will hear a honk. But don't. He hates that.

Anything he puts on magically becomes black and white, and regains its color when he takes it off. Similarly, anything he puts on magically becomes his size, which is good because this mofo is 7'3.

You will only see one color on this guy, and that's red - blood from his victims, or red from blushing. The guy doesn't have blood so there's no reason for him to blush but he does and it's probably better not to think about it too hard. (There's no reason for him to be able to eat either. Don't think on that either.)

Being a toy, he doesn't sweat. Blood tends to fade away off his body naturally. He hates water but will tolerate showers so long as he's not alone.

He likes patterns, textures, and anything fitting his antique/clown aesthetic. He will sometimes wear skirts and dresses for no reason other than he wants to. But all the patterns have to clash and everything must be extra as hell.

Briar:

Long black hair, down to her shoulder blades, gray eyes, fair skin with freckles on her cheeks, running down her neck to the rest of her body.

She keeps her hair in a ponytail most days, preferring a high placement, but if she just doesn't care she'll put it near her neck.

While she bears a passing resemblance to Jeff coloration wise I swear to God that's not intentional, I promise they're not related.

Fit. Despite loving her sweets, she eats as healthily as she can and goes on morning and evening runs, along with a quick body weight workout before work every day.

Her ears are pierced, though she never wears anything more remarkable than colored studs. Sometimes she'll wear silver roses.

Stretch marks. She was overweight as a child and teen and while the weight is gone, the stretch marks are still there. They're mostly on her sides, thighs and back. She's very sensitive about them due to years of bullying and comments from family members but tries not to let on about that.

Has many scars from early encounters with the early Horrors. While they are almost unnoticeable among humans, the intentionally caused scars, like the one on her shoulder where Eyeless bit her, become darker in their presence.

Sometimes paints her nails but prefers to not spend the effort unless something important is coming up.

She hated shaving her legs and never did it unless she had to. But like with Jeff, her body hair is falling out and not growing back in. Briar wears pants or leggings while out in public, just in case people catch on.

Her clothing preferences are casual but feminine. Mostly pants, short sleeved or three-quarter sleeved shirts. Mostly they're for warm weather as she lives and works in coastal South Carolina, but she's building up a collection of warmer jackets for the Forest, which is very, very different than the beach life her human coworkers love.

She loves roses and vine designs but in subtle amounts, she's not a fan of big patterns. Likes purples and blues and yellows with black and white. And lace, again in small amounts. But really she wears whatever she thinks is pretty.

Has army boots where she laced them up with lacy fabric trimmings from a work friend's sewing project. She never wears them anywhere because she'd hate to see them ruined.

Her work scrubs are either covered with cats, plants, or just solid colors. She thinks wearing cats on clothing can be tacky if it's too cartoony but she's working at a vet office, she may as well wear the colors proudly.

Secretly she thinks you're never fully dressed unless you've got some cat hair on you. She hasn't owned a cat since moving to South Carolina after college.

#horrors au #creepypasta #creepypasta au #jeff the killer #laughing jack #eyeless jack #creepypasta ben drowned #creepypasta ben #ben drowned #creepypasta original character #creepypasta oc #creepypasta hc #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta jtk #creepypasta jeff the killer #creepypasta ej #creepypasta laughing jack

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the-original-b · 4 years

Text

Archangel: Todesengel

Format: Prose / Fiction, one-shot

Word Count: c. 9,100

Summary: Krueger leads Amur Company on a hellish mission that leaves an indelible black mark on the souls of the survivors.

Warning(s): blood, gore, graphic violence, sexual violence

Firebase Ash, the Laos-Cambodia border region, late 2012.

The Mi-26 landed on the helipad and opened its bay door as its rotors slowed, and the six members of Amur Company stepped down the ramp dressed in tiger stripe BDUs. They continued further away from the helicopter as they surveyed their surroundings—the perimeter walls, command tower a few hundred yards before them, the barracks in one direction, the armory in another, probably other buildings in places out of sight.

Krueger recognized it immediately as an old military outpost, likely used by top-secret groups like MACV-SOG as a launch pad for all of their clandestine operations in the lands bordering Vietnam during the war. A mark on history written in invisible ink, hidden away where nobody would care to look—he found the similarities in his own life and career outside of Special Forces.

The six of them were greeted by two medium-skinned men of unremarkable stature dressed in officer’s uniforms. The wider of them wore a dark beret to cover his graying hair. The other sported a full head of jet black hair cut in a military fade and appeared much younger than he likely was. He approached the six of them. “Who among you is Archangel?” His English was remarkable.

Krueger stepped forward, removing his dark sunglasses and tucking a wayward lock of hair behind his ear, smoothing it out. These days it was long enough that he tied it into a pony tail that brushed the space above his shoulder blades. “I am.” He held out his hand for the man to shake. “Are you San Boran?”

The other man shook it. “I am Chea Hang,” he introduced himself. “Second-in-command and interpreter for Commander San.” He gestured the other man, who gave him a respectful downward nod. “He extends his appreciation for your willingness to help.”

“Of course.” He let go of Chea Hang’s hand. “As I understand, we’re here to assist your soldiers in driving out a resistance force from the region. Have your men located where they operate?”

Chea Hang looked over to the other officer—to San Boran—and relayed Krueger’s question to him in Khmer. San Boran replied, and Chea Hang delivered the message: “We’ve narrowed it down to an area of the forest south and west of our base, but our patrols have so far been unable to pinpoint their location.”

Essentially, the task at hand boiled down to search-and-destroy; something Krueger had done a hundred times before. “Weapons on site?”

“The armory is this way,” Chea Hang said. “If you’ll follow me…”

Krueger gestured the other members of Amur Company to join him on the way to the armory.

