#cherry cordial GET BEHIND ME

[witherby]

Blood and Teeth

Jason Todd x Reader

You just wanted to get home before dark.

⚠️ Content warning: stalking, attempted mugging, gunshots, non-consensual feeding ⚠️

God, you'd been doing so well.

The job you work is daylight shift, you're always polite and cordial, you mind your own business, and, most importantly, you don't take anybody else's bullshit.

You go to work, you do your tasks, then you go home. You're always in before the sun sets, and if you aren't, you're cozying into the closest hotel you can find and parking your ass there for the night. Then it's rinse and repeat. Little to no deviation from the routine. It's fine.

You don't look for trouble, is the point.

But it sure did find you.

"No! Nonono — WAIT, STOP! WAIT!"

You sprint as fast as your legs will take you, but it's no use. The bus pulls away from the stop and keeps on going, ten minutes earlier than it should've, and leaves you behind. You groan and resist the urge to throw your bag to the ground.

"God dammit." The next one wouldn't be around for at least an hour and a half, and it would be long dark by then. You didn't have the cash on hand for a cab all the way to downtown Gotham, either. You pull your phone out and check how far the closest hotel is, but that's also downtown.

As far as options go, you can either call your brother and ask him to come get you, or walk as fast as your legs will take you and hope you make it back home unscathed.

You start walking.

"It's fine," you tell yourself, white-knuckling the strap of your messenger bag. "You've made it home after dark before and been completely fine. Nothing's going to happen to you. Everything is great. You could use the exercise, actually. A little leg work does a body good, and you spend most of your time sitting at a desk. Yeah. Yeah! It's like walking on the treadmill..."

The small pep talk helps. Taking large strides, you estimate that you'll make it back home in 45 minutes. That's fine! It's all fine!

Except it isn't fine, because twenty minutes in, you become acutely aware of someone following you about half a block back. You test that by crossing streets at odd places and walking around the perimeter of a liquor store, and he remains on the edge of your periphery the whole time. It's absolutely not fine.

You pull your phone out and dial 9-1-1, picking up the pace. Your heart feels like it's leapt into your throat and you hope against hope he changes his mind and fucks off somewhere else.

"Gotham City Police. Where is the address of the emergency?"

"Uh...I'm currently off the intersection of Cherry and Roman," you explain, looking at the street sign, and give the dispatcher your name. "I'm walking South along Cherry. There's a man following me, about...uh, sixty feet back? I think I'm gonna get jumped, and I missed my bus, and I just wanna get home before dark —"

"Okay, alright," the dispatcher says, voice gentle. "It'll be okay. I've alerted units in your area to come by. The closest one is five minutes out. Stay on the line with me."

"Okay," you mutter. "Thank you. I'm just really scared."

"It'll be okay," the dispatcher repeats. "What does the man look like? Are you able to describe him safely?"

"He's kind of short," you explain. "He's got jeans on and a black coat. I think he's blonde, but I don't wanna look behind me and piss him off..."

"That's fine. You're doing great. They're four minutes out. Just keep walking and talking to me."

"Okay. I'm crossing the street now, still on Cherry... There's a book store that's closed on my right. It's called...um..." You squint. You're not quite close enough to see the sign yet, and before you get the chance to better read the lettering, a hand clasps around your arm and yanks you backwards. You scream, cellphone dropping to the sidewalk, and the man is trying to drag you into an alleyway.

"No!" You cry, beating a fist against his chest. "Stop!! GET OFF ME!"

"Shut the fuck up!" The man snarls. You yank a taser out of your tote bag and press it against his side, shocking him. He shouts in pain and spasms, letting go. You stumble back, scoop up your phone, and take off in a sprint. "Get back here!!"

"Hello!?" You yell into the receiver. "He's chasing me! I'm running but he's chasing me! I need help right now, please!!"

"A unit is two minutes out," the dispatcher replies, sounding tense. "Do you have any means of defending yourself? A weapon? Pepper spray?"

"My taser didn't do shit! I don't have anything else!"

"Keep running. They're hurrying as fast as they can, I promise."

"I'm running! I'm going!!"

You pump your legs as fast as they can possibly carry you, then push them to go even faster than that. You're gasping noisily for breath and there's a stitch developing in your side. Your heart feels like it's going to burst from your chest. But you can't stop, because you can hear him running after you, and if you stop you'll most certainly die.

"Please!" You wheeze into the phone. "I can't — please!"

The sound of sirens reaches your ears and you feel almost weep with relief. You start shouting that you're here, you're right here, hurry the fuck up and get here, but you're grabbed again right as the patrol car rounds the corner.

The stalker hooks an arm around your throat and yanks you to his chest. He presses a gun to your temple and you freeze, ice crawling up and down your spine.

"Drop the weapon!" A cop shouts. Two of them hop out of the vehicle and aim their own guns at the two of you. "Put the gun down and step away from them right now!"

"This doesn't have to go down with anybody getting hurt tonight!" The second officer yells. "Surrender peacefully!"

"Fuck your peace!!" The man that has you screams. The hand holding the gun is shaking as badly as you are, and you hope and pray his finger isn't twitching against that trigger. "Back up or I blow their brains all over the street!"

"Don't!" You choke out. "Don't do that! Please don't do that, I'm just trying to go home please don't —"

"SHUT UP!" He snaps. "EVERYBODY SHUT UP OR I SWEAR I'M GONNA —"

Two gunshots sound. You flinch hard, hands flying up to your head to feel for any bullet wounds, but there's nothing there. The responding officers are sheet-white, looking at you like they've seen a ghost.

No, not at you. Past you.

You don't wanna look. You've lived this long not having to see a dead body and don't intend on breaking that streak. Maybe they hadn't intended to shoot to kill? Is that why they seem to scared? But — no, that doesn't make sense. Because if they shot him, the body is on the ground. Their eyes should be on the ground. Not up as high as they currently are.

They're looking at something else.

"Aw, what's the matter?" Chimes a voice behind you, and you turn just as pale as them.

You don't dare turn around. You don't move. You don't breathe. The exact reason why you're so diligent about getting home before sundown every night is standing about two feet behind you, and you suddenly feel like your odds of survival were better with the stalker.

"Why don't you two go on back to the precinct? I've got it from here."

The police continue to stare behind you for several, long moments. They share a look between each other. They look at you. They step towards their car.

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. Cold sweat forms on the back of your neck and your eyes start to water.

"Don't go," you stammer, shaking your head. "Don't. Don't leave me here. Please don't go —"

"Shhhh..." What feels like a block of ice lands heavily on your shoulder and squeezes tight. So painfully tight. You can't breathe. "Don't listen to 'im. Go on, boys. Get."

The first officer climbs back into the car. The second one hesitates just a moment longer.

"I don't like repeating myself. Go, before I run out of fucking patience."

The second cop disappears back into the car, shutting off the lights, and drives away.

You feel like you're going to throw up. There's nothing protecting you anymore. No one around. Just your ragged breathing to fill the silence and the Red Hood practically pressed against your back.

"You know what's coming next."

The voice is low and distorted by a modulator in the helmet. Every word makes your heart race faster and your vision gets spotty at the edges.

"Hey, hey, hey...easy," he teases, the icey hand on your shoulder moving to cup your jaw. Pressure starts to be applied, urging you to tip your head back and expose your throat to the open air. You sob.

"M'just try-trying t'go ho-home."

"Yeah?" The Red Hood coos. You swear it sounds like he's grinning under that fucking helmet.

"I just wanna go home," you repeat, nearly whispering.

"Heard ya the first time. Quiet, now."

He tips your head back until it won't go any further. Through tears, you blink up at a blood-red helmet, reflecting your terror back at you. The hand at your jaw moves up and covers your eyes, eliminating even the small solace of the street lamps and leaving you in total darkness.

"You don't move. You don't run. You don't pull away from me. You keep these pretty eyes shut nice and tight. Do all that and maybe. Maybe. I let you go home. Say yes if you understand."

Your bottom lip wobbles, teeth practically chattering.

"Y-yes," you whisper.

"Good."

You hear the click of latches coming undone and hear him take the helmet off. You feel his other arm come around your waist, pulling your bodies flush together. You feel his breath against your throat.

Getting bitten by a vampire is a terrible experience. It's nothing like the movies and books tell you at all; no little pinch followed by numbness, no erotic tingling coming from the point of contact, no gentle suction like getting a hickey.

It feels like somebody is stabbing you with a fucking fork and then subsequently trying to suck the skin off your bones. It hurts like nothing else you've ever experienced.

You scream, because he didn't say you weren't allowed to do that, and you cling to the arm around your waist as tight as you possibly can, like it's the only thing grounding you to what's happening because it is. It is.

This is why most of Gotham's businesses are closed by sundown, why most people have shut themselves into their homes and settled in for the evening by now, why you were trying to do the exact same thing before you missed that stupid bus. Because ever since the Red Hood started prowling the streets at night, nobody has wanted to be caught outside with him.

He emerged four years ago with a mission and two rules:

1. If he catches you out at night doing some shit you shouldn't, pray you've gotten your affairs in order before he kills you.

2. If he saves you from someone who was out at night doing some shit they shouldn't, he will take payment from you whether you give it willingly or not.

He does not accept money. He does not accept bribes. He does not leave a debt unpaid.

Gotham's resident vampire takes your blood.

[ghoulphile]

it's always the quiet ones | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | pre-war cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 700 ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; oral (m receiving), throat fucking, choking, dirty talk, bathroom sex ➥ summary | based off this ask; We can see that Cooper tends to go for good girls (like @ghoulfuckersincorporated mentioned!), but what if he ran into a seemingly innocent - or at the very least kind - person… but they dirty talk like a sinner in the sack? ➥ notes | i humbly offer this drabble to @gingersforeverbox 🙈 masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?

At least, that’s what Cooper’s mama always said (and he wouldn’t know how right she was until he found himself shoved in a swanky club bathroom, slacks tucked under his ass as the prettiest — politest — lady choked herself with his cock).

Frankly, how he got here’s a hazy blur of bourbon and cigar smoke.

Whispered conversations and coy looks. The flash of cherry red nails, and a well timed head tilt; a pretty little thing cozied against him as nameless faces passed in and out of view.

Another pointless after party (though far smaller of an event than he used to pull) where vultures circled the room, waiting for their chance to pick at his bones. LA devotee’s ready to snap up the scraps of the once great Cooper Howard.

Dog eat dog; he couldn’t stand the petty games —the mindless indulgences.

So, he’d invited you as a buffer.

An acquaintanceship that’d gone back years, having met on set of one of his earlier productions, you were always cordial and had a kind word to say about anybody. Not a mean bone in that body… or so he’d thought.

Now, he’s not so sure he knows you half as well as he thought he did.

“Fuck!”

Air hisses through his teeth, his hands hovering over the sides of your head, unsure where to grip. Your hair looks awfully pretty (like it took a long time to force into shape), he’d hate to ruin the style. But if you keep trying to suck his soul out through his cock, he might just have to sink his fingers into those delicate curls and yank.

“S-Sweetheart, what are you — oh, ssshit.”

You peer up at him from beneath the spiky fan of your lashes and hum. His hips jump and you choke, your tongue pinned as your teeth scrape along his thick shaft.

Spit drips past your swollen lips, clings to your chin in sticky strings. The lower half of your face is a mess of smeared lipstick and pre-cum.

He pants, gazing down at you with awe. “How’re you so fucking good at this?”

He’s so big, stretching your mouth to the limit. A tender ache sets behind the hinge of your jaw, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Those half-lidded eyes, dark and hungry, make it all worth it. The slack circle of his mouth, the pained furrow of his brows as he wrestles with his self control all the payment you require.

You pop off; trace along the throbbing vein with your tongue as the heavy weight of his cock slips free with a wet suction. Your thighs clench and your toes curl in your heels at the low-throated groan punched from his chest.

“Practice makes perfect, don’t you think, Mr Howard?” you press a sloppy kiss to his leaking slit, lapping up the salty beads of fluid. Your fingers roll his balls, dragging the tips of your nails along the sensitive skin to watch him shiver. “Besides, I’ve seen how you look at me.”

His eyes flick off to the side, blowing wide once he catches your reflections in the mirror. He gulps, his knuckles white beside his hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

“Please, spare me.”

You snort, roll your eyes and shoot him a catty grin. Laugh when his cock throbs at the teasing flash of your tongue.

“You’re sweet — as true a gentleman as they come — but you can’t fool me. You’ve wanted me since you met me... and I don't get my best dress dirty for just anyone.”

“...”

“Now, before you try to say otherwise, remember whose on their knees with your cock in their mouth.”

“...No. Y-You’re right but I… I shouldn’t want to.”

You wink, circle the crown of his head with a red nail. More pre-cum dribbles from the slit, sticky drops you kiss away with your tongue.

“It’s okay, Mr Howard,” you say. “I want you too. Now do us both a favor and fuck my throat until I can’t talk. Please, I want it to hurt — want you to make me cry.”

[circusgoth-dotcom]

Guardian Angel

Ship: Eric Draven x Gilmour Enix

Word Count: 923

Summary: Yayyy first Eric fic!! Gil keeps encountering a mysterious but well-meaning stranger. Tonight, they spend significant time together. CWs for food mentions, brief death mention, brief implied suggestiveness.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @knightfallships

Gil was in the usual place he could be expected on a Friday evening— the cramped, smoky lobby of the Bronze Inn. It was an apartment complex before the rent got too high, then it ironically became a budget hotel. He looked at the digital clock beside the register. 7:34pm shone solidly back at him. Above his head, two tenants slept. A third, whose exit date was rapidly approaching, hadn’t been seen since they entered.

Gil ruled that they were, realistically, dead, but he wasn’t about to go up there and find out. They were just about to call it a night when the door creaked open, letting in a gust of freezing rain.

“How many nights?” It asked without looking up from their magazine.

“Just the one, I think.”

Their gaze flicked up. Past their spotty glasses, they caught a familiar glimpse. He straightened up and cleared his throat. “Have you been following me?”

The man who had entered smiled behind his pale facepaint. “Ever heard of coincidence?”

Gil hummed. “Too much coincidence and I think they call it intentional. Who are you?”

The man half-bowed. “Simply a travelling showman, my good sir.”

“Yeah, right.” His stomach growled and he sighed, rubbing his face underneath his glasses.

“Why don’t we ditch this place and fill up the fuel tank?”

They looked around. “Well… alright.” They bent down and retrieved a folded sign from under the desk, placing it on top. Gone on Smoke Break- Clerk Will Return Shortly. He then grabbed his coat and came up beside the stranger. “Beats sleeping on an empty stomach.”

The stranger gave him a sympathetic look as they set out into the dreary night. Gil pulled up his hood, following the dark-haired man to what was essentially a shack on a corner. It had a large window open to the street and a counter where customers could sit. Inside, it was as if someone had carved a kitchen out of a more traditional restaurant and plopped it on the side of the road. The sign on top of the shack read Maxi-Dogs. Gil ordered a cheeseburger and a cherry cola, happy to fill his ornery stomach.

“You’re not going to get anything?” He asked of the stranger, who put his hand up dismissively.

“I already ate. And don’t worry about paying, it’s on me.”

Gil couldn’t help but still feel cynical. He sighed and set down his sandwich. “Alright, what is it that you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re being awfully cordial to me… trust me, I’m just a bellhop. I don’t do any of that backdoor stuff…”

The stranger frowned, putting a firm but comforting hand on Gil’s arm. “Hey. I’m not that kind of guy. I promise.” His tone was soft and insistent, his gaze painfully sincere. Quietly, they went back to eating. “Do they still show movies in this dump?” The stranger continued when they were finished.

“Theater’s been closed for years, stranger,” Gil almost chuckled. “Do you live under a rock?”

He smiled. “Something like that. Well, come on.”

Before Gil could ask what he was up to, they were being led away from the food stall. As the rain grew heavier, Gil let the man rush him to the old abandoned theater.

“I told you, it’s closed!” Gil shouted over the downpour. He watched the man climb a ladder on the side of the building before forcing open a nearby window. He waved them inside and they sighed, following him and landing in a dark projector room. As their eyes adjusted to the lack of light, they saw the stranger digging through a box of film. “You know, I’ve got to get back to work at some point… I’m the only one there tonight, and I only get a few hours of sleep as it is.”

“I’ll pick a short one. It’ll be good for you.”