On the way there they passed by the barracks and a makeshift holding cell, out of which a soldier stepped as he buttoned his pants back up. He turned to leer at Seza, who didn’t as much as look in his direction.

Krueger briefly looked inside the door to see their barely-clothed prisoner handcuffed to a chair just before the soldier shut it again behind him. He now fully understood the type of people Chea Hang and San Boran were, and concealed his contempt for them as they made it to the armory.

The six members of Amur Company inspected the weapons and munitions stored there—ammunition designed for maximum damage like the M67 and 7N6 soviet rounds, a vast collection of AK derivatives, and a handful of reclaimed Cold-War-era western weapons.

Brock examined one of these crates labelled 60mm WP. “Willie Pete,” he said. “Hoped I’d never see you again.”

“Willie Pete?” Seza was unfamiliar with the designation.

“White phosphorus,” Krueger said. “A pyrophoric.”

“Meaning it catches fire on contact with air,” Jackson elaborated. “Then boils as it burns, throwing smaller chunks of the stuff over a wider area which, also catch fire and boil and throw chunks.”

“More toxic than cyanide if absorbed by the body,” Krueger continued. “The fumes are dangerous too, forming phosphoric acid in the lungs.”

“What you’d get if Satan spat on napalm,” Brock concluded, turning away from the incendiary devices.

Chea Hang leaned a little closer to them. “Is this sufficient.”

Krueger was aware of the possibility of having to use the chemical weapons, but resolved to use as many other available tools as possible before it came to that. He nodded in response to Chea Hang. “It will do.”

~~~~

Chea Hang and San Boran led the members of Amur Company to the command building, where they reviewed the mission parameters and outlined a strategy. Afterward he showed them to their quarters in the same building—a row of individual rooms that likely once domiciled officers or other VIPs—and wished them well on their hunt.

Krueger laid his duffel on the floor beside the desk and hung his BDU jacket over the back of his chair, then stood before the window overlooking the rest of the compound and the forest line beyond the walls. Absentmindedly he watched the people below, and followed a helicopter with his eyes as it took off from the helipad to get to who-knows-where.

“You’re lucky,” Seza said to him from his doorway, in her fatigue bottoms and a dark t-shirt with her air tied in a fat braid. “You have a window.” She crossed the threshold and locked the door behind her.

“Yes,” Krueger said as he drew the blinds. “Well, the view is nothing special.” He had only taken a few steps in her direction before she sprang into him, throwing her arms and legs around him and squeezing. The world around them—the stuffy room in the old building, the jungle, the job—all seemed to fall away as they shared fervent kisses, her palms pressed against his bearded cheeks, his hands under her shirt pressing against her skin of her back and holding her warmth closer.

“I’ve been waiting to do that since Tây Ninh,” he sighed when they finally broke contact.

“I can tell,” she whispered, her eyelids still shut and lips curling upward into a smile as her forehead touched his. It was almost a year since the last time they were in the field together.

Krueger kissed her again gingerly as the world around them returned, and sighed wistfully.

“What is it?” She opened her eyes again, unwrapping her legs from around his waist but keeping her hands on him.

“I don’t like this job, Seza,” he said. From the beginning he didn’t want to take it, but he thought of the others when he forwarded the offer to them. “We hunt people like San Boran, we don’t work with them.”

“I know,” she said. “But it was our choice too. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t all make the decision.” She shifted one hand to caress his ten-day beard accented with gray hairs. “We’re with you, Archangel,” she whispered as she pulled herself close again, “I am with you.”

She sealed her promise to him with another deep kiss as she and Krueger fell backward onto the mattress. She straddled him as she worked her hands underneath his sleeveless undershirt to lift it off of him. He returned in kind, raising her t-shirt above her head to expose her skin, sports bra, and tattoos—both the stripes she shared with him and the rest of the unit, and a string of words written up her ribs on her right; the warrior’s truth Krueger shared with her that day in Italy, memorialized in Arabic.

The two of them joined Brock, Wyatt, Alicia, and Jackson for dinner that evening, and Seza returned to Krueger’s bed later that first night, as she regularly had since the Pergola job three years ago.

Their first day on patrol, they and a contingent of San Boran’s forces surveyed the area where the resistance were believed to be headquartered. In their reconnaissance they discovered the area was about twice as large as previously thought, and identified a network of rudimentary villages hidden in the forest. Wyatt deduced the resistance occupied one at a time, and moved between settlements to throw their pursuers off their trail.

While circling back to return to headquarters, one of the soldiers was killed by an improvised trap, and Krueger saved another from a similar fate when he spotted a tripwire. As they had more experience than anyone else there with booby traps, Jackson and Alicia led them out of the field, disarming any traps they came across on their way back to Firebase Ash.

Krueger reported his findings to San Boran and Chea Hang that evening, and after dining with his team he returned to his quarters. Seza slept with him again.

On the second day, Krueger decided to split the patrol group into six squads to cover more ground, sending Alicia, Brock, Wyatt, Jackson and Seza with each of five of them while he joined the sixth. He made them all aware of the traps in the field, and ensured there was at least one other English speaker in the squads so his team can communicate with them.

While out on patrol, Seza’s team came under fire from a resistance scouting party, and by the time Krueger and his squad arrived to assist, they had dealt with the resistance and managed to capture one alive, a woman.

Krueger discreetly checked Seza for injuries—a few scrapes aside she appeared otherwise unharmed. “You okay?” he asked her.

Seza nodded. “They wounded one of us, but he’s alive.” She watched three of the soldiers deal with their captive.

Krueger watched them with her. “Do you know what they’re saying?”

“My Khmer isn’t perfect,” she said, “but I can make sense of it.” She watched them get the wounded woman to her feet. “They’re telling her she’ll live… they’re also commenting about how they lost their last prisoner.”

Things took a turn when two of the soldiers ripped her clothes off and held her down by her wrists while the third unbuttoned his pants.

Krueger turned away the moment the one soldier mounted the resistance fighter. He rested his hand on his jacket collar to stop it from reaching down to his sidearm holstered on his thigh. Most of the other soldiers present averted their eyes as well.

Seza didn’t turn away; she watched the man assault their prisoner while the other two held her down, probably waiting their turn, with growing disgust as her grip tightened on her AKM.

“Don’t,” Krueger ordered, not turning his head.

She let the rifle hang on its sling and shook her head. “Is there nothing we can do?” she whispered.

“Not here,” he said. “No.”

Seza loosened her hold on the rifle, dropping her one hand from the rear grip and resting her other hand on the foregrip near the rear sights. She shut her eyes and let what was happening before her happen, wishing to herself for anything to stop it.

Her wish came true when she heard one of the soldiers shriek—she and Krueger turned back to see the one solder recoil away from their prisoner, his pants around his ankles, covering half his face. Apparently she was able to get a hand loose and claw at him.

One of the other soldiers responded by stepping on her freed wrist to pin her down and ramming the butt of his rifle into her head and jaw a few times, knocking her unconscious. He had his associate bind her wrists together and hoist her over his shoulders to continue back to base along their patrol route. The injured soldier broke formation to address his wounds before heading back; Seza discreetly followed him.

She stalked him to the river, and observed from a distance as he knelt down beside the running water to splash his face several times; she couldn’t see the damage from her angle but was able to see streaks of red that kept trickling into the river no matter how many times he tried to clean the wound. She decided it wasn’t enough.

Seza crept out from her hiding place and stealthily approached him, reaching for her knife on her left hip and pulling it from its sheath as she closed the distance. She snuck up behind the kneeling man and inverted the grip on her blade when she was a few yards from him, just outside of striking distance.

She hadn’t even noticed Krueger emerge from her peripheral vision to walk right up beside the knelt-down soldier and plant his boot onto the back of his neck, holding his head underwater.

The soldier thrashed under Krueger’s heel, the water around his face bubbling as it turned red from his gushing wound. For the nearly forty seconds he held the man’s head underwater, Seza studied his posture and profile, deducing his lack of remorse over his actions. For all of the seven years she observed him, he was always so precise and efficient in delivering death. This was different—she saw he nearly savored what he was doing to him. She saw him as his enemies did—grim, violent, and merciless.

Seza re-sheathed the knife and slowly approached Krueger as the man below him eventually stopped moving, and life escaped him with a few more bubbles and involuntary spasms. When he was finally dead Krueger turned him over onto his back to take an M70 bayonet and sheath from the soldier’s belt, then stood back up and slid the body into the running water with his foot.

“The knife would have been too easy,” he deadpanned. “He had to suffer.”

“On that, we agree,” she said.

“And there are more at the base,” he continued, looking her in the eye. “They’ll do the same thing to her over and over for days until they either break her or kill her.” He hesitated, his doubts beginning to surface. “I know what has to be done to spare her from that,” he added with the faintest quiver in his voice, “but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it.”

The prisoner didn’t deserve to die but, given her fate, death may have been be a mercy. Seza understood that struggle too well, and knew what it meant that he fought with it. Beneath his wrath and violence he was still every bit the man she fell in love with—the good man.