Gil gave him a questioning look he couldn’t have seen in the shadows. “I’ll find us some seats,” it sighed, blindly leaving the room. As it felt around, it tried to wrack its brain on if it knew the man it’d spent the evening with. Other than seeing him around before and having the briefest of interactions, it knew nothing about him. He seemed strangely kind for the world Gil lived in. It was hard to believe it was at all genuine. The screen suddenly flickered to life as the stranger wiped dust and cobwebs away from the projector’s lens. He joined them shortly in a back row as a Pop-Eye film began to play. Gil pushed back his hood.

“Can’t believe this all still works… too bad the speakers aren’t hooked up,” they commented after a beat. They then looked to the stranger. “Can’t you at least tell me your name, if you aren’t going to tell me why you’re so interested in me?”

The stranger hesitated, eyes locked on the screen, his jaw slightly slanted. Finally, he looked at them, again with those purely dutiful eyes. “It’s Eric. And I’m interested in you because you’re… special.”

“Eric,” Gil repeated. They both redirected their attention to the silent animation. As it went on, Gil felt exhaustion settling in their body, their vision blurring as they struggled to keep their eyes open. Giving in, they found themself leaning against Eric’s shoulder.

“You can close your eyes, Starchild… I’ve got you.” Eric spoke softly, then looked up as his raven friend flew in through the open window. “Let’s make sure he gets home safe.”

[krispdreemurr]

Kris prompt:

A trail of Hershey kisses leads Kris to a mysterious location. Kris, while being aware this is a trap, follows through because free chocolate. Regardless of the trap, Kris will channel their inner Susie and eat their way out of it.

The light through the thick trees is being slowly cut out, the branches starting to block out the thin hints of pale winter sunlight. The birds in the trees go quiet one by one, leaving just the sound of Kris' footsteps behind.

Well, and the sound of chewing, but that's fainter.

Kris walks and walks, stopping every few steps to pick up another kiss. The silver wrappers still glint even as the darkness becomes total, providing their only guide. They make their way carefully, fingers working busily to unwrap the foil as they follow the path.

When their gauntlets gently materialize around their hands, it gets a little trickier.

At last, the trail stops, and Kris stops as well.

A figure looms in the dark.

"Lightner," it intones. "I knew you would fall for my trap. You were so easy to convince... And now at last you will fall to my might. So--"

"Wait, real quick," Kris interrupts. "Before you try and kill me for my soul or whatever. Do you have any of the cherry kisses?"

The figure pauses, one massive hand raised mid-strike. "What?"

"The cherry cordial ones. Y'know. I think they're usually around this time of year? But none of the local stores have them and like, since you're clearly manifesting these or whatever, I thought maybe you'd have them."

"I..." The figure shakes its head, slowly. "I didn't even know there was more than one kind, to be frank with you."

"What? You're kidding. Not even Hugs and Kisses? You're missing a whole world. Here, let me get out my phone--"

"This is the worst battle to the death I've ever been in," the figure groans.

"So like the almond ones are pretty basic, but still great, but in my opinion the meltaway ones are really the best, and..."

[raccoonfallsharder]

★⋆.࿐࿔˚⋆˙‧₊ treats part two of you are cordially invited ★⋆.࿐࿔˚⋆˙‧₊

you are cordially invited masterlist ★⋆.࿐࿔˚⋆˙‧₊ kinktober 2024 | navigation | fanfiction masterlist 18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | 2/2 parts | word count: 38,774. read part two ★࿐࿔ treats now ★⋆.࿐࿔˚⋆˙‧₊ [COMPLETE 11/5]

caught in a maze of glass coffins and hunting for escape, you and your wolf stumble across some particularly lascivious pumpkins, resulting in something more-or-less akin to — well, possession. see below for warnings, kinks, and more info.

“C’mon, bunny,” Rocket says quietly, and you chew your lip desperately, looking up at him with eyes that feel bigger and needier than they’ve ever been before. Your face is dripping and your pussy is dripping and your thighs are dripping and you’re wet everywhere, and you just need—

“P-please,” you manage to choke out, finally coming to settle at his feet. “Please, Rocket—“ Your fingers brush his clawed toes and then flick up to his ankles — the hem of his pants. They knit uselessly — desperately — in the cloth covering his thighs.  “I love when they beg,” someone purrs. Your eyes skitter sideways, big and nervous and half-panicked, glassy with tears. “Don’t listen to them, sweetheart,” Rocket croons. “Just listen t’me. Focus on me.” “Get on with it,” someone drawls. “I’ve never seen Terran cunt before. Is it true they get all drippy?” “Lift her skirt,” someone else suggests idly, sounding almost as bored as the Timekeeper. “Lift her skirt and split her open.” A sob shudders out of your lungs because yes, you want that, you want that. And it’s fucking mortifying at the same time. “Look how she squirms,” the Epicure sneers. “She’s trying to rub her cunt while she sits there. She really is a leporid—“ “Look at me, bunny.”  You turn a shiny tear-glazed gaze with full-bloom pupils up at your Lupid. His eyes are gorgeous behind the wolvish mask: garnets and rubies and cordial cherries. Strawberry jolly ranchers, and cinnamon red-hots.  The orange pollen still glitters up his fur.  You see his throat work as he swallows again. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse and raspy. “Good girl,” he utters. The warmth of his praise drips over you like warm molten sugar, and you try to strangle down your whine. “You just think about me and close your eyes, okay?” You swallow too, and your tongue darts out — collecting more sugar-pollen off your lips. His eyes flick hotly down to your tongue and you can hear his growl, stifled quickly. You nod, and let your gold-dust lashes feather closed — trying to hold onto the image of him and his hard-candy eyes.  He must lean forward, because his breath puffs over your throat and your whole body buckles.  “Now turn around, and keep your eyes closed, and let me show you off a little, okay?”

part two ★࿐࿔ treats | you are cordially invited masterlist ★⋆.࿐࿔˚⋆˙‧₊ kinktober 2024 | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

KINKS: wolf/bunny play, exhibitionism, voyeurism, sex pollen, noncon/dubcon*, public sex, edging & overstim, dacryphilia, begging, praise/degradation, light humiliation, come-eating, too many orgasms, biting/marking, aftercare. *neither rocket nor reader are necessarily the "aggressor" in this scenario, but have both been forced to ingest an aphrodisiac by a third party.

CONTEXT: au based loosely on mcu vibes. resourceful reader is also a bit of a nihilist (expression of apathy toward life/death). caretaker reader/discussion of ill parent/parent death. the collector & his friends are creepy bastards (seriously i did the elders real dirty in this one). sub reader / dom rocket. HEA of course. warning for a no-smut first chapter, too much lore, + unhinged plant-science.

purple support/mdni banners by @/cafekitsune | gold rose & masquerade dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

[infinitcnexus]

You've Been Cordially Invited... (An Extermination Day short story)

A leaden, weary sigh escaped Shrike's lips as his hand fidgeted with the uncomfortably tight black bowtie wrapped around his neck. The rental tuxedo he wore definitely didn't cost as much as what the other guy told him, but too bad there weren't many other places that offer cheap, quality suits for rent on the double. Not even Vanessa and her crew at the Salon de Ch'thon, who so graciously designed his Harbinger attire, were able to help him out as they were swamped from head-to-toe with a huge influx of New Year's Eve commissions.

Like a persistent itch that never quite disappear completely, his mind went over the details of the invitation he received once again:

"You've been cordially invited to New Ch’thon Enterprises End-of-Year Ball!

Address: Morningstar Spire, 66th Floor 129 Damnation Court

A variety of refreshments, specially prepared by our top chefs, will be available.

Primary attractions will include karaoke night, trivia quiz, New Year Countdown, and most of all, livestreamed combat footage taken at Pentagram City during Extermination Day! (with betting opportunities!)

Warning: Attendance is mandatory. Absence, unless properly notified beforehand, will result in penalties which include docked payment, termination of benefits, indefinite unpaid leave, etc.

We hope that you will be there to celebrate the beginning of a glorious new year with us."

Shrike huffed indignantly, pinching his forehead. What a load of drek.

"Um, would you like a drink, sir?" a male, freckle-faced imp server asked, his right hand carrying a metal tray with a fair number of cocktail glasses, all of them holding red liquid lightly garnished with gold dust and cherries skewered with a toothpick. Shrike stared at him, quietly. He seemed like a bright-eyed college-aged kid just trying to get by without drawing too much attention to himself.

"Sir?"

"Yeah, I'll take one," Shrike hastily grabbed one of the drinks off the tray. "Sorry for holdin' you."

"P-Please enjoy," the server bowed stiffly, smiling politely with a nervous overtone as he walked away.

Poor guy, Shrike thought before looking away at his newly-acquired cocktail. He wasn't sure if it was made from the same cheap stuff readily available at the supermarket or if it was specially crafted for discerning, picky gourmands - one of whom he had the great displeasure of knowing. It didn't matter either way. He was about to take a sip when a ladylike hand grasped his shoulder, startling him and nearly making him spill his drink.

"Steve!! I'm so glad you could make it!" Shrike furrowed his brows with disgust as soon as he recognized that sickeningly cheerful voice and its owner behind him. "How's the party treating you?"

It was Quinn. She was a daemoness roughly the same height as him, with cheeks somehow rosier than her carmine skin, pink irises, and a sharp chin. She had two black stubby horns protruding from the top of her head and two black, bat-like wings folding against her back. For tonight's party, she was dressed in a form-fitting midnight blue-and-gold qipao with matching heels, her long snow white hair styled neatly and tied into a bun. Something was off about it.

"Barely tolerable, 'til you show up and make it even shittier," the imp replied bluntly. "Why are you botherin' me?"

"Aww, don't be such a sourpuss, Steve. You ought to lighten up a little tonight," Quinn said, her slender tail flicking flirtatiously. "It wouldn't do to carry all of your past burdens into the new year, right?"

"Does it matter? They will be the same in the next year, and then the one after, so on and so forth!" Shrike's grip on the cocktail glass trembled, his outburst attracting some curious and wary looks at his direction. "Why should anythin' be different?!"

Quinn sighed softly, shaking her head. "So impatient for answers, but in the end, we'll never know 'til we get there. Well, I'll get out of your hair for now. It would be a shame if security throws you out before the main event even started."

She began to walk away, yet her hand brushed slyly along the side of his forked tail.

"Let me know if you need someone for the afterparty, okay?~"

You wish, Shrike removed the cherry and downed his cocktail in a single go, immediately regretting his decision as he grimaced at how tart it was.

It's going to be a long night.

Especially since he once again failed to make it onto the karaoke list.

- - - - -

"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for!" the host - a sharply-dressed brown wolf with black scleras and golden irises -announced as he motioned towards the ginormous screen behind him with a cybernetic hand which held a remote controller. "Live, raw combat footage of Exorcists getting exterminated at Pentagram City during Extermination Day!"

He wasted no time pressing a button, and the black mirror promptly flashed into life. It showed a rather crisp video feed, captured via a pair of cybereyes installed with a NeuroTrance recording module. Their owner looked up, catching sight of a golden, halo-like portal splitting open in the middle of the bright crimson sky above Pentagram City. In a torrent of fanaticism-fueled bloodlust, legion after legion of Exorcist angels dived down towards the hellish metropolis, their hallowed spears ready to skewer any sinners unfortunate enough to be caught in their warpath.

Mixed among the terrified screams of the damned was loud, rebellious music blasting from imported, magickally-protected speakers. The Trance-scrolling mercenary confidently took off his leather coat, exposing their TruSkin-coated cyberarms which unfolded to reveal a pair of mantis blades. They were fashioned from angel steel and carefully warded and reinforced to not burn daemonic flesh.

The merc grunted, effortlessly parrying an incoming Exorcist's spear with one of his blades. He retaliated instantly, slicing off her right arm and skewering her through the chest with the other. She gagged, golden ichor spilling from her mouth through her mask as she struggled vainly to pry herself free. Unfazed, the hellpunk cruelly chopped off her legs before putting an abrupt end to her scream with a stab to the head. The party guests cheered and whooped triumphantly as he went on to carve up even more Exorcists.

Five more screens popped up next to the feed of the hellpunk with the mantis blades, and they showed what the other hired guns were doing. One of them was a mage - the kind that debilitate the opposition with curses and afflictions most foul. With a quick gesture of her hand and a phrase uttered in Arcanum, the succubus caused an Exorcist to stop and let out a terrified, ear-piercing scream mid-flight. She dove towards one of her comrades, madly skewering her over and over with her spear before slashing wildly at another, laughing madly and pathetically as her eyes darted to and fro between her former sisters.

Unfortunately, not all of the hellpunks were as equally skilled as the chromed-up street ronin or the succubus occultist. A netblazer who was too distracted with blasting down Exorcists with his smart link-compatible assault rifle was impaled from behind, his terrified screams falling on deaf ears as Exorcists surrounded him and stabbed him to nonexistence. As his feed turns to static, some members in the audience groaned loudly, the inferni they placed on that merc surviving E-Day forever parted from them.

A fresh new feed appeared in place of the one with the static. As a few more mercs were permanently flatlined, the same thing happened.

Shrike looked, sighing as he shook his head. Even if they weren't incentivized to show off the fruits of NCE's R&D Department's labors to lull in potential customers in other Hells, those mercs were still putting their lives on the line to simply become cheap entertainment for office workers who never had to worry about getting shot, sliced up, or burned in hopes of getting food and a roof over their head.

They believed they were free to shape their destinies however they want, but did they couldn't or wouldn't admit there was no such thing as absolute freedom?

[braveclementine]

Returning Home

Warnings: Angst and fluff

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OCs, which consist of Penny Fury, Elizabeth Nelson, Elijah Chan, Katya Venice, Violetta Moscow, Lan Le, Josh, Trang Tien, Ahni Jallow, Mai Ito, and Ghaida Kashual as well as other OCs that will come up throughout the story.

This one was a little better. It's much darker blue than I was hoping and I would actually switch the colours. Replace the gold with ice blue and the dark blue with gold. But other than that, I mean it looks a lot better than the other one it originally made. 

🌝😯 𝐒𝓣ᵒ𝐑𝕐 🏇🌛

They stayed for a while, until Steve and Bucky walked in on Elizabeth and Loki sleeping in a bath of ice together to stay cold, and it was decided that they should return to the states and back to the Avengers Tower.

Besides the weird tracking dinosaurs, there was nothing else that had troubled them on their vacation and Penny was excited to get back to work. She had missed the Avengers that had stayed behind like Scott, Hope, and her parents. As well as T'Challa and the Asgardians.

She was also missing Heimdall, who hadn't been down to see them in a long while. Loki had explained privately that Heimdall didn't want to see Elizabeth, because he loved her to much to see her looking at him without love.

Penny wasn't sure that was the smartest move on the all-seeing Gods' part. She felt it would be better for him to establish a connection with her soon. Especially with Mateo growing up without his father.

But Penny didn't say anything. She remembered what Elijah had said about a powerful memory could bring Elizabeth's memories back. Maybe. . . just maybe, Heimdall knew something they didn't.

She collapsed on top of her bed on her face, groaning. She barely got two seconds of peace before Natasha had thrown the door wide open and was collapsing on her bed as well.

"Cuddle me." Natasha demanded, laying on her side, her stomach protruding largely.

Penny rolled over on her back and then let Natasha lay in her arms. "What's up sweetheart?"

"I have jet lag and I want you to hold me." Natasha demanded, not opening her eyes.

Penny chuckled at that. "Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite. I love you"

🧘‍♀️🫰 ＴⒾ𝓶ε ŜкⒾⓟ 🚿🤟

"Hey," Violetta said softly as Penny walked into the Italian Black Widow's bedroom. She was curled up on the bed, watching Bones on her laptop, eating Cherry Cordial Ice-cream. She was wearing a purple tube top so that nothing was covering her large baby bump, and her hair was pulled back in a loose bun. She looked tired as well.

Penny was holding Chamber in her arms and smiled at the girl, coming over and gently easing herself onto the bed. "Hey."

She felt Violetta rest her head on her shoulder, snuggling into the albino woman. Penny gently placed Chamber on the bed so that she could help Violetta get comfortable in her lap, and then picked Chamber up once more.

"How are you feeling sweetie?" Penny asked softly, using her free hand to rub soothing circles on Violetta's back.

"Mmm, okay." Violetta hummed, putting the ice-cream aside and snuggling into her more. "I'm a little worried though. There's still roughly three months, but I think I'm getting contractions. I- I don't. . ." Her voice wobbled. "I don't want to lose my baby."