He was still Archangel.

She took his hand in hers and tiptoed to whisper something in his ear, then placed a kiss on his cheek. “Give her the choice,” she said to him. “I will make an example of the others.”

“Do you remember them?”

“I do. When I’m done, the rest will know why.”

Krueger sneaked into the dank holding cell that night, when the rest of the compound was asleep. He used a key he’d lifted from a passing guard earlier that evening to enter the room, and cringed when he found their prisoner bruised, barely clothed, and bound by her wrists to a thin pipe running from floor to ceiling in the far corner. He had to step up to her and watch her shoulders move to make sure she was still breathing.

Then he got to work. He worked the point of the fallen soldier’s bayonet into the knots around one of her wrists, moving it back and forth along the rope to slice her one hand free.

She stirred underneath him, and Krueger stopped to place his hand over her mouth to quiet her. With a look he let her know exactly where he stood, and reassured her that he wasn’t one of San Boran’s soldiers. Slowly, he let go of her mouth, then finished cutting her one hand free.

Then he took a few steps back and placed the blade on the floor within her reach. He looked her in the eye and said to her, “seripheap.” Then turned to leave, ensuring the door was open behind him.

Freedom. The phrase Seza had whispered to him by the river earlier that day.

The prisoner understood, her freedom came from the bayonet, either by cutting the ropes binding her or by taking her own life. He offered her the chance to escape, either through death or the open door. The prisoner took up the bayonet and made her decision.

Krueger placed himself onto his bed when he returned to his quarters, then rested his elbows on his knees and head in his palms. He let out an exasperated sigh as he wondered what fresh slice of hell this job would belch up and deliver him tomorrow morning. He closed his eyes and took another breath to compose himself, then let it out slowly into his palms as he cupped them over his face.

Seza arrived in his quarters soon afterward, making sure to lock the door behind her. Krueger stood up when he turned to face her and promptly closed the distance, pausing when he noticed tiny drops of blood on her forehead and left cheek. He looked her up and down to notice a tiny bit more smeared on her hands. He took them in his, caressing them a little before leading her back toward the bed.

“Tell me this gets better,” he pleaded. “I need to know I didn’t make a mistake bringing us here.”

Seza rose up to place a gentle kiss on his temple. She placed another one there before she retracted to look him in the eyes while she cupped his face. “You didn’t make a mistake,” she reassured him. “You didn’t do the wrong thing in bringing us here, and as long as I am by your side, you will never have to doubt yourself. I will support you,” she said, resting her forehead on his. “Whatever you do. I love you, Milo Krueger.”

They shared a heartfelt kiss. “I love you, Seza.”

She straddled him as they kissed again and fell onto the bed.

The knocking on his door and Chea Hang’s voice on the other side of it woke him on the third morning. “Mr. Archangel,” he called between knocks, “Commander San would like a word if you have a moment.”

Krueger exchanged a look with Seza curled up beside to him, and took his arm away from around her to let her up. He watched a dark A-shirt and the jagged camouflage bands of her BDU bottoms conceal her skin again as she got back into her clothes to find her boots. Krueger did the same, getting out of bed to find his pants and a pale gray T-shirt.

Chea Hang knocked on the door again. “Mr. Archangel, please.”

“One moment,” he responded. He shot a look in Seza’s direction as he laced his boots up and stood. She nodded, leaning against the corner of his desk with her hands behind her on the desk top. He stepped up to her to plant a passionate kiss on her lips before heading to the door to unlock it. He opened it just enough for Chea Hang to see him. “What is it?”

He gestured the hallway. “Commander San has to share something with you,” he began. “There’s also been an incident in the barracks last night. What do you know of it?””

“I fail to see how I can shed any light on what’s happened,” Krueger said, stepping out of the room and pulling the door shut behind him.

Chea Hang caught a glimpse of Seza before the door was closed, then led Krueger down the hall toward San Boran. “One of the men had his throat slashed open in his sleep, and another was blindfolded and gagged, tied to his bed post and woken up by a knife in his genitals.”

Krueger made a mental note to commend Seza for that later.

“In addition,” he continued, “somebody got into the holding cell, and we lost our prisoner. Some of them suspect your unit is responsible.”

“What makes you think mine are culpable?”

“You’re outsiders,” Chea Hang clarified. “Mercenaries. They don’t trust you.”

“As I understand, some of Commander San’s men didn’t approve of the treatment of prisoners by others.” Krueger said. “This could just as well be an act of vengeance on their part—I’m not here to solve that problem.”

“And what of the missing man from yesterday? Your unit was accompanying him, were they not?”

“He went off to nurse his wound. He was missing an eye—he could have tripped and hit his head.” By now they reached San Boran. “Again, that isn’t why I’m here.”

“Very well,” he added sotto voce. “If you’re here to deal with the resistance, Commander San would like you to deal with the resistance.”

“We’ve narrowed their location down to a number of settlements deep in the forest,” Krueger explained. “We can only attack one of them at a time, and if we do they’ll flee to another before we can reorganize to strike again.”

Chea Hang relayed the message, and San Boran returned with one of his own. “Commander San doesn’t care, he wants you to do as you promised—” San Boran said something else, and Chea Hang paused to confirm before continuing. “And he says if you don’t by tomorrow at sunrise, he will withhold your compensation.”

Krueger’s brow furrowed visibly as he registered the message. “It’s unwise to threaten me, Mr. Chea.”

“It is unwise to disappoint Commander San,” he countered. “If you do not do as you’re told, he will hire somebody else who will.” Chea hang turned to leave before Krueger could say anything else.

San Boran remained a moment longer. “Finish it,” he said in English. “Or no pay.” Then he turned to leave.

The threat repeated from the source gave Krueger pause. He unclenched his fists as he considered all of his options. He could either leave with his team before the job was finished and forego the pay, eliminate San Boran and forego the pay, take his time and efficiently flush out the resistance and forego the pay…

…or he could commit a war crime and get the job done in time for his team to get compensated. It wasn’t a decision he could make on his own.

“San Boran delivered an ultimatum,” he said when he addressed his team that afternoon. “Personally. He said if we don’t drive out the resistance in 18 hours he won’t pay us.” He leaned over the table, placing his hands on its top to support himself and taking a breath to prepare himself to deliver his next thought. “Now I’m going to say what we’re all thinking—in the absence of time and a better option, if we’re going to get paid for this trip we will have to use the pyrophorics.”

A few of them muttered their discontent under their breaths.

“I know it’s not something any of us want to do, so I didn’t make the decision for you.” He sat down and raised his head again to address his team. “I’m leaving it to the five of you to make the call. Yay or nay..?” He looked to his right at Brock.

Brock sat contemplatively with his arms crossed, looking down at the table. “Mom’s back in the hospital,” he divulged, “and her bills are piling up again. I need the money, boss.” He looked up at Krueger and nodded. “Yay.”

Krueger nodded in understanding, then looked at Alicia.

Alicia shook her head. “It’s not who we are,” she said. “This isn’t what we do.” She shook her head again to emphasize her decision. “Nay.”

“Fair dinkum,” Wyatt added. “I’m with Alicia on this one. We do this and we’re no better than the wankers we kill… Nay.”

“Maybe so,” Jackson said. “But who knows when the next job is coming after this? The landscape’s changed—the demand for dirty guns for hire is rising. We can’t survive just on hunting the bad guys anymore, we’ll have to start working with them if we’re gonna make it.” Reluctantly, he nodded. “Yay.”

Krueger looked to his left at Seza, having made his way around the table.

She sat with her arms crossed as she silently considered the options for all of thirty seconds. Finally she looked back at Krueger and nodded. “Yes.”

Krueger sighed and let his head hang. “Three to two,” he said, standing back up. “It passes.” He leaned over the table top to address the map spread across it, and outline a plan to deploy the white phosphorus munitions strategically in a manner that the fires spread away from the firebase as they consumed the resistance territories.

~~~~

It was nearly two in the morning when they moved out.

“Talk to me Wyatt,” Krueger whispered into his communicator. “Are you and Brock in position?”

“Holding steady, boss,” he said. “Just say when…”

“Alicia, Jackson, get ready to fire on my mark.” He motioned Seza to ready the mortar while he prepared the munitions.

“Copy.”

“Three. Two. One…” Krueger held the shell steady at the edge of the mortar barrel. “Mark.” He let the round go and let it slide down to the firing pin, sending it high into the air before it came crashing down with a boom and cloud of smoke. “Fire at will.” He signaled Seza to adjust the angle of the device before loading a second round into the tube, which fired and landed a few yards from the first.

Seza looked up from the tube after firing a few more volleys, and noticed the glow of the growing fires through the trees. “I think they know what’s going on,” she said, noting the panicked chatter she could hear through the chaos.

“Then it’s time to finish up here,” Krueger added. He loaded the last of his ammunition into the device and fired. “Brock, Watt, you’re up. Seal their exit.”

“Solid Copy.”

Krueger felt the shockwave moments later, letting him know the explosives were detonated successfully and a second set of fires were started to seal the resistance in a trap that would kill them all.

Krueger and the rest of Amur Company returned to the compound afterward, and headed straight for their respective rooms. Seated on the mattress, Krueger watched the glow of the burning fires on the horizon through the window of his quarters. As before, Seza made it to his room later that night, and didn’t say a word to him as she placed herself beside him to lean her head on his shoulder and squeeze his hand, looking out the window at the fires with him. Neither dared to sleep and ignore the dozens of lives they extinguished.

On the fourth morning, Krueger stepped off the helicopter with the rest of Amur Company onto the literal scorched earth where the resistance cell was once based. All that remained now was the charred remains of the rudimentary village; columns of dense white smoke still billowed from certain piles of smoldering rubble, and wisps of a surreal fog hung in the air around them.

Krueger carefully stepped through the ruins not to get too close to the denser smoke, and paused when a twig snapped in two beneath his tread. He looked down and saw there were actually two twigs next to each other, and that they were connected to the partially clothed body of a man at the thigh, under the knee where his shin would be.

He realized they weren’t twigs at all.

He studied the remains next to his boot, identifying the broken twigs as a human tibia and fibula. The man’s extremities were burned to their singed bones, and his face was gone—what was left reminded Krueger of an anatomical diagram detailing a frontal cross-section of paranasal sinuses.

The featureless face stared back up at Krueger with empty eye sockets, its teeth exposed and locked in a sinister half-grin not unlike the sigil his great-uncle wore from 1939 to 1943.

He looked away from the body below him and scanned the clearing all around him, finding other bodies in varying states of desecration. Some still maintained something resembling their natural skin tones with deep holes burned into them, as if a large-bore drill was taken to their soft tissue, while others were reduced to carbonized forms resembling twisted mannequins leaking darkened blood from the cracks in their flesh, frozen in their final, horrible moments.

Seza cursed in Arabic under her breath, in disbelief of the sight around her. “I didn’t know it would be like this…” She took a few steps and found herself next to Krueger. “My God, this is awful,” she lamented.

“God had nothing to do with this,” Krueger said. He continued his path through the carnage, stepping over the burnt bodies lying in pools of coagulated blood and human waste to make his way to Chea Hang and San Boran, who stood among a contingent of soldiers inspecting the ruins.

“Well done, Mr. Archangel,” Chea Hang said. “Commander San is impressed with your work.”

“It’s not all of them,” Krueger clarified. “But whoever escaped the fires will likely succumb to the poison they inhaled trying to get away.” He looked San Boran in the eyes, making sense of the look in them. “He can give my portion to my people.”

Chea Hang relayed the message to San Boran, who maintained his gaze on Krueger while he replied.

“Commander San will ensure your people are compensated,” he said.

“My thanks.” Krueger turned away before addressing them once more. “Have your men exercise caution around the settlement,” he advised. “They may inadvertently start another fire.” He headed back toward the landing zone with Seza, signaling the other four to join them on an outgoing helicopter.

Seza returned to Krueger’s quarters that evening, after the others had gone to bed early to catch up on lost sleep. She tapped on his closed door.

“Archangel..?” she entreated. Since they got back to Firebase Ash she felt he was avoiding her. She feared he held her vote to use the incendiary devices against her and wanted to make it right. She knocked again and opened his door. “Milo?”

The room was empty—the bed was made and his duffel was missing. The only clue the room had been occupied the last three nights was a singular square of paper centered on an otherwise clean desk top.

She picked the note up to examine it, recognizing the string of digits as a phone number, hastily jotted down in Krueger’s hand. Call me as soon as you see this, the text read underneath the number. She looked away from the paper, disheartened. “Oh, Milo…” she sighed, looking out the window and absentmindedly crumpling the note in her hand.

Her attention was stolen by a pair of voices down the hall behind her. She heard one of them mention how one of the rooms was empty, and that the two of them were probably together.

Seza darted behind the bed and held herself close to the floor to stay out of sight when the door opened up again. From under the mattress she spotted fresh blood spattered on the boots of the one soldier that walked in to quickly scan the room.

The soldier with bloody boots took a few steps deeper into the room before commenting how this one was empty as well. His associate entered the room behind him, also with bloodied boots that left prints on the floor as he walked. She heard him mention how four out of six was good enough.

Then Seza did the math—the bloody boots, the two soldiers going room to room down the hallway, she knew what it all meant. Her rage began to boil.

The moment the closer pair of boots to her turned back toward the hallway, she slid out of cover and jammed the point of her knife just above the soldier’s heel to sever the tendon, then just as quickly reached up and around him to drive the point of the knife deep into his neck and take him down.