"Vi. . ." Penny said softly, looking down to capture the worried, almost panicked look in her brown eyes.

"I mean. . . I don't know how to do this." Violetta's voice sounded choked. "Like, Bruce has never had a kid. We don't know what the Hulk gene is going to do. What if. . . I can't lose this baby Penny. I can't."

"It's okay." Penny said, letting her hand rub Vi's shoulders again. "They're just Braxton Hicks contractions. You can get them up to 20 weeks before you're due. You're okay Vi. And if you're still worried, let's go down to the lab and ask Stephen or Dr. Cho or Bruce to run tests. You don't have to be scared alone."

Vi nodded, fingers tightening a little on Penny's shirt. "I'm sorry."

Penny giggled, "There's nothing to be sorry for silly. I'm happy you confided in me. Now, what do you want to do?"

"Let's. . . I want a professional to tell me everythings okay." Violetta breathed out. "I just need to know for sure, one hundred percent, that I'm not losing this baby."

"Okay." Penny said softly, picking Chamber up in one arm again, sliding her fingers through Vi's. "Come on. I'll go with you."

"Thanks." Violetta said sniffing. "Give me a second."

Penny smiled endearingly, watching Violetta wiped under her eyes, checking her face in the mirror.

"You don't have to hide your emotions." Penny whispered softly.

"Natasha can." Violetta said simply, patting under her eyes with a tissue. "And I want to be just like her."

"She's your role model?" Penny asked softly.

"Always has been, even when I was in the red room. She was famous, amongst us. The best Black Widow that the KBG had. I dreamed that I could be just like her. I. . ." Violetta sighed. "I performed my missions perfectly, killed so easily, because I hoped they would put me on a team with her. I climbed ranks faster at the age of thirteen than anyone ever had in the Italian red room. I was the prized assassin."

Penny stood up now, coming up behind the Italian and hugging her from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder, letting her talk.

"I took countless lives and for what? Good people, bad people, it doesn't matter anymore. I've killed so many people. . ." Tears leaked from Violetta's eyes again and she buried her face in her hands. "For what? Simply so I could meet someone. For selfish gain. I don't know anything about the people. Wives, Husbands, soulmates, children, families, pets. . ."

"Vi." Penny said firmly, coming around to the front now, cupping her face with her free hand. "It's in the past now. All you can do now is continue to move forward. Just keep walking. Now, you work to save lives." Penny kissed her gently on the lips. "Now, come."

Penny took Violetta's hand once more, this time not waiting for her to dry her face. Violetta went with her easily and the two of them went down to the lab.

"Hey Penny, Vi." Tony greeted them, barely looking up for a second before back down on his robot. Trang was fast asleep on the couch in the corner of the room, a blanket over her body, her glasses on the side table. Bruce immediately looked up from where he was working, walking around the table to approach them.

"Vi?" Bruce asked in concern and Penny let Bruce fold Violetta into his arms, "What's wrong honey?"

Vi sniffed and Penny said, "We just want to check and make sure the baby is healthy. She said she's getting painful contractions and she's worried. I think their just Braxton Hicks, but we want a professional opinion."

Tony was paying attention now, leaning on the box, a wrench still in his hand. "Trangs got the same thing going on. I thought maybe it was a side-effect from the magical pregnancy stuff. I talked to Thor about it and he said they're Braxton Hicks. But I can still call Stephen up and he can give you a check up?"

Violetta just nodded and it didn't take long for the Wizard to show up and ease Violetta's concerns in under ten minutes.

Violetta surprised Penny by bursting into tears and immediately hiding her face in her hands, even turning her shoulders towards the guys as though to hide from them.

"Ah Vi." Bruce said softly, hugging her from behind, resting his lips on the top of her head. Trang was starting to stir on the couch now as well.

"Hey." Penny said softly, taking Vi's hand into her own.

"Sorry. Hold on. One second." Violetta muttered, mopping furiously at her face.

"Miele!" Natasha's voice suddenly sounded through the room and Penny looked up to see the red head near sprinting- as best she could while pregnant- over to Violetta's side. Penny smiled to herself, noting that Natasha had spoken Italian in her concern, not Russian.

"Wait, no." Violetta hiccupped, trying to hide her face from Natasha now, rubbing under her eyes furiously. "I'm sorry."

"Stupida." Natasha said fondly, sitting on the other side of Violetta. Tony and Stephen both retreated to Trang's side, whispering quietly to her. Penny sat at the foot of the examination table. "You don't have to hide your emotions."

"I'm not weak." Violetta muttered, wiping her eyes once more, looking frustrated.

Natasha brushed her fizzy brown hair back from Violetta's face. "No, you're not weak Мед." Nat slipped back into her Russian nickname fondly. "Showing emotions is never weak."

"You don't." Violetta huffed, covering her eyes with her hands now, since the tears wouldn't stop.

Natasha was silently for a long time and then finally whispered. "It's not a sign of strength that I don't show emotions. It's a sign of fear. Fear to show my emotions because. . . I mean I don't have to tell you what they do in the red room." Nat pulled Violetta into her arms.

Penny felt hands on her shoulders and looked up to see Stephen behind her. He kissed the top of her head. She tilted back a little to kiss his cheek and then motioned to Chamber, who he took silently in his arms.

"I want to show my emotions." The Russian said to the Italian. "You're so much stronger than me, to be able to do so."

Bruce very slowly wrapped Violetta in his arms, pulling her into him from behind, while Natasha hugged her from the front. Stephen slipped his hand into Penny's and she allowed him to lead her from the room, the two of them heading upstairs on the elevator.

"You okay?" Stephen asked softly, raising her hand to kiss the back of it.

Penny looked up at him and smiled gently. "I love watching everyone make progress. I don't know, something about seeing Violetta and Natasha open up to each other little by little excites me."

Stephen chuckled then as the doors opened. He lifted Chamber a little more in his other arm and then said jokingly. "No wonder you and Elijah get along so well."

Penny giggled, the two of them settling on the couch. She leaned on the arm of the couch and watched as Stephen cooed softly into Chamber's ear, making orange butterflies dance on his fingers while Chamber giggled.

Penny felt eyes and looked up to see the God of mischief leaning against the wall, a small, secret smile hidden behind his fingers as he watched his soulmate with the little boy. Loki looked up, meeting Penny's eyes and winked, but stayed quiet.

"Are you going to join us or watch from the kitchen?" Stephen chuckled without looking over. Penny glanced between the two, slightly surprised, as she hadn't seen Stephen look at Loki.

Loki sauntered over, rolling his eyes playfully, scooping Chamber out of Stephen's arms, settling on the floor by Stephens' feet with him. "One day I'll sneak up on you."

Stephen chuckled, reaching down so that he could place his hand on his head. He reached his other arm over, placing his hand on Penny's upper thigh. His fingers rubbed the inside of her thigh slowly. Penny shivered a little at the sensation.

Penny rested against the couch, watching Loki cradle Chamber in his arms. There was a tenderness to which he held the child and Penny tilted her head a little. "Lokes? Are you. . . okay?"

Loki sighed and Stephen ran his fingers through the long black locks again in a comforting way. "I had a daughter once."

Penny blinked in surprise, but said nothing. Loki got up off the floor, sitting down on the couch, keeping his eyes only on Chamber.

"It was many, many years ago. She would be. . . thirty-seven I believe in human years. She wasn't actually mine, but I raised her. I. . ." Loki drifted off again. "I never wanted to raise her. I just. . ." Loki shook his head, looking off at the wall.

Penny reached over, squeezing his hand, "It's okay Loki."

"I just wish I had done better." Loki sighed, now meeting her eyes. "I swear I will do right by all of our children Penny. I will be the best father possible, I promise."

Penny smiled and Stephen smiled affectionately at him. "Just be yourself with the kids Lokes." Penny whispered softly. "That's the best you and the best father version of you. Being yourself. You can't do anything about the past, but you can do right by the future."

She leaned up and kissed him on the lips.

"Now then," She whispered softly, wanting to help him forget. "How about we head on upstairs, lay Chamber down for a nap, and then fool around in the bed?"

Loki cupped her face softly, seeming to be looking into her soul. "I'm not saying no but. . . " He hesitated, looking anxious.

"Bubs." Stephen said softly, "What do you want?"

"I kind've. . ." Loki looked away, blushing furiously as though embarrassed, "Kind've just want to lay in bed with you two and Chamber. I kind've just want to watch him for a little bit. And just. . ."

"Cuddle." Stephen finished, kissing his cheek. "Then that's what we do. Penny?"

Penny smiled, kissing Loki again. "I love it." 

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9 Ep 62: Let's Make A Deal

After his weird and wonderful date with Amaya, Luigi was in a great mood, but not so great that he wanted to talk with troublesome Jade.

He did take her call, just in case it was team related. He should have known better. She wanted to see him “about their relationship”. He knew he should just hang up, but some unseen force compelled him to accept her invitation to a venue near her home.

Maybe in person he could convince her to give up on having another affair with him, without damaging their working relationship as teammates.

---------------------------------------------

Jade’s rendezvous was a party room he’d visited a couple times with his dads when he was small. Hoping to set a classy tone for the conversation, Luigi stepped behind the bar and prepared them a couple old fashioned “cherry cordial” cocktails.

He served her with a smile and sat down, starting with: “Look, you’re a friend, and you know I’ve got your back, but I’m just not comfortable sneaking around like this.” Her drink sat untouched as she poured out a torrent of justifications in response.

“PSHH, what Brice doesn’t know can’t hurt him. I’m the one suffering because he’s clueless in and out of the bedroom. It’s not like he owns me, so I don’t see why I can’t arrange for a little something special on the side. And you are y’know, that night with you was sooo special! I can see why that gearhead Noemi keeps you on the hook. That’s all I’m asking for, the same quiet deal she’s got, my needs filled up without my marriage broken up.”

---------------------------------------------

Luigi held up his hands then, telling her “what I have with the WIDOW Noemi is was nothing like what you’re proposing”.

He agreed that night with her had been amazing, and he’d thought the world of her, but that was before he'd known about her relationship with Brice.

He wasn’t going to get involved with a sim who was married to someone else unless all parties were onboard. He had principles and he wouldn’t compromise them for her or anyone. He hoped she could understand.

---------------------------------------------

“Oh, I understand all right!” A furious Jade jumped to her feet. “You’ve clearly chosen your dumb robotics cow.”

She stomped away, whirling around to throw one last barb before she slammed the door: “You picked the wrong gal, just like you always pick the wrong scuffle lane, and I’m through bailing you out when you do. Good luck going pro without me to carry you!”

As soon as he heard the door close Luigi let loose, releasing his frustration in a string of forbidden words. This was EXACTLY the outcome he’d been hoping to avoid! If he could turn back time, he would never have gotten involved with a teammate, but now he’d just have to deal with the consequences of his actions and never make the same mistake again.

---------------------------------------------

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[desolateice]

(Scissors) what's your editing process?

(Hamburger/three lines) send a fic and an unrelated trope and I'll remix it - Cherry Cordial but Royalty AU 👀

Thank you for the asks from this game! 💖 ✄ what’s your editing process? Editing process...lol what editing process? Okay so I'm going to give you my like actual editing process for anything that I like send out beyond fandom funsies. Write Let it set for a bit, walk away from it. Come back, read it to myself. Read it to a small gathering of plushies (do this for my secret santa fics because those are gifts so I want them to be slightly more edited then my usual.) Go walk away for a bit or do something else. If lucky come back another day. Have a text to voice reader read the thing back to me. Make edits and changes. Have it re-read it to me again. Repeat as needed. Maybe pop it into a program that is supposed to fix your writing. However I don't fully trust those. They make just as dumb of mistakes as I make on my own and sometimes worse ones.😂 Send the thing wherever it needs to go. My teachers always told me to let things marinate and my mentor pretty much told me that I got to always read my stuff out loud to myself so that I can catch errors I wouldn't otherwise. I use the plushies because I was trained to read to people, to an audience even though I hate it because I get super nervous about it. But then later on in work situations where I had to edit I realized that wasn't working because I was inflecting which is fine in fiction but not so much in non-fiction and was told that sometimes it helps if something else reads it to you so now I have an app in monotone read to me because then I can catch when things don't sound right or when something is wrong because I'm not filling in those blanks myself because I know the content too well. Another reason why letting things marinate works. But truthfully for fics I write it in Scrivener, read it to myself not out loud, paste it into ao3, read it one more time adding bolds or italics because for some reason those don't copy over from Scrivener properly and then hit paste and try not to cringe at all the mistakes I find later when I re-read the thing. Because I make more mistakes now then I used to, silly mistakes I didn't use to make but again, it's for fun so I try not to let it bother me too much and when I've got the energy I try to occasionally pop back in and fix glaring errors. But I'm sure I miss them.

☰ send a fic and an unrelated trope and I’ll remix it Cherry Cordial as a Royalty AU 🤔 My first thought here is that it's magic right? Like at it's core Cherry Cordial is about magic which makes me think fairy tales and then I realize that's what Candied Apples is. 😂 A fairy tale royal au of sorts. So maybe we can mix a few fairy tales together for a royalty au. Daniel stumbles upon a magical artifact like the lamp only instead of a genie he gets Terry. Or Terry could be like jafar, (I should probably read the original and not just know the disney version) Or Daniel runs into a witch (Terry) and makes a trade to be a royal so that he can better compete with the royals or get a step ahead of them (Johnny and cobras) Because Johnny would be a prince...or maybe he's Cinderella. I guess my question is whose the royal in this AU? One of them? Both of them? Johnny's Cinderella with fairy godmother Susan and his cat that talks and dresses up in a pretty dress and all in magical disguise to dance for the night because Susan wants to dance with the princess and can't go alone, or they sneak in to dance together and Susan uses her magic to help him sneak in with him without getting into a fight because he and Daniel (the prince) don't get along, only Daniel doesn't recognize him but also kind of does but can't quite put his finger on it and wants to keep dancing but the magic will for sure where off so Johnny runs, slipper left behind. If we do a both of them au, maybe Daniel is set to meet up with Johnny to discuss things between their kingdoms but they've met before and it went awful and he doesn't want it all to get screwed up again so he makes a drink, a concoction he finds in an old book that should make them more amiable but he made the wrong one and he thinks he totally gave him a love potion, but he also misread it and really it's just a harmless aphrodisiac or something like eating an oyster but not, and so Daniel is less nervous and actually having a good time and Johnny was determined to try and have a good time and maybe his cat keeps like trying to trip him and Daniel catches him when Peri succeeds in tripping him and he realizes he's got a total crush because Daniel's good at all the princely stuff: sword fighting and horseback riding and talking and Johnny doesn't feel like he is (except at fighting) but really they're both in the same boat at being good at it just getting in their own heads and thinking the other is better. Maybe Terry uses Daniel to kidnap Johnny by tricking him so that he can impress Kreese, not realizing that was maybe a non-useful ploy and really only just makes Daniel have to go rescue him but also makes Johnny realize that he's not as worthless as he was lead to believe and that he actual does know all the princely things he's supposed to and is good at it. But Daniel would for sure bust in, possibly fight Terry, realize it's a waste of time and grab Johnny and run. Gotta let him have his badass hero moments.