She threw the first solder aside and flung the knife at the other one just as he turned around, landing it just below his collarbone as she sprinted across the room at him and leapt forward, throwing her knee into his jaw and landing on top of him. Sinking her weight down on his chest and pinning his arms to the floor with her shins, Seza pulled the knife out of the other man with her left hand as she pulled his head back by his hair with her right to expose his neck. She jabbed the blade under his jaw and pushed her weight against it, ignoring the warm slick on her hand as she locked eyes with the man and watched him die.

Slowly she stood up, retrieving her knife from the fallen soldier’s gushing neck wound and wiping the blade clean on her fatigues before returning the knife to the sheath on her belt. She scrambled down the hall to the first of the four rooms and shoved the door open.

To her horror, there lay Jackson, lying in bed with his eyes open, the sheet stained dark red underneath him with a deep gash across his neck.

She cupped her hands over her mouth and backed away, barely containing her grief and sorrow for the man. She turned and pressed on Alicia’s door and—to her terror—beheld the same sight. She opened Brock’s and Wyatt’s doors as well, holding out some measure of hope that they were somehow spared but finding them in the same state as the other two.

Seza wouldn’t allow their deaths to go unanswered. She knew what she had to do next, but first she had to temper her anguish at the loss of her squadmates for the moment and find a way off the compound.

Krueger waited for her at the air strip in Tây Ninh, seated at a small square table tucked away in the corner of an aircraft hangar. He tapped his finger impatiently on the table top waiting for her to contact him, ignoring the food in the plate before him as it cooled.

His satellite phone started to ring in his duffel by his boot, and he scrambled to answer it. “Ja,” he said. “Hier ist Krüger..!”

“Milo,” Seza whispered after a brief delay.

“Seza,” he sighed, relieved to hear her voice. “Where are you now?”

“A safe location,” she said.

Krueger stood up from his seat, and started slowly pacing back and forth in front of the table “Listen, you and the others have to meet me here in Tây Ninh, where we first landed. Quickly, before it’s too late.”

Seza’s silence was longer than the expected delay from the satellite phone.

“Seza..?”

“The others won’t be coming,” she finally whimpered. “They’re dead.”

Krueger stopped in his tracks, in disbelief of what she was telling him. “…What?”

“They’re all dead,” she repeated. “Wyatt. Jackson. Alicia. Brock… all of them. Murdered in their sleep.” The pain in her now-brittle voice was audible, and that—more than the news she delivered—is what ripped Krueger apart.

Krueger slowly sank down back onto his seat, reeling from the weight of what she just told him. “Mein gott,” he lamented. He took the phone away from his ear for a moment and leaned his forehead against his knuckles, shutting his eyes tight.

“Did you know..?” Seza finally asked. “Is that why you left?”

“Seza… I—”

“Do not lie to me, Archangel. Did you know?”

Krueger took a breath to compose himself before answering her. “I suspected he might,” he said. “Yes.”

In his mind’s eye he could see the heartbreak in her ice blue eyes, and it nearly brought him to tears. “Then why did you leave us?” she finally pleaded. “Why did you leave me?”

“Because I wanted for you all to be paid. You know I wanted no part of this fight, I even told him to give my share to all of you, because I knew that’s what you needed… I assure you, I had no idea he would turn before paying you all..!”

Seza took a while before answering. “They will pay,” she said. “If not with money then with blood.”

“Seza.”

“I found a way off the compound,” she continued. “We can strike tonight while they sleep.”

“Seza, let it go. Leave this place with me.”

“…what are you talking about?”

“Let’s get out of here,” he explained. “Start anew. The transport to Hanoi No Bai leaves in three hours, you can still make it if you start moving.”

Seza was quiet for a while before she finally answered. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” she stated.

“Seza, listen to me.”

She didn’t let him speak. In her grief and disappointment in him, she cursed him in Arabic. “Khayin!” she shouted. “How could you turn your back on them!? How could you turn on me..?”

“I’m not turning on anyone..! We move forward, and live our lives in a way that would please them. This is the way to honor our fallen, trust me.”

“Jaban..! I won’t let their deaths be in vain.” At this point her grief began to subside and all that was left was her building, seething wrath. “Their spilled blood cannot go unanswered.”

“I understand your desire for revenge, Seza, but I promise you will find no peace at the end of that path,” he warned. “I know this.”

She exhaled audibly on the other end of the line. “You brought us here, Archangel. You started a job you couldn’t finish. But that’s why you have me, isn’t it? For the uglier parts of the job you’re too weak to carry out on your own?”

He knew it was anger talking, but her words still cut him deeper than any knife.

“Do what you have to do,” she continued. “I will finish what you started.”