[trickhq]

[   🎃   ✶   𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃   .   .   .   ]   welcome   to   warren   valley   ,   traveler.   before   you   settle   in   ,   be   sure   to   review   our   checklist.   once   you're   all   set   ,   send   in   your   account   to   the   main   within   forty8   hours.   otherwise   you   may   loose   your   spot   !

cheryl ross, human ( ella purnell )

emre karahan, vampire ( ilhan sen )

loren rainford, werewolf ( poppy drayton )

vivian carter, vampire ( danielle rose russell )

emmett conran, werewolf ( archie renaux )

brooklyn chen, ghoul ( chase sui wonders )

╰   🎃   ◞   ella purnell   /   twenty-seven   /   cis woman   /   she/her   ———   well   ,   well   ,   well   .   .   .   if   it   isn't   cheryl ross?   it   isn't   surprising   seeing   the   human   hang   around   the woods.   they've   been   in   warren   valley   for   one month   working   as   a   paranormal investigative journalist.   the   local   icarian   has   built   a   reputation   for   being   daring and curious.   yeah,   they   sound   sweet   but   don't   get   too   comfortable.   i   heard   they   can   be   disobedient and overconfident.   don't   tell   me   you're   surprised,   it's   typical   for   someone   so   similar   to   cherry red lipstick, missed calls at 2 am, well worn leather jackets and takeaway coffee cups.   if   you   manage   to   run   into   them   again,   let   them   know   that   their   neighbor   is   sick   of   hearing   too sweet   by   hozier   from   their   window   !   /    mira,   25+,   he/they,   gmt - 3

╰   🎃   ◞   ilhan sen   /   thirty-five/forty-five   /   cis man  /   he/him   ———   well   ,   well   ,   well   .   .   .   if   it   isn't   emre karahan?   it   isn't   surprising   seeing   the vampire   hang   around   the gold room.   they've   been   in   warren   valley   for   his whole life   working   as   a bartender.   the   local   nocturnal   has   built   a   reputation   for   being   loyal and vigilant.   yeah,   they   sound   sweet   but   don't   get   too   comfortable.   i   heard   they   can   be   reserved and self-critical.   don't   tell   me   you're   surprised,   it's   typical   for   someone   so   similar   to   the cordial toast of beer bottles around a crowded bar, the cautioning rumble of earth beneath your feet, blood and regrets of years past, and the stark reminders of what’s been lost.   if   you   manage   to   run   into   them   again,   let   them   know   that   their   neighbor   is   sick   of   hearing   the crow & the butterfly   by   shinedown    from   their   window   !   /    livvy,   27,   she/her,   cst

  ╰   🎃   ◞   poppy drayton   /   thirty-two   /   demiwoman   /   she/they   ———   well   ,   well   ,   well   .   .   .   if   it   isn't   loren rainford?   it   isn't   surprising   seeing   the werewolf   hang   around   the town square.   they've   been   in   warren   valley   for   a few months   working   as   a socialite.   the   local   masquerader   has   built   a   reputation   for   being   clever and charming.   yeah,   they   sound   sweet   but   don't   get   too   comfortable.   i   heard   they   can   be   irritable and vain.   don't   tell   me   you're   surprised,   it's   typical   for   someone   so   similar   to   calculating looks behind cat-eyed sunshades, the clink of champagne glasses with fake smiles for a crowd, an uncaged temper under the moon’s cruel gaze, and the life-long longing for something always out of reach.   if   you   manage   to   run   into   them   again,   let   them   know   that   their   neighbor   is   sick   of   hearing   ferrari   by   bebe rexha   from   their   window   !   /    livvy,   27,   she/her,   cst

╰   🎃   ◞   danielle rose russell  /   twenty - two  /   cis female   /   she/they   ———   well   ,   well   ,   well   .   .   .   if   it   isn't   vivian   carter?   it   isn't   surprising   seeing   the   vampire   hang   around   the   craven   theatre.   they've   been   in   warren   valley   for   three   years   working   as   a   student.   the   local   the   reticent   has   built   a   reputation   for   being   calculative   +   direct.   yeah,   they   sound   sweet   but   don't   get   too   comfortable.   i   heard   they   can   be   impulsive   +   chaotic.   don't   tell   me   you're   surprised,   it's   typical   for   someone   so   similar   to   red   lips   curved   up   into   a   sinister   smile   with   years  of   tasted    blood.  hazel  blue  hues  filled  with  mischievous    intentions,  long  brown  hair  and  honey  highlights    complimenting  her   beauty  as  she  distracts  her   victims   ;   high  heels  against  the  pavement  as  she walks  in  confidence   .    if   you   manage   to   run   into   them   again,   let   them   know   that   their   neighbor   is   sick   of   hearing   daisy   by   ashnikko   from   their   window   !   /    cc ,   thirty - two,   she/her,   cst

╰   🎃   ◞   archie renaux   /   twenty - six  /   cis male   /   he/him   ———   well   ,   well   ,   well   .   .   .   if   it   isn't   emmett  conran ?   it   isn't   surprising   seeing   the   werewolf   hang   around   the   town square.   they've   been   in   warren   valley   for   twenty - six   years   working   as   a   bartender.   the   local   the   magnet   has   built   a   reputation   for   being   sweet   +   honest.   yeah,   they   sound   sweet   but   don't   get   too   comfortable.   i   heard   they   can   be   curious   +   reckless.   don't   tell   me   you're   surprised,   it's   typical   for   someone   so   similar   to   haunting    nights  leaving  him  running  into  the  darkness ; a   smile  so  bright  it  illuminates  his  presence  giving   him  golden  retriever  energy . brown  hues  that  hold   such  mystery  and  sadness  that  he  hides  from others,  tattoo  covering  his  back  and  arm  that  represents  his  hardships  and  painful  past,  his curiosity  getting  the  best  of  him  like  a  moth  drawn  to  a  flame .    if   you   manage   to   run   into   them   again,   let   them   know   that   their   neighbor   is   sick   of   hearing   nocturne   by   eden   from   their   window   !   /    cc ,   thirty - two,   she/her,   cst

╰   🎃   ◞   chase sui wonders   /   twenty seven   /   cis woman   /   she/her   ———   well   ,   well   ,   well   .   .   .   if   it   isn't   brooklyn   chen?   it   isn't   surprising   seeing   the   ghoul   hang   around   saint elizabeth hospital.   they've   been   in   warren   valley   for   one   year   working   as   a   paramedic.   the   local   wanderer   has   built   a   reputation   for   being   candid   and   adaptable.   yeah,   they   sound   sweet   but   don't   get   too   comfortable.   i   heard   they   can   be   pessimistic   and   aloof.   don't   tell   me   you're   surprised,   it's   typical   for   someone   so   similar   to   silent   laughter   somehow   still   echoing   in   an   empty   room,   oversized   sunglasses   hiding   dark   undereye   bags   and   bloodshot   eyes,   and   the   smell   of   burning   leaves   in   the   wind.   if   you   manage   to   run   into   them   again,   let   them   know   that   their   neighbor   is   sick   of   hearing   so   cool   so   mean   by   cate   tomlinson   from   their   window   !   /    ki,   23,  she/her,   est

[italoniponic]

Howdy do~! First of all, major congrats on the 100 followers!👍 Now for the Harvesting event, I would like some headcannons of Leona taking his fem! s/o to visit his family after Falena learns about her from Cheka during his previous visit. Super fluff, please! Thanks a bunch!😊

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

| Notes: Thanks for requesting again, darling <3 Hope you don’t mind but I made these as g!n reader. But I hope it’s still good. Oh God, I love fluff. And mixing it with Leona having to deal with his chaotic brother and nephew? Priceless joy lmao People really looked at me and said “girl, you need more Leona in your life”. Oh, bc Falena’s wife doesn’t have a name yet, I decided to hc her name as “Maisha”.

Also, this is my 10th request~ I’m so happy |

Leona Kingscholar x gender neutral reader / established relationship / kingscholar family / fluff / use of "you" pronouns

Cherry's Harvesting event 🍒 Masterlist

It's the Circle of Life, Basically

“Someone up there is laughing at me. Probably the kings of the past,” Leona grumbled to himself as he saw you being pulled by Falena for a tight hug. You'd say it was a bear hug if he wasn't a lion beastman. And to your delight, Cheka hugged your leg, glad to see you visiting them and bringing his uncle by the ear;

Did anyone even say that convincing Leona to introduce you to his family was easy? Nobody. Falena and Maisha well knew that Leona's relationship with the family was difficult, but seeing you together makes them very happy. You were welcomed with open arms by the Kingscholars, as if you were already from the pride even without them knowing your name. Quite a reception;

All the time Cheka stuck to Leona, like a small, persistent tick, and when his uncle was at the limit of patience, you distracted Cheka with some games and jokes — and turned into his new stuffed animal. The son’s energy always draws loud laughter from Falena and you realize, in admiration, how similar the brothers were in this regard. Like the King, Leona's laugh always gave you the impression that rumbled around every corner, powerful and fascinating;

Maisha is already more patient and calm in this regard, which doesn’t fail to please Leona no matter how much he doesn’t admit openly. She asks her husband and son to be more cordial to the visitor, you, and often gets Leona to have some time to rest quietly or show you the palace. You’re very grateful for her kindness, not noticing her glances at Leona. Unfortunately, Maisha has her own way of irritating her brother-in-law's nerves. “You are in love, I am so happy for you!,” she says with her gaze, smiling;

Leona feels like a child again. Not only because he always acted in a mature way for Maisha — one of the very few people he respects — not to regard him as inferior, but also because returning to the palace always mixes the suffocating present with the difficult past. But every time you shake his hand and comment excitedly on a painting or the decoration of the rooms, he feels a certain relief. In the end, it was a good idea to bring you;

Leona realizes that you keep a certain distance from the palace servants, as if you know their true intentions behind the polite smiles, always remaining by his or his family's side. He doesn't know how to feel about it, that special care you have for him. Then Leona just strokes your head and moves on in your conversation, telling you about the wonders of that vast, sunny Savannah;

As eventually Cheka emerges to talk to you two, you remember something and holding back laughter, you ask Leona to finally teach Cheka how to play magift, just as the boy asked and he promised in the intra-school tournament. Leona gives you an angry look, even more so because his nephew is impossibly happy with your idea. And you dare to swear you love him, right? Unfortunately promises are promises and Leona keeps the deal. Falena, Maisha and you watch the two play in the courtyard of the palace as you all share “gum bugs”;

“How did you first meet?,” Falena once asked. How to explain...? It was because of very special circumstances. You found out that Leona was a mob away from killing Malleus, he almost turned a friend into sand while having an emotional meltdown, and you spent an entire night singing “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” for him to agree to help you take down a veteran who was enslaving the entire school. “I accidentally stepped on his tail.”;

To soften Leona's nerves, you decided to distract him with the second thing he likes more than meat: chess. Of course knowing whether or not to play the game will end up saving you time but, he would have no problem explaining the rules if you’re not the best at the game. And Leona is a very good strategist. His compenetrated emerald look is mesmerizing and that's what you blame your defeats on, jokingly;

Leona wouldn't be Leona if he didn't run away from the festivities in the palace — or from Cheka and Falena in general — to get some sleep. “But you indeed made him stay awake for a long time during the visit,” Maisha chuckled when she saw Leona lying on your lap. You were on the couch in the Royal Library for a few hours and you watched his sleep with great care, worthy of a royal nap;

“Thank you,” you said suddenly when the two of you were on the balcony of the upper garden that was very reminiscent of the school Botanical Garden. Leona raised an eyebrow, confused. “For showing me your world. It's all so perfect!,” you continued. Leona let out a snarled laugh, impressed with you marveling at such small things. “Please, if there’s a perfect world, it is shining in your eyes,” he replied, pulling you closer. Then your lips touched like the Sun that touches the horizon at dawn.

| Special Notes: I'll always reference the love songs from the Lion King 1 and 2. No, nobody can't stop me. |

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night🌙11

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, angry Andy, hormones, awkward dinner, y’all know what it be.

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: Okay, here’s an update.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You wore a black dress, barely loose enough to fit over your bump as the hem floated high in the front. Your forehead beaded with sweat as you took out the heavy glass pan from the oven and puffed. You set it down and removed the lid as steam clouded out. You heard your father’s voice from the living room and Andy’s baritone response.

The night was smooth so far. Your father was particularly impressed by the autographed baseballs on the mantle but never outspoken, the conversation didn’t stray much from sports or cars. Your mother’s posture and expression betrayed her discomfort but she masked it with a cordial tone. You were thankful for it as you didn’t need to deal with her attitude and Andy’s at once. You were too hormonal and tired for that.

You began to take down plates from the cupboard and your mother’s voice sounded from behind you. She neared and reached up next to you as she grabbed the next plate before you could. She stacked the four of them neatly and grasped them in her knobby hands.

“You’re too pregnant for that,” she said, “you grab the silverware.”

You gave a small smile and turned to open the drawer as she left you. You took out the utensils and followed her into the dining room. You set the table and she returned to the kitchen. You came after her and she used a dishcloth to lift the hot pan.

“Get the door, will ya?” she said as she angled around carefully.

She passed you as you held open the swinging door and she set the pan down on the mat in the middle of the table. She inhaled deeply and glanced over at you. 

“Stuffed peppers?” she asked.

“Your recipe,” you said, “I’ve been craving them.”

“Next time, let me make them,” she smiled, “you still don’t know the special ingredient.���

“I’ll figure it out one day,” you rubbed your lower back.

“Sit,” she pulled out a chair, “I’ll go get the men.”

You neared her and leaned on the back of the chair, “mom,” you said quietly.

“I’m trying,” she said grimly, “I’m just… not happy yet.”

You nodded and hung your head, “yeah, you don’t have to be, but thank you.”

“I don’t like that man,” she hissed, “a wife in the hospital and he’s knocking up a stranger--”

“Mom,” you warned her, “please.”

“I know, I know,” she shook her head, “but you’re my daughter and he’s… I don’t know, who knows what really happened to the wife.”

You gave her a look and she pursed her lips. She retreated and you sat down heavily and cupped your cheeks. All you had to do was get through dinner. Then you could say you were tired and hide in your room.

You heard her voice in the next room and the impending footsteps before they appeared in the doorway. Your mother and father sat across from you and Andy took the seat to your right. You waited awkwardly and he cleared his throat.

“Well, sweetheart, aren’t you going to serve the guests?” he intoned.

“I can do it,” your mother offered, “don’t make her work any harder than she needs to. Not in her condition.”

You were slightly taken aback by her effort but you didn’t miss how the corner of her lip twitched as she eyed Andy. She didn’t like and didn’t trust him. You couldn’t say you did either and almost for the first time in your life, you felt a kindred connection to your mother.

She stood and scooped a pepper carefully onto each plate with a generous spoonful of sauce from the bottom of the dish. She set them back carefully before each diner and returned to her chair and sat. She smiled, a forced smile, and shifted her chair closer.

“So, you have some time but… once the baby’s here, I’m sure you’ll be back to work,” you mother began, your father always content to hide in his food, “me and your dad talked, we could watch the kid once and a while--”

“She’s not going back to work,” Andy interjected, “especially not at the diner.”

“Oh,” your mother’s lips pressed together in a firm line, “she isn’t?”

“Maybe after a year?” you began as you glance at Andy, “once I get the hand of things--”

“No,” Andy said, “you’re staying home with her.”

“I guess we haven’t decided,” you offered calmly, embarrassed by Andy’s attitude, “as you said, we still have time and we’re figuring stuff out.”

“Once the kiddo’s in school, you’ll have the time to get a job,” your dad offered, “that’s what your ma did. She kept on a few hours here and there when you were real small but once you hit kindergarten, she was back to full shifts.”

“We’ll talk,” Andy threw a hand up and grabbed his fork with his other, “it’s really not your business. It’s ours.”

“Andy,” you chided, “they’re just curious--”

“And where were they for the last couple months?” he snarled, “they weren’t so curious then.”

“Alright, calm down,” you hissed, “sorry, mom, dad--”

“Don’t apologise for me,” he snipped, “they should be apologising to you. That’s why I welcomed them into my home.”

“What?” you gulped, “Andy, they don’t need to--”

“No, no, my child is gonna have at least one set of grandparents and if it’s going to be them, they’re going to respect you and me,” Andy insisted, “so they can apologise or they can leave without dessert.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you uttered.

“Don’t you tell me how to act,” he cut into the pepper, “so…” he looked across the table at your parents, “she made this delicious meal and I think she deserves at least a little appreciation from the two of you.”

You dad looked angry for once in his life as your mother’s lips curled in mortification. You gave them both a shameful look and shook your head just slightly. You mouthed an apology as Andy huffed and tapped impatiently on the table.

“We’re sorry, honey,” your mother began, “we overreacted. Just like I said earlier, I was surprised.”

“Sorry,” your dad forced out as he glared at Andy, “you know I always love and support you, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, “now,” you touched Andy’s arm gently, “we can move on. It’s all good.”

“Mhmm,” he grumbled as he leaned forward to take a bike, “we can… but this doesn’t happen again.”

You wanted to shrink down and hide under the table. The tension that rose was palpable and threatened to choke you. You had false hope in the beginning that this might feel normal, that you might end the night with a new standing between you and your mother. 

You knew then that Andy’s goal had never been to bring you back together, it was only to gain another degree of control. He made it clear that no one could help you, not even your own parents.

🌙

You were almost thankful for the sink full of dishes. It kept you distracted and gave you a reason not to sit and stew with Andy. Your parents left shortly after you cut the cherry pie and you cleaned up as they bid their farewells. You were completely humiliated by Andy’s hubristic demands but you didn’t dare argue with him. Especially not in front of guests.

You scrubbed the dishes as your stomach pressed to the wet counter and placed each in the drying rack. Andy came in as you pulled the drain and you took the dish cloth from its hook.

“Here, I’ll dry,” he offered.

You stared at him and wiped the water from your hands and gave him the cloth. He went to the rack and opened a cupboard. You took out a container and began to pack up the leftovers from the pan and wrapped the top of the pie. The silence made every clink and clank louder as you moved around the kitchen.

You shut the fridge and sensed him behind you. You flinched as his hands settled on your hip and you gripped pressed your palm against the cool metal. He pulled you back against him and slid his hands around your bump as he hummed.

“Did I tell you this dress looks wonderful?” his fingers brushed the dishwater along the front.

“Andy,” you grasped his wrists, “what are you doing?”

He rocked you as one hand grazed beneath your bump and his fingers dangled over your vee. He bent and inhaled the scent of your scalp. You went rigid as he wiggled against your back, his arousal twitching tellingly.

“Andy, please--”

“Can’t knock you up a second time,” he purred.

“I… no, please, I’m tired--”

“Come on, honey, that night… wasn’t that amazing?” He turned you to face the island and you caught yourself against the edge, “that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“It was a mistake, alright? Look at us now--”

“Look at us, hmmm?” he pushed his hand down and cupped your cunt through your dress. You gasped and squeezed his wrist, “I lay in my bed thinking of you all night… and you’re just across the hall. Why are we playing this game still?”

“Get off of me, please,” you begged, “Andy--”

He pressed his fingers to your pants and pushed the cotton against your folds. You bit your lip as he found your clit and the chafing formed a pressure beneath his touch. You shook your head and leaned back into him, trying to shove him away.

“Let me go…” you breathed.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” he urged, “I can feel you getting wet already. You’re lying to yourself.” He pulled your panties aside and dipped two fingers between your lips, “why do you gotta be so damn stubborn?”

You sucked in air and tensed as he played with your bud so that your thighs quivered. You tucked your chin in and bit down as you tried not to let out a moan. Your nails sank into sleeve but he kept on. You felt how powerful he truly was, his chest pressed against you as his arm remained immoveable.

He bent you slightly as he snaked his hand further and poked a finger inside of you. You squeaked and he added another, curling them as he began to rock his hand. He buried his face into your neck and his hot breath permeated your skin.

“Mmm, isn’t that nice, honey? I just wanna help you relax?” his teeth grazed your neck, “I can be nice, you see?”

Those words turned your blood to ice. You closed your eyes as you returned to those hours ago when his fist crashed into the wall. When his voice was rigid and unloving, when you were certain he would do worse than just yell. Now he was all over you, coaxing you as if it never happened, as if there hadn’t been months of this precarious tug-of-war.

“Andy, really, I’m tired,” you pleaded, “that night… I told you--”

Your voice caught in your throat as he thrust his fingers deeper and moved his hand faster. The pressure throbbed inside of you, pulsing through your veins and you kept your hand tight on the counter as you gripped his arm with the other. Your ankles threatened to bend as you shuddered and came in a sudden rush.

“Tired?” he mocked as he led you through your climax, “I’ll do all the work, honey.”

You shook your head and whined through your teeth. He kept on until you were weak and clinging to his hand. He slowly drew his fingers out of you and slid his arm out from around you. You slumped against the counter as he let you go, the subtle tinkle of his belt gleaned in your ear.

You turned to him as his belt hung open and he caught you by surprise. He wrapped one arm around your back, his other hand across your ass as he lifted you with a grunt. You threw your hands back to keep from falling across the island as he put you down on the marble. You tried to slide forward as his hands grasped your hips and held you in place.

His blue eyes burned and dilated. He reached under your skirt and pulled your panties down. You whimpered as he tugged them down. He quickly pushed your legs apart and moved between them, your knees wide around his thighs. He grabbed your chin and tilted your head back, his lips covering yours hungrily.

You clawed at the front of his shirt as his other hand danced along your pelvis. His fingers crawled down your thigh and she shifted as he fumbled blindly with the front of his pants. You pushed against his shoulders as the panic erupted from your stomach and swelled in your throat.

He brought you closer to the edge and pulled his hand back to grip himself. You opened one eye as you tried to peek down but couldn’t see beneath your bump. He leaned on you until you fell over the marble and bent over you as he slipped his tip along your cunt. His lips strayed to your cheek and down to your throat.

“Andy,” you begged one last time as he pressed against your entrance.

He purred against your neck as his hand slid past your shoulder and stretched over your tit. He pushed into you slowly and you gulped as tears pricked in your eyes. You bent your legs so your heels pressed to the side of the counter and gritted your teeth as he got deeper. 

As he bottomed out, he rasped against your skin. He stood up straight and dragged your ass over the edge of the counter. He puffed his chest as he thrust into you and his eyes rolled back. He growled as he did it again and your walls clenched around him. Your reached down and pressed on his open pants with your fingertips, trying to push him away pathetically.

“Andy,” you whimpered as he hooked his arm around your thigh, “Andy--”

His other hand flipped up your skirt and he stretched his hand over your round stomach as he rocked into you. You shook your head and covered your face with one hand as you gripped the edge of the marble with your other. Your breaths grew shallow as you fought your own body and the pleasure blooming around his intrusion.

He sped up as the wet noise filled the kitchen and you bit the heel of your hand to keep from crying out. Another orgasm flowed over you and knotted your muscles around him. His groans and grunts grew louder as his flesh slapped against yours, his fingers drawing circles on your stomach.

“Oh fuck,” Andy hissed and jerked his hips harshly.

He sank into you as deep as he could go and wiggled his hips as he flooded you. He twitched as he leaned his head back and sighed, his fingers tight on your thighs as they painfully poked your tender flesh. You moaned and trembled as you felt his release hot inside of you. 

He stilled and let your legs splay around him. You stared at the ceiling in shock as he shuddered. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked between your legs as his cum dripped out around him. You pulled off of him and shoved him away. He seemed to awaken from a trance as you did and his lashes fluttered.

You dropped down carefully to your feet and stormed away. He called your name but the vomit was already halfway up your esophagus. You weren’t going to make it upstairs. You closed yourself in the half-bath under the stairs and wretched into the sink. You held yourself up weakly until the violent ripples quelled. You looked at yourself in the mirror and winced. 

One night cost you the rest of your life. One night meant your body, your soul, your days were his. One night would be countless nights, your fate decided in a single careless act.

[melancholymetropolis]

Cloud Nine

Pairings: Roommate! Hitoshi Shinso x Reader

Summary: The reader gets stood up and Shinso decides to make it up to her.

Warnings: Explicit Content. Porn with Plot. Slightly edited. Based off of this cover. All characters are aged up.

Author's Note: Hello to all! I have missed you guys. It's been a while. Finals have been kicking my ass but, I am back! This fic is a good blend of fluff and smut. Maybe a little bit of angst. If you would like to commission me, click here! I set a new goal, so please check it! Thanks for your support, it means a lot to me.

Word Count: 4500

The sound of the front door slamming shut resonated through the apartment, quickly followed by the echo of heavy footsteps trailing down the hall. They came to an abrupt pause; interrupted by the splashing of water in the sink and the ripping of a paper towel. He must’ve found the freshly baked cookies I left on the counter. The footsteps sound again but they stop short of my room. A firm knock rattled from my door; I looked up from my laptop and shouted “come in!” My roommate opened the door, appearing in front of me, dressed in his usual attire. Workout jacket and running shorts with a gym bag tossed over his shoulder. Shinso had already taken a bite out of the freshly baked cookie nestled in the paper, and tiny crumbs had been sprinkled around his mouth.

“You’re home earlier than I expected,” he said as he dropped his gym bag by my door and took a seat in my desk chair. “I thought you had a date with that producer guy.”

“Yeah, I did,” I closed my laptop and pushed it to the side. “But, he never showed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Shinso said before taking another bite of his cookie. He chewed it slowly before adding, “I had a feeling something was wrong since you baked.”

“I don’t only bake when I’m sad, So-so,” I replied as I rubbed the back of my neck.

“You’re right,” he took another bite of the cookie and swallowed. “You only make your comfort cookies when you’re sad.”

I gave him a quizzical look and he took it as an initiative to continue.

“When you’re sad or have a bad day, you always make double chocolate cookies with walnuts. And if you’re peeved, you add Nutella in the middle. Like today. So, if you don’t mind telling me what’s wrong, I’d be happy to listen.” Shinso finished off his cookie and brushed his mouth with the paper towel. His purple eyes gleaming up at me with concern.

“It’s just. . .” I crossed my legs underneath me and sighed. All the built-up frustration exploded out of me in three words, “Men are trash.”

Shinso’s face remained completely neutral; he didn’t even flinch at the statement. “How so?”

I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. “Okay, so last week, remember when I was wearing that super-cute outfit?”

“You gotta be more specific, you always wear cute outfits,” he said with a confused look in his eye.

“It was a Tuesday. I was wearing some bell-bottom jeans and a pink halter top that said ‘cherry bomb’. Do you remember that?”

“You had two buns on your head that day,” he added in recollection.

“I did! Well, I bumped into Justin on my way to the studio and we talked for a few minutes. Towards the end of the conversation, he gave me his number and asked me to dinner. I was ecstatic and practically skipped down the fucking street!”

“Sounds like something you’d do.”

“So, we’ve been texting all of last week and this week. I am under the illusion that we’re on for dinner. All of a sudden, he doesn’t reply to my texts this morning. I brushed it off and continued about my day. I went to the agreed restaurant and waited an hour in my car for him. Texting him the entire time, just for him to give me a reply on my ride home.”

“What did it say?”

“‘Sorry, something came up.’”

“Wow. . . what an asshole.”

“I know! Such a fucking jerk.”

We stayed silent for a minute or two before Shinso rose from my desk chair and walked to my door. He grabbed his gym bag from the floor and turned back to me. “I ordered from that restaurant you like, down the street, once I saw the cookies on the counter. I figured you could use some comfort food. It’ll be here in a little while, so I’m going to take a quick shower, then we could eat together. If you’re cool with that?”

“Sure, that’s fine. I’ll see you when you get out,” I replied with a look of astonishment on my face.

“Okay, see you in a bit.”

The pro-hero exited the room and gently closed the door behind him. My eyes remained in that general area, seconds after he left. Processing all the information that he gave to me. Wakatoshi Shinso. . . a man that I cannot describe in words. But, if I had to condense it, to say what he was, all I could say is that he cares. So much about me. Before moving in together, he was simply a friend-of-a-friend. We were cordial, always said “hi” in passing, and never left a bad impression. So, when I found an apartment, and he needed a room, it was a no-brainer. Shinso was the ideal roommate. Quiet, calm, and collected. He always made me breakfast, even though he was always up significantly earlier than I was. If I was too tired, he’d tidy up my leftover dishes and straighten up my things. When I had my period and ran out of pads, he went to the drug store and bought me some. Including chocolate ice cream and painkillers. He doesn’t mind doing the grocery shopping alone and doesn’t complain when I leave my bra on the bathroom door. He wiped my tears when my boyfriend left me and brought me flowers the next day.

Shinso was perfect in every way.

I was lucky to have him in my life.

The doorbell rang and I rose from my bed and raced to the door. Just as he said, Shinso had ordered from my favorite restaurant, as seen by the menu poking out of the biggest bag. I gave the delivery boy a small smile and thanked him, before shutting the door and walking into the kitchen. I placed the takeout bag on the counter and began to take out all the items from the bag. He brought chicken parmesan, mushroom ravioli, fettuccine alfredo, vodka alla penne, and two garden salads. In the second, smaller bag, were two pints of ice cream and complimentary miniature cannolis.

“I didn’t know what you were in the mood for so I got a little bit of everything,” his voice echoed throughout the room, causing me to jump.

“Jesus—” I looked up from the array of food to my roommate. Who was dripping wet and practically steaming from his shower. Grey sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, extenuating his sharp v-line. He was shirtless, which wasn’t something new, he often walked around the apartment that way; however, the droplets sprinkled about his bare chest were doing things to me. His damp hair was slicked back, combed out of his face. Shinso walked around the kitchen’s island and popped open the lid off one of the containers. The display of his bruised knuckles resting on the counter caused my insides to churn.

Maybe it was the way Justin ghosted me earlier, or maybe it was the way Shinso cared for me— the longer I looked at him, the more I wanted him to bend me over the sink and make me scream.

An intense blush flushed over my face and I instinctively bit my bottom lip.

Without missing a beat, my roommate placed his hand on mine and locked eyes with me. “Is there something wrong?”

“I. . . ugh. . .” I looked away from him and down at the ground. “I’m fine.”

I could feel his violet-purple eyes squint with uncertainty. Shinso gently squeezed my hand and released a sigh. “I was thinking about what you said about ‘men being trash’ and how Justin was an asshole to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe you're looking in the wrong place."

I looked up at his face, taking in his flushed-out expression. Although his wet hair gave him a more refined aura. His cheeks highlighted his boyish charm. Shinso's hand lifted from mine and found itself underneath my chin. My eyes automatically snapped toward his and my breath got caught in my throat. He had an unwavering stare upon his face that made me weak in the knees. Shinso’s eyes slowly closed and brought his face closer to mine. I gripped his shirt and pressed a kiss firmly against his lips. Every muscle in my body relaxed and I felt his arm securely wrapped around me. I moaned against his lips and loosened my grip on his shirt. I dug my fingers in his hair and pressed my body against his.

“I want you,” he groaned against my lips.

“Then, take me,” I replied as I untied his sweatpants. And kissed him again.

Shinso tore away and guided me to the couch. He gazed down at me, a questionable look in his eye. “Are you sure?”

I lifted the oversized tee-shirt over my head and tossed it to the side, My chest was completely bare, my ample breasts in the view of the towering athlete. “I’m all yours.”

Shinso’s eyes darkened. His demeanor was intense and serious. He wrapped his arms around me and lifted my legs to his waist. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” he grunted before capturing my lips in a kiss.

I wrapped my arms around his neck. My bare chest against his; my heartbeat in my ears and his body heat warming my soul. I wanted to be as close to him as I possibly could. I needed to be closer to him than I ever was before. “Take me to your room.”

Without hesitation, the pro-hero took long paces to his vacant space. He gently sat me on the edge of the bed and look down at me. “Open your legs.”

I scooted my by rear further on the bed and placed both feet on the neatly tucked duvet. My knees were facing the ceiling and my clothed womanhood was facing him.

Shinso swiftly dropped to his knees and brought his face to my inner thigh. Featherlike kisses sprinkled along the soft tissue and goosebumps ran up my back. When he got to my core, after taking his sweet time, he pushed the soft short and panties to the side before lapping the dripping center. My legs gently twitched and my eyes rolled back. His soft muscle continued to lap its sweet nectar and I swore I could see God Himself. After a short while, he had gotten bored of pushing my garments to the side, so Shinso tenderly removed them from my legs. I halfway expected him to rip them to shreds but I guess he was too gentlemanly for such savage behavior.

The athlete looked up at me with a wistful expression and asked a simple question. “Do you mind if I use my fingers?”

I paused for a minute and smiled. “Come here.”

Temporarily rising from his position on the floor, the massive man laid his body between my legs and hovered his face above mine. “Yes?”

“You use whatever you see fit,” I replied while looking into his eyes. “I trust you.”

Without so much as a second glance, Shinso walks to his nightstand and unlocks the bottom drawer. He pulls out a Hitachi wand, an eye mask, and bondage cuffs. “Are you comfortable with these?”

A blush dusted my cheeks as I looked at the items. “Oh my, I never knew this side of you existed.” I reached for the eye mask and placed it on my head. Then, I lifted my arms over my head and gripped the bedpost. I winked and finally said, “I’m ready when you are.”

Shinso turned to the top drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a condom. “I should’ve confessed sooner.”

I nodded with appropriate enthusiasm and widened my legs. “Please continue what you had been doing earlier. I want you.”

The athlete reached down to my face and pulled the eye mask over my eyes. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

His feather-like touches littered against the right side of my body and I swore I could feel my senses come alive. I felt the bed sink in between my legs and his warm hands reposition my hips on the bed. “Hold your legs up for me, baby.”

I did as instructed and took a deep breath.