Then the line went dead, leaving Krueger alone to hear with her final, hurtful words over and over again for what would become years.

~~~~

Seza retuned to Firebase Ash late that night under the cover of darkness. She crept through the shadows on her way to her objective, silently moving toward her first victim as she drew her knife from its sheath on her belt.

She sank down to the ground as she buried the point of her blade into the back of the soldier’s knee, then sprang upward and ripped it out sideways to jab it backwards into his neck. She had already taken his knife as well and started moving again by the time she felt his blood start to soak through the fabric of her BDU jacket.

She remained hidden near the armory entrance for one other soldier to step up to the door and open the gate, and pounced the moment he crossed the threshold. She stabbed him in his right side from behind, then quickly wove around to his front to remove the blade and reclaim it, reversing her grip and hitting him twice more in the upper chest and once at the base of his neck on the same side with the other knife.

She took him to the floor quietly, then retrieved her blades and moved deeper into the armory to rig a few crates of explosives for remote activation when the time came. On her way out, she spotted a sheathed machete hanging near the rifles which she took. She poked her head out the door and quickly scanned the area before her before heading to the command building. On her way there, she crept up behind another soldier and planted her boot heel into the back of his knee, and plunged one of her knives into the base of his neck on the left side, leaving him to bleed out while she proceeded inside.

Chea Hang stepped into his room, absentmindedly flinging the door shut behind him and heading deeper into his quarters. Seza, hidden behind the door, emerged and kicked him in the small of his back to take him by surprise and knock him onto his front. Just as he hit the floor, she whipped both knives at him one after the other; the first landed below the ribs on the right side of his back and the second lodged itself higher up near the shoulder blade.

Chea Hang yelped as each of the blades struck. Writhing, he turned just enough to see Seza start to walk up to him, blood all over her fatigues. Terror took hold of him once he recognized her, and he began to crawl away toward a desk to raise the alarm.

It wasn’t the time for that yet, Seza thought.

When she caught up to him, she knelt down and took hold of the knives in his back to pull him toward her, then freed one hand to grab him by his hair and pull his head backward to expose his neck. Chea Hang fought back a little, trying to move her off of him with his body.

“This is what they felt,” she whispered in his ear. She pulled one of the knives out of his back with her other hand and buried its point into the base of his neck. Chea Hang convulsed violently under her as she slowly pulled the knife sideways across his neck, holding his head back and carving a gash so wide and deep it nearly decapitated him.

When she was done she stood up to look down at him, the bloody knife still in her hand as more of the crimson fluid gushed from his open neck. He gurgled as more of it poured forth, and finally expired with an unremarkable hic and a twitch.

Seza placed her boot between Chea Hang’s shoulder blades and bent over to pull the other knife out from the man’s shoulder, then stepped over the pool of blood to the desk to retrieve his knife before turning and heading out.

Seza stood over San Boran as he slept, holding two of her three knives in her hands and waiting for the right moment. By now, the nighttime patrols outside should have come across one or more of the bodies she left behind on her way to the command building, and they’d raise an alarm of sorts to make the others on site aware of what was happening.

The radio crackled to life across the room, lining up with Seza’s plan and stirring San Boran awake.

Just as his eyes parted, she plunged the knives in her hands into his wrists, nailing him to the mattress as he shouted out in pain and surprise.

“For Brock and Alicia,” she said, freeing one hand to draw the third knife and plunge it into his ribs. He screamed again. “For Jackson.” She pulled the knife out and buried it into his side once more, leaving there this time as his pained screams dissolved into a whimper. “For Wyatt…”

Then she took a step back and slowly, methodically drew the machete from its sheath, watching the fear build in San Boran’s eyes and savoring it.

She inverted the blade and held it above his stomach with both hands. “For your prisoners…” She plunged the blade straight down into him, conjuring another pained scream as the sirens began to blare outside. “…each of them.” She twisted the blade ninety degrees opening the wound and bringing forth more blood and gurgling screams, dropped one hand and repositioned her grip with the other, and then slashed him open. “And for me.”

She stood beside San Boran watching his disbelief at the sight of his own intestines bubbling out from his open stomach. It didn’t last long enough, however; shock, blood loss, and a rapid change in blood pressure took their toll shortly afterward. Seza watched San Boran’s eyes roll back and his body go limp as he lost consciousness. Within minutes he would be dead.

Seza shut her eyes and took a deep breath, dropping the machete onto the floor next to her as she slowly exhaled to calm herself. She inhaled deep again, ignoring the smell of blood and excrement in the room with her, and waited for relief as she exhaled again.

She opened her eyes again when she felt no elation, and realized the lives of San Boran, Chea Hang, and the others she killed in the minutes leading up to this moment would do nothing to fill the gap in her life that her squad—her family—left behind. The terror she saw in the eyes of these men in their final moments, while welcome at first, started to bother her now that anger no longer blurred her vision.

In these last moments, Seza fell so far away from everything Krueger shared with her. She was an Angel of Death, so unlike the man she so deeply admired and loved.

She felt no vindication or sense of victory, only a calm certainty that Krueger was right, and that this moment would haunt her for the rest of her life.

The chatter of AK fire in the hallway snapped her back to the moment, and the bullets tearing through the door behind her drove her to seek cover behind the bed. She cursed herself for allowing the soldiers to arm themselves—she was supposed to blow the armory sooner.

Krueger, she thought, would have kept her focused were he here.

She fumbled for the detonator in her jacket pocket, braced herself for the shockwave, and hit the trigger. In that instant the flash and roar of the exploding munitions illuminated the night as the shockwave shattered the compound’s windows, sending a blizzard of glass shards into the soldiers in the hallway.

The window in San Boran’s room, though not facing the explosion, didn’t stand up to the blast either, and Seza absorbed the full impact of the shockwave as it entered the room and disoriented her. She struggled to reclaim her balance as she stood up and staggered back towards the door. If she hurried, she thought, she could still meet Krueger at the air strip before the transport left Tây Ninh.

She carefully placed her steps over the bodies of the soldiers in the hallway. A few yards from San Boran’s room her attention was stolen by a faint crackle outside. She turned her head to see orbs of bright light scattered throughout the base, and identified plumes of dense white smoke coming from them.

Seza shot backward toward the wall, realizing she was looking at the rest of the white phosphorus munitions that hadn’t been used on the resistance the night before.

She covered her mouth and nose as she scrambled deeper into the command building, as far away from the windows and surviving soldiers as she could go, and retreated an emergency bunker at the heart of the building. She pushed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, sliding down to have a seat on the floor.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her head on her forearms as her adrenaline filtered out of her bloodstream. As much as she tried to fight it, she couldn’t stop the tears as soon as the first one escaped.

But the grief she felt for her fallen squad mates and the realization of what she did to those men were nothing compared to what she soon realized—by the time it was safe for her to leave the bunker, the only other person on Earth who understood her would be long gone, scattered to the wind in any of a thousand directions. She was alone, and likely would be for the rest of her days. She sobbed mournfully into her own arms as she lay on the floor, offering apologies to Krueger as if he were in the room with her to hear them.