I could feel his hot breath fan my naked cunt and all I could do was drip in anticipation. His coarse thumbs spread the thick lips apart; cool air fanned my bud. After a few seconds of no movement, his hot mouth pressed against the dripping mess. A long, deep moan arose from me, as my legs jolted again. He blew against my womanhood, creating a slurry of my nectar and his saliva. I could feel it drip down my cunt and to my rear slowly. Seductively almost. His soft tongue pushed its way into my smooth center and I felt my walls clench. He bobbed his head forward and back; probing me with his tongue as he went. I furrowed my brows and arched my back. Gripping the back of my knees, I bucked my hips against his mouth as slutty moans left my lips.

“Mmm. . . you feel so good, So-so,” I chanted as I whipped my head to the side.

He groaned against my womanhood, before pulling away briefly. He reached up the bed and gripped his desired item. Once I heard a distinctive buzzing, I knew it was the wand. He pressed the toy against my bud, possibly wanting to see my reaction to it. I moaned at the light vibrations and squirmed underneath it. A hum passed his lips as I felt his fingers gently toy with my entrance. One finger slowly went in, curling upward to the desired pleasure button. Shinso used that finger for about a minute before adding a second one. He presses his fingertips against the roof of my cunny and started to jab them upward. I bit my lip and dug my nails into my thighs at the added friction. I could feel a soft pool gather in my stomach and I knew my climax was near.

“Oh fuck! Oh, fuck!” I practically yelled as I gripped the sheets.

Shinso kept his same pace. I could imagine observing the incoming orgasm rise from my toes down my calves and thighs and to my abdomen.

I furrowed my eyes again and brought my legs closer to my chest. “Oh fuck. Oh, fuck! Oh shit!” My legs shoot violently as my toes clenched tightly. My breathing increased and tingles encased my whole body. Then, all of a sudden, all the feelings in my body stopped. And all I could hear was the buzzing of the vibrator in my room. For those two seconds, every fiber of my being clenched, including my walls around Shinso’s fingers. I could feel tears form in my eyes as a throaty moan fell from my lips and my back arched against the bed. I released the grip on my legs and allowed them to shake chaotically against the mattress. I reached under my head for the pillow and squeezed it around my head as I rode out the pleasable wave.

When my legs stopped shaking and my breathing calmed down, I released the pillow and lifted my head. “So-so?”

“I’m here,” he swiftly replied before removing the eye mask from my face. Shinso looked at me with a loving expression and placed a hand on my cheek. “Are you okay? That seemed pretty intense.”

“It was,” I replied looking at him with doe eyes. “Can you just. . . hold me for a while? I don’t think I’m ready to continue.”

“Of course.” He climbed into the bed and wrapped his arms around me. His violet eyes gazed down at me with such repertoire that it was almost impossible to keep contact.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked feeling so insecure.

“No, I just. . .” Shinso cut himself off. Somehow trying to find the right thing to say at that moment. He pulled my body closer to his before pressing his lips to my forehead and saying “ I love you.”

I froze. My breath caught in my throat. My heartbeat pausing its usual rhythm. My mind was completely cleared of any passing thought. “How. . . long have you known?”

“Not too long. About a few minutes.”

“Wait,” I pulled away from him and sat up in the bed. “What do you mean ‘a few minutes’?”

Shinso took a deep breath and followed my motions. “I realized I loved you when you told me you trusted me and proceeded to relinquish control. I had never seen you so vulnerable with anyone and we have known each other for five years. It meant a lot to me and everything else just. . . clicked in my brain.”

“So, all the ordering food and tampons. . . you didn’t do that to get me to put my guard down? You did it just because?”

“Well, yeah. I thought that’s what good roommates do. At least, that’s what Tendou says they do.”

“Wow. . . I. . . need a minute to digest. . . all of this.”

“Take your time.”

I spent the next few days hovering about our shared apartment. Replaying those three tiny, tiny words in my mind. I love you. He loved me. Shinso loved me. He didn’t do all those nice things because he wanted to use me or my body for his pleasure. He did it because he wanted to be a good roommate. Shinso wasn’t the type of man to say things he didn’t mean— hell, he doesn’t even speak the majority of the time. He meant what he said. And I couldn’t gather my thoughts to see how I felt about him. I knew what he meant to me. I knew I didn’t see myself living with anyone else and the thought of him being with another woman infuriated me. After a short while, I picked up a pen and grabbed my keyboard to write a song.

Justin found time to text me again; notifying me that he wanted to make up for our failed date by giving a free studio session. Being the starving artist that I was, I took up the offer. On a whim, I texted Shinso to meet at the studio, half expecting him to decline my answer. He didn’t. Shinso walked into the small room, still in his volleyball uniform. His violet eyes brightened when I smiled at him. He gave me a small smirk and a short wave.

Justin, completely taken back by the massive player, gawked at Shinso’s sheer size. “Damn, how tall are you?”

“Six foot four inches,” Shinso stated in a bland expression.

“Wow,” Justin turned away from the athlete and back to me. “I’m ready when you are.”

I took a deep breath, readjusted my keyboard, and looked ahead. “I’m ready.”

I started playing the keys and looking down at the lyrics on my notebook page.

I don’t want to seem the way I do

But I’m confident when I’m with you

I looked up at Shinso with a weak smile.

Lately, all I feel is bad and bruised

Tired of tripping on my shoes

I squeezed my eyes shut and finished the rest of the course.

But when he loves me I

Feel like I’m floating, when

He calls me pretty, I

Feel like somebody.

Even when we fade,

Eventually to nothing,

You will always be my favorite form of loving.

I opened my eyes and looked up at Shinso. His cheeks were a slight pink and his eyes were slightly closed. He seemed somewhat embarrassed by the lyrics, yet really into them.

I finished the lyrics, making sure I kept eye contact with him for the entirety of the song. I watched his shoulders relax, and jaw clench at the sound of the lyrics. He leaned forward as if to hear me better. Shinso’s boyish charm was completely exposed and I was loving every second of it.

When the song ended, Justin stood up and clapped from the other end of the glass. He clicked a button and shouted for me to come out.

“You were so good!” He practically shouted to the top of his lungs. “I should’ve gotten you here sooner.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” I said with a chuckle.

“Please tell me you’re free this Friday, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Justin gave me a hopeful look.

“Actually— “

“She has plans with me this Friday,” Shinso chimed harshly.

Justin looked between the two of us and simply nodded. “I totally get it. Shoot me a text when you are free though. We should talk business.”

“Of course!” I replied with a smile.

Shinso and I trotted out of the studio shortly after the exchange. He remained silent within the elevator of the building. Inside the cab home. And, as we walked through the front door. It was after he retreated into his room and took a shower when he finally spoke to me.

“Did you write that song for me?” Shinso asked after taking a seat in my desk chair.

“I did,” I answered simply.

“Does that mean you. . . share my feelings?” He proceeded to question me.

“Yes, I love you, Shinso,” I offered the response slowly.

He rose from my chair and sat across from me on my bed. “Tell me again.”

“I love you, Shinso.”

His lips captured mine in a heated kiss. His calloused hands pulled me closer to him as mine latched in his hair. I leaned back against the bed and spread my legs to give him more access. I moaned against his lips and moved my hips against his groin.

“Do you want to continue?” Shinso asked as pulled away. “We can always—”

“Hurry up and grab the condoms from the top drawer,” I interjected as I unhooked my arms to peel my shirt off.

Without a word, the athlete scooted from the bed and did as he was told. Shinso swiftly removed his sweats and tossed them to the side. He ripped the plastic packet open with his teeth and rolled the rubber on his member. He climbed back onto the bed proceeded to yank my bottoms off my body and spread my legs. Shinso positioned his member against my center and looked up at me. Once I gave him an eager nod, he sunk himself into me. A soul-shaking moan erupted from the two of us, followed by a curse underneath our breaths. He leaned down to give me a soft kiss before slowly rocking his hips against mine.

Gentle moans fell from my lips as I arched my back against his thrusts. “You feel so good, baby.” I brought my hands up my legs and navel; I latched my digits onto my ample breasts and gave them a slight squeeze.

Shinso readjusted my hips and lifted my legs in the air. His fingertips pressed firmly in the soft flesh of my thigh as he had begun to drop his hips down onto mine in such a harsh manner. My walls clenched around him, as I felt myself begin to ooze even more onto him. The new stimulation was making my whole body heat up and I desperately wanted more of it. I gripped the sheets tightly and gazed at his flushed-out face.

God, he looked so powerful fucking me like that. His muscles flexed with each thrust and sweat began dotting his abdomen. The pink hue on his cheeks and the clenching of his jaw made my insides tingle.

I was more attracted to this man than I could ever possibly know.

Suddenly, his pace started to slow down and his hips started to spasm. Just a tad. He was so close to his peak.

“You take me so well, sweetheart,” Shinso grunted lowly. “You’re tight cunt is milking me dry.”

I smirked. “Are you about to cum?”

His violet eyes narrowed and he paused his thrusts. “On your belly, now.”

“Yes, sir,” I teased as I rolled onto my stomach. Chest pressed against the bed and hips in the air.

The athlete gripped my hips as he eased his member back into me. “Rub that needy clit of yours, nice and slow.”

I tucked a hand between my legs and flicked my fingers softly. A small moan fell from my lips as my hips began to twitch slightly.

“Looks like you’re not gonna last too long, baby,” I could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Of course not, you know how to make me cum,” I said with a giggle.

“I am the only one that will be doing that from this point on, understood?” His gripped tightened around my waist and I could feel his hips begin to twitch slightly.

“Understood,” I grunted as I felt the warm pool fill in my stomach. “I’m getting close, baby.”

“Move your hand faster,” Shinso instructed while keeping his pace.

I flicked my wrist faster and immediately felt the climax rising my legs and thighs and gathering at my stomach. I clenched and released my walls several times before releasing a gurgle-like moan. “Ahh fuck. Ahh, fuck!”

“You better not stop moving your hand, princess,” he warned in a low tone.

“I’m not! I promise!” I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip. “Please let me cum! I wanna cum so bad! Oh, God!”

“Go ahead, you deserve it,” he grunted as he began to move his hips faster.

“Oh fuck!” I gripped the sheets tightly and moved my hand even faster. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

I clenched my walls ever so tightly and squeezed my eyes shut. In the pit of my stomach, I felt a soft soap bubble pop and ooze out to the rest of my body. My entire body clenched, and my hand pressed hard against my clit as I rode out the orgasm. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and my tongue fell out of my mouth. Drool dripped down my chin as the stars behind my eyelids faded. After a few seconds, I slumped forward onto the bed and opened my eyes.

“Oh fuck. . .” I gurgled as my body finished twitching.

Shinso slid out of my smooth canal and kissed down my sweaty back before laying next to me. He gathered me into his arms and looked down at my overly stimulated body. “Promise me you’ll be mine and only mine.”

With half-closed lids, I looked up at him and said, “You buy me food when I’m sad, you get me tampons when I’m bleeding, AND you made me cum so hard I almost blacked out. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you be with someone else.”

He chuckled. “I love you.”

“You better, because you can’t get rid of me. I’m in too deep,” I replied as I snuggled closer to him. After a short moment of silence, I said “I love you, too.”

[elizabethplaid]

Yesterday and today, I’ve had a wicked sinus headache, right behind my eyes. I’ve also had sensory overload, and it was really tough trying to fall asleep.

Last night, after dad got back from a meeting, he sat in the living room to talk to me. But Neighbor-J called, so dad talked with him. They get excited when chatting, and they both get loud.

I couldn’t play loud music on headphones, like I usually do to tune them out, because sound was very hurt-y on my ears. So I shut down my computer and went to bed. Dad apologized for chasing me off, and I said it wasn’t a big deal. My headache was so bad, anyway, that I was gonna go to bed early.

Today, we both apologized to each other again. Him for the volume, me for storming off. When helping to put away groceries, I realized dad had bought snacks/treats as penance. I mean, I can’t remember the last time we got cherry cordials! It’s been a few years, at least.

My headache is better now, but I really have to stay on top of taking the next dose of advil in time. I’ve been chilling with music and a blindfold (to block out the light), and that has helped a lot. Except when Wampus laid in my lap. She’s too warm.

[dcviated]

@hallowleylines sent: Bandana on. Fire set. Equipment Primed. Sanitation levels met. No, exceeded. Was Anvil normally so intense about this kind of stuff? Not really, but he's feeling some type of heat behind his eyes today. Apron is tied on neatly and he's brought his own set of knives, mixers, and the like for this occasion. Most certainly on top of his A game. Of course he was. Citrine, his partner in crime and equal, was here so nothing could stop them. He wasn't normally big on Valentine's day himself but... there would inevitably be some lonely hearts out there and it was there jobs to remedy that.... Okay, not really but they could at least provide some chocolates for the unfortunate. "Alright, you ready? The gruesome holiday is coming up and we have to make sure to have emergency chocolates prepped up for the weary and woeful. Preferably get done before the actual day so we aren't busy ourselves honestly. You're the only one I trust whole-heartedly to keep up the pace with me. Are you ready?" Why does this sound more dramatic than it needs to be? Oh yeah, because chaos ensues whenever they have to do this.

The kitchen prepped and ready to make copious amounts of chocolate is a welcome sight. Anvil was one that Citrine could rely on, and it was for that reason he didn't worry about being too early, even. Oh, not to say he didn't have preparations of his own. The equipment was there, but it was on Citrine to bring in some of the best fresh ingredients. They're all set onto the counter in sequence. How many boxes was he carrying?

Outside of the store-bought chocolate they'd be using as a base, there was plenty of fruit and spices as well. Bunches of bananas. Cartons of strawberries. Vials of cinnamon and oh you better believe he has those candied cherries and plenty of sugar to melt down for the caramel.

"Phew! I think I'm about as ready as I'll ever be, Anvil." Citrine flashes a confident grin to his companion, a pump of his fist after everything is arranged. It's fortunate they had so much space to work with, and it would be only the two of them at work. Otherwise, there would be much more cause for concern. How many people had the Draco met that could follow along with his rhythm in the kitchen? Speed aside, there was a pattern to it.

"I'm glad you asked me, because it saved me the trouble of asking you." Citrine chuckles. "Though I wasn't planning on making this much chocolate if I'm being honest but it's a challenge I look forward to. This should be everything you had on your list, and then some things I wanted to add in too. The cordials will be the hardest but I ..." Really wanted to have some of those made for Pramanix.

"Anyway! Once the pot's heated up we can start putting in the chocolate, in the meantime I'll be getting some caramel going on the burners over here... just so it'll be ready when we need it. With that going-" Gloves are adjusted, and his own headband is in place!.... looks a little sillier around the horns, of course. A bump of hands.

"Lets get started!"

[luminescencefics]

stir me up

Harry Styles doesn’t know much, but he does know two things. He knows that there’s not many things a good cocktail can’t fix, and he also knows that he can’t stop thinking about the blonde-haired girl who he shamelessly flirts with during his shift every Friday evening.

Willa Tillerson might know too much, to be fair. She knows that she lets work slowly take over her life, she knows that this work-life balance her friends talk about is nothing short of fiction, and she knows that she can’t help but look forward to Friday’s so that she can flirt with the handsome barman at the pub across the street.

A oneshot about drinks and the people who make them, featuring a hint of pining and a dash of a (potential) happily ever after.

written for @stellarboystyles​‘s 3 year anniversary 

mutual pining // prompt #3 “You’re really cute when you start rambling like that.”

harry/ofc, 15k

Willa Tillerson notices two things instantly when she walks into The Churchill Arms after a long and tiring day at work. The first is that her coworkers have already started without her, a pile of empty pint glasses nearly towering over the wooden table they’ve deemed as their own in the back corner of the pub. The second is that her favorite barman is working.

She tries her hardest not to make eye contact with him, because Willa has always thrived on playing hard to get. But there’s no denying that he makes it that much more difficult, with the way his brown hair wisps around his forehead in fluffy curls, and the way his black collared work shirt strains over his bulging biceps when he pulls a pint from the tap, and the way his green eyes light up and cherry lips quirk with a boyish grin when the door shuts tightly behind her, the bell above clanging together in a pretty tune.

Willa Tillerson is trying.

Before she can begin putting her black leather Saint Laurent boots in front of the other, she hears a loud posh voice calling her over towards the back table. With her new handbag held tightly under her armpit, she begins barrelling forward, purposely sashaying her hips back and forth when she walks past the bartop, ignoring the hot gaze that hits her lower back.

“About time! You’re nearly an hour late, Ms. Workaholic,” Annabelle tuts once Willa has approached the table. She rolls her eyes, putting her Celine handbag on the hook below the table and throwing her Isabel Marant wool longline jacket on the back of one of the unoccupied chairs.

“Oh be quiet, I just had some last minute things to catch up on,” Willa retorts, doing her best to turn off Work Willa and turn on Fun Willa.

It’s hard sometimes, considering her job has been taking over most of her life for the better part of the year. She loves the work, and Willa will be the first person to admit that, but it can be a bit gruelling at times.

But she can’t complain, because she’s passionate about her position as a senior designer at Kensington Interior Design Ltd. Willa’s been lucky enough to work at the company ever since she finished uni years ago, and she received the promotion almost four months ago. Her workload had increased tenfold—but she really can’t lament. Even though she’s almost the last person to leave the office every night, and she’s now the last person to trickle in to their after-work drinks tradition that started a few years ago, and she honestly can’t remember the last time she had been out on a date ever since she’s been working through the weekends.

Willa’s really trying.

The sudden urge to have a cocktail is almost all-consuming. So with a quick flick of her neck towards the bartop to Annabelle, Willa grasps her wallet in her hand and struts over towards the counter where her favorite barman is already waiting for her.

“Evening,” he calls out, his right dimple already sunk deep into his ivory skin, causing Willa to grin right back at him. His arms are stretched out wide against the dark wooden countertop, causing his large shoulders to jut out. Willa is doing her best to not stare at the dark ink swirling up and down his toned arms.

“Hi Harry,” Willa responds easily back, resting her forearms on the countertop and leaning forward in her boots so that her cleavage is a bit more exposed in her tight white blouse.

“Your regular, then?” He asks with his deep voice, and Willa just nods back, suppressing the flush that’s beginning to crawl up her sternum when Harry reaches down for the bottle of gin and begins scooping ice into the shaker, pouring a generous amount into the tin.

Harry’s focus shifts towards the task at hand, and he feels grateful for the excuse to point his green eyes at something other than Willa’s pretty face and exposed neckline. He’s really doing his best to keep his eyes above her collarbones, but she’s making it increasingly difficult with each shift forward against the wooden bartop.

“How was work?” Harry asks after placing the gin bottle back into the speed rack. The distraction of watching him make a cocktail is brief, but Willa is happy for the extra minutes she gets to stare at him unabashedly without him knowing.

“The usual, how about you?” His eyes finally rise from the cocktail shaker and meet hers, and her lips begin to lift because she already knows what he’s going to say.

“The usual.” It’s said with a shrug and a smirk, and even though Willa and Harry have the same transfer of words every Friday evening, it still doesn’t fail to make her red-painted lips quirk up in a pretty smile.

He hands over her martini in exchange for Willa’s credit card, which he slides through the machine swiftly to start her tab that he knows won’t exceed four drinks.

Willa loves how their little flirting ruse has been quite routine for the past two months. She knows that they flirt from a distance, with lingering gazes and small quips of lips into half-smiles, half-smirks. She knows that he remembers her drink order by heart, but still asks her because it’s cordial. She knows that he always asks her how work was, to which she always responds the same thing. She knows it all.

So when she starts to pivot on her back foot to head towards her coworkers, she stops abruptly when Harry leans forward against the bartop, crossing his arms over his chest to support his torso.

Because she hasn’t known him to do this.

“You look nice tonight, Willa.” His voice sends shockwaves through her insides and it happens so quickly that she can’t even try to hide the blush that finally rests on her cheekbones. Before she can think of a witty response or even a gentle thank you, Harry’s already begun moving to the other side of the bar to help another customer.

Before Willa can start to get confused glances from other patrons, she begins to walk forward towards her coworkers, trying her hardest to force the blush to leave her cheeks. Because Harry has never complimented her appearance before, and while she appreciates the gesture, she can’t help but wonder if her surprised look threw him off.

“He is too fit to be a barman,” Ethan says once Willa has slipped into the chair with her jacket on the back, pulling a long sip from her Vesper. She’s grateful for the harsh sting that soothes her burning insides.

“He really is. If I was single I would jump on that in a heartbeat,” Annabelle agrees, shooting Willa a knowing look to which she tries her hardest to ignore.

She really doesn’t want to talk about her love life, or lack thereof, in front of her coworkers.

“Honestly Willa, if he played on my team I would already have done it,” Ethan announces a bit too loudly, forcing Willa to swat at his side.

“Ethan!” Willa shrieks, shooting a glance over his shoulder to see if Harry had overheard anything. He hasn’t, luckily, but he has felt her gaze linger on his frame for a bit too long, so when green eyes meet blue she quickly looks away, swallowing down her drink.

Ethan just shrugs her off, finishing up the pint in front of him. “Oh, bugger off. I don’t know what you’re waiting on, Wills. You clearly fancy him.”

“I don’t even know him enough to fancy him, you twat,” Willa says, placing her drink down on the table to give her friend a sharp look. “I think he’s nice to look at. And he makes a good drink. That’s it.”

It’s a lie and everybody at the table knows it, so when they all roll their eyes and tell her to fuck off, she doesn’t even feel bad.

“Sure, Wills. Fancy getting the next round, then? If you just think he makes a good drink, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Ethan asks and Willa just ignores him, practically finishing her martini in two full gulps. She knows that he’s taunting her, and when he looks at her Willa shakes her head, praying that he’ll just drop it.

He does, because even though Ethan can be a bit much at times, he knows all of the shit that Willa has been through this past year. And while he means well and really wants Willa to branch out and meet new people, he knows that he can’t push her. So he lets it go and Willa does her hardest to not watch Ethan interact with Harry at the bar. Does her hardest to ignore the way Harry’s gaze shifts to hers in a questioning look when Ethan orders her a new martini.

She needs more liquid courage.

So when Ethan hands her another drink without a word, she’s thankful for that. Because as much as she wants to talk to Harry again, she’s far too shy to do it herself. And not to mention a little thrown off at his last comment—because she wasn’t sure that their relationship existed outside of flirtatious looks and short-worded conversations.

So she sits in the back with her coworkers and drinks and makes sure that whenever she chances a look at Harry, he’s busy doing other things. And after she’s finished her third cocktail, she throws her jacket on and approaches the bar to close her tab, just like every other Friday before that.

“Have a good night, Harry,” Willa says once she’s slipped her wallet into her purse and slides the checkbook over towards his large hands.

Harry just nods, looking at her with that special glint in his eyes he saves just for her. “You too, Willa. See you next week.”

And when she walks over towards the door and feels the chill of the autumn breeze hit her flushed cheeks, she’s wondering if the warmth that lingers on her skin is from Harry’s gaze or if she’s just imagining it.

***

Willa’s spirits are quite high when she walks into The Churchill Arms that next Friday only a few minutes after five o’clock for the first time in about a month.

She had just won over a top tier client and was working on the next steps to continue growing her portfolio. It was between Willa and another senior designer at the firm, and by some stroke of luck, she had been chosen to redecorate the master bedroom in their Knightsbridge mansion.

Her good mood is palpable, and Harry can practically feel her beaming from the entryway of the bar. She looks the same as she always does, far too pretty and successful to banter with a barman like himself, but she still does it anyway. Her long legs are hidden under flowy navy dress pants, heels giving her that extra bit of height that makes her seem larger than life in the dimly lit bar. She’s wearing a cream-colored scoop neck top that makes Harry imagine what she’ll look like leaned over the bartop, and before he can even realize he’s been staring at her for far too long, she gives him a glowing smile and he feels as if he’s weightless.

Willa saunters over towards the table in the back where her coworkers are already waiting for her, with Ethan grabbing her jacket and handbag and wrapping her up in a hug and Annabelle holding out a shot glass filled with clear liquid and a bright smile covering her face.

It’s times like these when Willa feels as if everything is falling into place.

She shoots back the tequila with grace, clamping her teeth down on the lime until the acidic taste quels the stinging of the liquor. Willa leans her head into the crook of Ethan’s neck, feeling his warmth completely encapsulate her body.

“So proud of you, Wills,” Ethan whispers into her blonde hair. Willa just squeezes his hip back in thanks, reaching into her handbag to grab her leather wallet, beginning her normal trek up to the bartop to see Harry.

He’s already waiting for her like usual, a rapturous smile covering his face. He looks exactly how she feels—happy and warm and safe, and she wonders if she’s just realizing it now or if he’s always looked like that. His arms are doing that thing again where the muscles practically stretch his cotton work shirt to shreds, and his eyes are doing that shimmering thing where Willa knows she should look away but she can’t, and his hair is doing that floppy thing that makes Willa want to run her fingers through the tendrils, and Willa feels the warmest she’s felt all night.

“Hi Harry,” Willa says once she’s approached the counter, leaning forward and causing Harry’s green eyes to darken a bit. It’s exactly as he imagined it, and he isn’t even trying to hide the fact that his pupils dart down before lifting to her blue eyes once more.

“Evening, Willa. Celebrating something?” He asks, gesticulating towards the empty tray of shot glasses lingering on the wooden table her coworkers are occupying in the back of the room.

Her eyes light up even more and she nods her head in an excited, enamoring way. He leans forward too, resting one forearm on the clean bartop and his other arm is bent at the elbow, holding his face as he watches her.

Willa tries her hardest not to lean forward an inch more.

“Had a good day at work, landed a really important client,” Willa explains, and she’s fully aware that the pair are straying from their usual Friday conversation, but she really could care less.

Harry gives her a look of admiration. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations are in order, I reckon.” He’s giving her a mischievous look and Willa suddenly feels intrigued. Apparently that was the only sign of approval Harry needed, because he suddenly reaches down and makes two shot glasses practically appear out of thin air, pouring them to the brim with the same clear liquid Willa had just swallowed a few moments prior.

“I’m hoping the other one is for you?” Willa asks in a low voice, cocking her head to the side and looking up at Harry under her thick eyelashes. He can practically feel the groan forming in the back of his throat when he pictures her looking up at him for a different reason entirely, but he suppresses it with a quick nod of his head.

“‘Course. ‘S bad luck to take a shot by yourself.” His voice is even lower than hers, and Willa’s surprised that she can hear it clearly with the barrier of the bartop between them. Willa seemingly agrees with Harry’s statement, because she’s suddenly standing upright, reaching her long fingers out to cup the cool glass in her palm, arching her eyebrow when she realizes that Harry is watching her instead of copying her movements.

“Cheers, Harry,” Willa says, extending her arm and smirking to herself when Harry hurriedly grips the short glass, sloshing a bit of the tequila over the edge. He regains his cool composure though, before extending his arm as well and clinking the glasses softly together.

“Cheers, Willa.” His voice is guttural and Willa can practically feel it resonate through her. But before she could think about it too much, she’s bringing the glass to her rogue lips and knocking the liquid back, keeping her blue eyes locked on Harry’s green.

His lips are moistened from the tequila and a small dribble has started to form on the lower left side of his mouth, threatening to leak down to his chin. Without even thinking (or maybe thinking quite a bit, to be fair), Willa reaches her hand out and cups Harry’s chin, before thumbing at the liquid to make it disappear.

His eyes are blown wide and suddenly the clamor from the busy bar turns into white noise, and all Harry can see is Willa. All he wants to do is grab her smaller hand in his and hold on for dear life, bringing her closer and closer into his atmosphere before she floats away. But then, a voice asking for a refill breaks his reverie and he’s back to tending the bar and ignoring the blazing feeling of where Willa’s hand once was on his mouth.

She waits patiently while he pulls a pint from the tap, watching as his large hands grip the cool glass easily, the motions practically ingrained in his system. He’s quite graceful behind the bar, all long limbs grabbing glasses and mixing different liquids together in such a fashion that makes Willa never want to return to that wooden table in the back of the room.

Before long, he’s right back in front of her, asking if she wants her usual drink to which she responds with a dazed yes. He doesn’t say much to her, still reeling from the fact that she was so close and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was behind the bar and she was on the receiving end, the sobering cognizance surging back into his skin that he is, in fact, at work, and can’t spend his night kissing the pretty blonde patron (even if it’s all he can think about, really).

Once the martini is placed on a cocktail napkin in front of her, Willa reaches for her credit card causing Harry to shake his head with a small grin on his lips.

“No, no. This one’s on me,” before Willa can protest, he cuts her off. “Congrats again, Willa.” And with that he’s off to the other end of the bar, leaving Willa feeling a lot more hot (and bothered) than she was earlier.

Once Willa returns back to the table, she finds herself sandwiched between Ethan and Annabelle, talking about anything and everything. The group rarely bring up work, and instead, Willa finds herself joking around with the office intern and reminiscing about drunken uni nights, finds herself gushing over Annabell’s engagement ring and revelling in wedding plans, finds herself laughing at Ethan’s crude jokes about all of the failed dates he’s been on in the past few months.

Willa finds that she’s actually having a lot of fun.

After her second martini, Willa asks the group if they’d like another round and with a few negative responses, she walks back over towards the bar. Harry can see her out of his periphery, and the sight of her with flushed cheeks and messy hair and glossy eyes causes him to overpour the pint glass in his hand, sticky beer coating his long fingers.

He shakes it off and rubs the remaining liquid on the bar rag in his back pocket, handing the glass over to the burly man who ordered it and accepting his payment with a quick nod. He really wants to head over to where Willa is before the other barman notices her.

Harry’s expecting her to ask for her tab, because he’s noticed that she’s had two martinis and two tequila shots, and she’ll probably want to call it an evening.

But when she’s looking at him with big blue eyes and a hint of a smirk on her lips, he’s suddenly hoping that she doesn’t want to leave. That she’ll stay for quite a bit longer, actually. (And maybe even long enough so that he can walk her home after his shift, but he doesn’t want to think about that all too much).

“Hi Harry, fancy making me another?” Willa asks once he’s in front of her, swiveling the empty up glass in her dainty fingertips. He smiles at her, plucking the glass from between her hands, trying to ignore the burning feeling on his flesh from where their fingers touched.

“Thought you’d be heading out by now,” Harry says in between exchanging the gin bottle for the vodka bottle, pouring a generous amount into the tin.

Willa laughs a bit, shaking her head softly. “Kind of feel like staying out a bit longer.” She’s fully aware that the alcohol she’s consumed throughout the evening has made her much more bold, but she really doesn’t care. She’s grateful for it, in fact, once she’s noticed the darkened look in Harry’s eyes and the sultry smirk gracing his cherry lips.

“I’m glad. Always feel like you cut out a bit early, anyways.” His eyes lift from stirring the liquid in the tin to her pupils, and Willa wonders if he’s speaking in riddles like she is.

“Are you trying to persuade me to stay longer?” Willa asks, and she’s doing that leaning forward thing again and Harry can feel his neck tense with the running reminder to not ogle at the swell of her breasts trapped inside her tight top.

He puts the top back on the cocktail shaker and lines up a new glass, straining the Vesper into it. “Might be.” He’s trying to be smug but Willa is really testing his patience, and she’s found that she quite enjoys making him squirm.

She grabs the glass as he’s placing it on the bartop, her thin fingers falling over his wider ones, causing his hand to still. She’s leaning forward on her forearm, her chest resting over the skin practically causing her breasts to spill out of the tight material of her top. Harry gulps harshly, slipping his fingers out from under hers and immediately regretting the warm feeling that leaves his hand.

Willa giggles again, staring at Harry as she takes a sip from the cocktail, her lipstick leaving a mark on the lip of the glass, making Harry practically fall over at the sight of her.

He has a feeling she knows exactly what she’s doing to him, and normally, he would be annoyed. But for some reason, this pretty girl with too-expensive shoes and put-together makeup and an all-together sophisticated demeanor is somehow the hottest person he’s seen sitting at this bar in weeks. And even when her hair is messy and her eyes are blown out and her lipstick is a little smudged, she still causes Harry to fidget and second guess what he’s saying to her.

He also can’t deny the sudden urge to bend her over in the toilets and make her squirm instead.

He coughs into his fist, breaking the spell, and thankfully Willa gets the hint. Without another word, she slides her credit card over the wooden counter and slips it under Harry’s palm, muttering a slow, “Keep it open, please,” before slinking back to her friends.

Harry’s in a daze and he really needs to do something about the tightness in his pants. But before he can dwell on it any longer, a redheaded girl has taken over the spot Willa was once in and he’s forced to think about something other than the blonde girl sneaking looks at him from across the room.