~~~~

The hope drained from Krueger as the minutes since speaking to Seza over the phone turned into hours. He took one final look at his watch before wistfully gathering his duffel and heading to the aircraft bay doors.

The pilot looked him over. “How many?” he asked.

“Just me,” Krueger croaked. He looked over his shoulder in the direction of Firebase Ash. “I’m all that’s left.”

The pilot remembered taking six of them across the border a few days ago. He broke eye contact and reached into his inside jacket pocket to retrieve a photo. “My condolences,” he sympathized, handing it to Krueger. He turned back and headed toward the cockpit.

Krueger looked down at the photograph in his hands, which he had the pilot take just days before at the same location. He knew he would treasure the memory for the rest of his life as he stepped aboard the aircraft and settled in for the trip back to Hanoi.

~~~~

Seza emerged from the Command Building the following morning, her uniform stained brown with hours-old blood. She scanned the clearing before her—like the last time she loosed the pyrophoric weapons on a target the floor around her was scattered with the charred remains of both people and the infrastructure they once inhabited. She made an effort not to look too hard at the carbonized mounds around her while she scanned the horizon, and found what appeared to be an intact four-by-four in the distance, far enough away from the fires that its fuel remained intact.

She made her way to the vehicle and inspected it for damage, then got into the car’s driver seat and started the engine. She let it hum for a moment before putting it into gear and heading toward the front gate of Firebase Ash. She crashed through the gate and headed out into the unknown, unsure of what the future would bring, but knowing that she would have to find the strength to face it on her own from now on.

Rego Park, six miles southeast of Manhattan, present day.

“Sorry I’m late,” Khai said as Krueger let her into his home. She placed her weekend bag by the door and tiptoed up to kiss him hello. “I hope we can still salvage the evening.”

“Of course we can,” Krueger replied, taking her coat and scarf. “It’s just dinner and movies, there’s nothing formal about tonight, or anything for the rest of the weekend.”

Khai mused a little at the prospect of a real weekend getaway, her first since the death of Simon Wells. “Informal fun is just what I need right now,” she said. “I’ll try my best to not let work get in the way.” She took a few steps deeper into the living area and leaned on the back of a couch to face him. “Is it weird that I’m still nervous about meeting Emma and your daughter tomorrow?”

“You shouldn’t be,” he grinned. “I’m sure they’ll love you.”

“If not, then at least it’s at the High Line. A public place, where they can’t make too much of a scene.”

“Come now,” Krueger teased. “You’re the scariest woman in the Five Boroughs. What will your rivals say if they found out you were fearful of an eighteen year old girl and her mother?”

“Shut up!” she laughed, getting off the couch to hit him playfully. Her attention was drawn to a row of framed photographs sitting on top of his mantelpiece. “I hadn’t noticed these before..! May I?”

“By all means.”

Khai stepped up to survey the framed photos of him with his son, the ones with his daughter, and paused at a picture of what she assumed was his other family. She picked the framed photo up off the mantelpiece to examine it and confirm her theory. In it there were six people dressed in tiger stripe camouflage BDUs posing by the open bay doors of what looked like a cargo plane or helicopter. She scanned the figures and, after some scrutiny, found Krueger’s bearded face among them tilted slightly upward mid-nod with dark sunglasses and a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Immediately to his left in the photo she recognized Seza, a beaming smile spread across her face.

She correctly deduced it was Amur Company, and noted the handwritten text in the corner. “Rain makers and life takers,” she read. “Tây Ninh, 2012.” She looked back up at Krueger and offered him a grin. “It’s weird seeing Seza smile like that.”

“If you think that’s odd,” he jested, “you should have seen my hair.”

“What,” she teased. “Were you rocking a man bun behind that smirk?”

“I think they called it a ‘messy pony tail?’ It just made sense to keep it out of my face.”

“What??” she laughed. “No way..! I’d actually like to see that someday.”

“It’ll be a while before it gets that long again,” he chuckled. He looked at the photo in her hand. “The big guy next to me, leaning on the bay doorway, is Brock,” he said. “The one beside Seza, with his hand on my shoulder, is Wyatt. His other arm is around Alicia, and Jackson is at the other end.”

Khai could almost feel each of their personalities in the photo. It captured them perfectly.

“That was taken before we left for what would become our last job together,” Krueger continued, his tone growing melancholy. “And until two months ago I thought I was the only one left. I kept that photo in their memory, and would look at that photo every time I left this house for eight years, wondering if this was the day I would join them again.”

Khai put the picture back down on the mantelpiece, then reached up to cup his face with both her hands. “You don’t have to think that anymore,” she told him.

Krueger reached up to squeeze her hands. “I know,” he said. “I’ve got a left lot to live for.”

“Just being clear,” Khai said with a smirk and a quick kiss. “So,” she continued on her way towards the kitchen, “shall we get started?”

“Of course,” he said, following her. “Chicken and peppers, yes? Who’s recipe?”

“I found on the internet,” she said, inspecting Krueger’s spice cabinet. “I haven’t tried it yet so, you know… disclaimer.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fantastic,” he said. He rolled his sleeves up and retrieved the bag containing the still-marinating chicken breast from his refrigerator and placed it near the stove top for her. Then pulled a red and green pepper out of the refrigerator to place onto a cutting board next to a yellow onion. Finally he reached into his wine cabinet to retrieve a cabernet sauvignon while she took two glasses out of the cabinet.

(Masterlist)

#fiction #original work #original content #original fiction #prose #creative writing #drama #action #thriller #romance

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