After two more cocktails, Willa has come to the conclusion that she’s had quite enough to drink. She’s the type of drunkenness where laughter comes far too easily and she feels a bit too warm in her clothes, and while she has the sudden urge to dance and kiss a pretty boy, she knows that she’s done for the night. Because she doesn’t want to lose this feeling, and one more drink will definitely cause her to be the type of drunkenness that includes a side of nausea and a dizzying headache.

She grabs her belongings and gives both Annabelle and Ethan a sloppy kiss on the cheek, promising to meet them Sunday afternoon for brunch. Willa starts heading toward the bar on shaky feet, and when Harry looks at her with an amused grin on his face, she’s quite thankful for the countertop that she can latch onto, because she could get lost in his green eyes if she wanted to (and she really wanted to, more than anything).

“I think I’m throwing in the towel,” Willa slurs through a smile, watching the way Harry’s lower lip juts out in a pout. Her eyes fall to the pinkness of his round lower lip, noticing the slightly chapped skin and admiring the stubble framing his mouth. She starts to think about how kissable they look, but then the pout leaves and he’s forming words and Willa focuses back to listening instead of staring at him hungrily.

“Ah. As the barman, I fully support this decision,” Harry starts, sliding a glass of water over in her direction and beginning to run her credit card before slipping the receipt into a checkbook with a pen. “But, as a normal guy, I’m quite disappointed.”

Willa pauses signing the dotted line at the bottom of the paper. “A normal guy, huh?”

He watches her close the book and slide it back over in his direction, her face scrunched up in confusion. He wonders how somebody could be both sexy and cute at the same time, and wonders how she does it so effortlessly.

“Yep. You do know that I work on other days besides Friday, yeah?” Harry asks, leaning a bit forward so that the conversation can be as intimate as possible in the newly crowded area.

Willa looks at him and smiles, relief flushing over her as her drunken convoluted mind comes to the conclusion that Harry is, in fact, finally making a move. Albeit it’s not as direct and Willa is fairly certain that if she were a bit more sober she’d actually pick up on what he’s been hinting at the entire night, but nonetheless, she takes it in stride, finding herself leaning in a bit more towards his towering frame.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” Willa watches as Harry’s eyes light up, and she’s almost certain that he’s leaning closer towards her, but she steps back with a sly smirk. She wants to leave Harry wanting more (even though all he does is want her, practically every waking moment she’s in this bar), so she sneaks away with a tiny wave, causing Harry to come to a startling realization.

Willa Tillerson knows exactly what she’s doing.

***

The next time Harry sees Willa, he didn’t think she’d look so dejected.

He hears the bells chime when the heavy oak door closes behind her. It’s a Wednesday, therefore her usual gang of coworkers haven’t entered the bar at all this evening. At first glance, Harry’s excited to see her, thinking about the last time he saw her and invited her to come in on a non-Friday. But once he sees her blue eyes are a bit dull and her trousers are crinkled from slumping in her office chair long after everybody has left and she just looks, well, sad, he’s instantly concerned.

Willa wasn’t really thinking all too clearly about her arrival when she looks around the half-full bar. It’s a much different scene inside than it normally is on Fridays—the leather booths along the far side of the wall are filled with people eating dinner, the music is a calm acoustic playlist, and Harry is standing alone behind the bartop.

She can feel his eyes on her frame immediately, and while the warmth is still there, she suddenly feels timid under his unwavering gaze. Willa’s fully aware that she looks exactly how she feels—complete and utter shit. It’s a far cry from how she felt the last time she stepped foot in The Churchill Arms, but she didn’t feel like going home, and when she remembers Harry’s invitation to come in on another day, she didn’t really think twice about changing her route to the bar instead of the tube to head home for the evening.

“Evening Willa,” Harry greets her like normal, and he isn’t really sure how to play this one out. He really wanted to sound more excited to see her, maybe playful even, but he doesn’t want to scare her away. Because even though she looks upset, he still really is glad she came in.

But there’s no denying he’s worried.

“Hi Harry,” Willa mumbles, sliding her heavy Theory trench coat off her shoulders and hanging it around the back of the leather barstool. Her handbag rests on the hook under the bartop, and she realizes then that this is the first time she’s ever sat at the bar with Harry in front of her.

He slides a cocktail napkin over in her direction, just like he does with every other customer, and waits patiently for her to look him in the eyes. When she finally does, clear blue eyes squinting up at him with an unknown emotion covering her face, he wants nothing more than to jump over the barrier between them and hold her close.

But he can’t.

So he does the next best thing he could think of—ask her what she’d like to drink.

Harry is expecting her to ask for her usual. But she surprises him (something she’s been doing quite a bit of lately) and gives him a sad, half-smile. “What do you usually drink when you’ve had a shit day?”

He frowns at that. “That bad, huh?” He’s leaning down over the counter on his forearms, trying to reach her at eye level. She’s not backing away, which Harry appreciates, and before he can lean in a bit closer, she gives him a small shrug.

“Yep. I’m officially the sad girl at a bar asking the cute barman to make her feel better with copious amounts of alcohol. Think you can help me out with that?” Willa’s head is cocked to the right in question, her blue eyes brightening when Harry’s lips form a deep grin.

“You think I’m cute?” He asks, reaching for the nice bottle of Reposado he saves for himself after long nights behind the bar. Harry watches as Willa gives him a genuine smile, and he finally feels the mood begin to lighten around them.

Willa chooses not to answer, instead, her eyes widen at the bottle in his large hands. “Tequila? Are you trying to kill me?”

He laughs, reaching into the ice bin to deposit a few cubes into the highball glass on the counter. “This isn’t just any tequila, Willa. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

When the cold glass lands on the cocktail napkin in front of her, she reaches for it, holding it up in front of her face a bit in Harry’s direction in cheers. His eyes squint behind his smile when her lips wrap around the glass, taking a generous sip without flinching.

She doesn’t need to tell him that it’s good, because he already knows that.

Instead, he rests his palms on the countertop and looks down at her. “So, why are you officially the sad girl at my bar, Willa?”

“Christ,” Willa starts, swallowing down another gulp of tequila. “Am I really going to be that person who tells the barman all the woes in their life?”

Harry laughs. “Only doing my job here, babe.”

She laughs a bit, finally feeling a bit better. Maybe her decision in coming here wasn’t as stupid as she originally thought. Maybe seeing Harry on a night where she can actually hear him and be in his presence without the lingering feeling of another patron waiting for her to finish up, or the looks she gets from Ethan and Annabelle when she’s so obviously flirting with him, or the loud music reverberating through the wooden walls, is exactly what she needed.

So, Willa gives in.

“You know how I’m an interior designer, right?” Willa starts, watching as Harry nods instantly. “Well, I had just gotten back from a meeting with a new client—”

“—The big one, yeah? The one you were celebrating last week?” Harry asks, and Willa immediately feels her cheekbones warm. She feels a bubbling in her stomach at the fact that Harry remembered, and before she can get sidetracked on the feeling inside of her, he’s nodding at her in a way that’s asking her to continue.

“Yeah. Anyways, on my way back to my office, I ran into my ex-boyfriend.” Willa takes a break to sip the tequila again, trying her hardest to wash the image of Gavin and his blonde hair and smug look out of her brain with each harsh sip.

“That’s never fun,” Harry admits. There’s no denying the fact that he’s a bit chuffed to hear that she has an ex-boyfriend. Even though a part of him knew deep down that she must have been single with the way she was flirting with him and pushing her chest in his direction and wiping his lips clean of leftover tequila. But he can never be too sure.

But he doesn’t want her to think that.

“Oh that’s not the best part!” Willa announces, feeling herself hot with anger once again. She thought she had gotten rid of it when she slumped in her leather office chair for the past few hours, staring at the white wall thinking about how much of a fucking prick Gavin actually was.

“What happened?” Harry’s voice is soft and kind and it suddenly calms Willa down. She starts to feel her anger dissipate with each second Harry’s green eyes are on hers, and she’s wondering what that all means.

“He was early for a meeting with one of my coworkers. He has plans to make the spare bedroom in his loft a nursery.” Willa’s eyes fall from Harry’s and focuses on the amber liquid sloshing around the heavy ice cubes. Instead of anger, Willa just feels sad.

Not only sad. She also feels a bit stupid, if she’s being honest.

Because Gavin didn’t want her in the same way Willa wanted him. Gavin wanted stability, a place of his own with a wife who would be home with their baby. He always believed that Willa put her career first, which in hindsight, was probably true.

But Willa was not the type of woman to stop doing what she loved in order to make the person she was with feel secure. She was not the type of woman to bury her feelings in order to make her partner feel comfortable. She was not the type of woman who would drop everything in her life to have a baby.

So when she tells him this, he walks away.

It was only until today that Willa discovered he had found another woman to do all of that for him instead.

“I’m sorry, Willa. That’s really shit,” Harry says softly, forcing Willa to turn away from the liquid in her glass and look at him. Him, with his fluffy chestnut curls. Him, with his forehead scrunched in concern. Him, with his cherry lips turned downwards. Him, who causes Willa to realize that she shouldn’t be upset over Gavin.

Not anymore, that is.

“Yeah,” she shrugs and finishes off her drink, nodding silently when Harry offers her another. “It’s been almost a year now, and honestly I do feel like I’m over it. It’s just—I don’t know. It just sucks realizing that he’s moved on and he’s finally gotten what he wants and I’m still so unsure of everything.”

“Who says we’re supposed to have everything figured out?” Harry responds, placing a new drink in front of Willa.

She looks at him and wonders how he can make sense of all of this with a few measly words. Wonders how he always seems so confident and sure. Wonders how he’s made her feel comfortable in this bar on a Wednesday night. Wonders if he’s always been like this, to be fair.

“You’re quite good at this,” Willa says after a beat, smiling when Harry laughs.

“Yeah, well, it’s part of the gig.” Before he can stay and talk with her longer (because he could give fuck all about his job at this point), one of the waitresses rings in a drink order and Harry’s off to the other end of the bar, pouring pints and scooping ice into glasses.

Willa doesn’t mind. She actually finds it quite comforting to watch him work. He’s a natural conversationalist, always making eye contact and coaxing laughter out of people. And while she sits and continues to drink, she notices how he always manages to glance her way whenever he is in the middle of performing different tasks, and she finds that her heart keeps swelling with every shy look he sends her.

Two more drinks later, Willa starts to realize that she hasn’t even thought about Gavin at all. Instead, her mind is filled with green eyes and curly hair and mermaid tattoos. She’s found that her eyes keep tracing over Harry’s features—at his sharp jawline, his scattered freckles, his carved muscles, his long torso. She’s quite overwhelmed with how handsome he is under the dim bar lighting, and she’s quite grateful to be sitting this close to him for this long.

Harry makes sure to keep Willa company between drinks, watching the way she seems to grow a bit lighter with each passing sip. A large part of him wishes he could just close early so he could take her home and make sure she stays this level of content for the remainder of the evening, but with each passing hour, he’s watching her eyes grow a bit heavier and he knows that it’s only a matter of time before she leaves him again.

Willa begins to reach for her wallet just as Harry saunters over towards her. “Leaving so soon?” He asks even though he already knows the answer.

“Unfortunately, I have to wake up early tomorrow for work. And I’m already dreading the ghastly tequila hangover I’ll be dealing with,” Willa says, handing over the thick plastic card in Harry’s direction.

Harry laughs. “Hey! I wasn’t the one who asked for a different drink this time!” His tone is light but Willa is quite intoxicated, and normally she would be able to identify the hint of sarcasm lacing his words. But she can’t this time, and suddenly her cheeks burn red and she starts stammering out an apology and Harry can’t help but watch her with a grin.

“Shit! I, uh, didn’t mean it like that. I mean, yeah—I definitely asked you for your usual, and I didn’t mean to insult you! I just, uh, let me rephrase—”

Harry’s laughter cuts her off and Willa drops her forehead into her awaiting palms in embarrassment. “You’re really cute when you start rambling like that.”

Willa lifts her head up and smiles at him, reaching for the checkbook in his extended arms. “You think I’m cute?” She asks in the same way Harry did to her hours earlier, and she watches as he looks deep into her eyes with an unwavering look.

“Much more than cute.”

If Willa was warm before, she feels sweltering under his gaze. She tries her hardest not to let his words affect her, but she gives herself away when she almost drops her credit card while she’s trying to slide it into her wallet, when she starts fidgeting in the leather of the barstool, when her throat suddenly becomes dry and she starts to take heavy gulps of the water glass in front of her.

“Do you live close by?” Harry asks after a beat of silence passes through them. He’s suddenly aware of the late hour, and even though he wishes she could stay, he has the overwhelming urge to make sure she gets home safely.

Willa shakes her head before wrapping herself up in her coat. “No, near Swiss Cottage. I’ll just take the tube, it’s not far.”

Harry immediately shakes his head, reaching behind him to grab the telephone near the till. “Nonsense, you’re not taking the tube at this hour. Sit here, I’ll call you a cab.”

Before Willa can argue, Harry’s already punching the numbers into the phone, giving the driver the address of the pub to pick Willa up at. Normally, Willa would be annoyed at his forwardness. But, she finds it quite charming that Harry is hellbent on making sure she gets home safely, and she finds that she’s not annoyed in the slightest.

“He’ll be ‘round in ten minutes,” Harry announces once he’s hung up and he’s stood in front of her again, looking at her in a way that makes Willa warm all over.

He has a habit of doing that, she thinks.

Just as she was going to thank him, Harry’s attention is drawn to the older man at the end of the bar asking to settle up his tab. With an apologetic look, he heads over, forcing Willa to wrap her scarf around her neck and gather her handbag so she’s not sitting there looking at Harry like a lovesick puppy.

When Harry’s back in front of her, she notices the headlights in the windows announcing the arrival of her cab. Just as she’s about to say her goodbyes, Harry cuts her off, his arms holding him up as he leans forward, staring at her with nothing but intent in his green eyes.

“Go out with me.”

“Pardon?” Willa asks, completely thrown off by his declaration.

“Saturday. I want to take you out.” The cab driver honks from outside and Harry’s practically desperate, needing Willa to say yes. He doesn't think he’ll get another chance alone with her.

Her eyes shift from the car to his. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” He asks, breathless.

“Yeah.” It’s final, sure and assertive, and before Harry can say anything else, Willa’s already heading for the door, offering him one last lingering gaze before the bells clang above her head, signalling her departure.

Harry’s almost positive he’ll be dreaming of that look for the next three days.

***

On Friday evening, Willa decides to skip out on after-work drinks with her coworkers. It’s not because she doesn’t want to see Harry—because every time she closes her eyes all she sees are his staring back, and she really doesn’t know what to do about that.

Willa’s not used to being so enthralled with somebody else, and all she wants is to play it cool for their upcoming date. So when she’s home in her flat, she throws her mobile on her bed after ignoring Ethan and Annabelle’s incessant calls about her bailing on them. And just before she falls asleep, she digs into her comforter and finds that she has a text waiting for her from an unknown number with an address and a message underneath.

Don’t overthink it. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. x

When she clicks on the address and it populates on her Maps app on her mobile, she finds that it’s a pub somewhere in Camden. Before she can overthink it, just like Harry’s message predicted, she shuts off her mobile and forces herself to sleep and try not to think about the boy who’s been infiltrating her dreams for the past three nights.

Just as Willa’s getting ready for her date, she decides that she’s been ignoring Ethan for far too long, and reluctantly decides to call him back while applying a generous coat of mascara to her eyelashes.

“Christ Willa! You have a date with the fit barman and decide to go AWOL in the meantime? How bloody selfish can you be!” Ethan’s voice squeaks out through the receiver on Willa’s mobile, and she honestly shouldn’t be surprised at his dramatics after knowing him for four years, but she still rolls her eyes anyways.

“His name is Harry,” Willa decides to mention while placing the mascara wand back in the tube on her vanity.

“Oh, pardon my mistake, Wills. Imagine my surprise when Harry asked me for your bloody number last night! You at least could’ve given me a heads up so I didn’t look like an absolute git standing there with my mouth hanging open,” Ethan recounts, and Willa can practically see his erratic hand movements with each stressed syllable that comes out of his lips.

“Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me to branch out and meet new people?” Willa says through mumbles, making sure her lipstick application isn’t butchered through her choppy conversation with Ethan.

She hears Ethan’s cackle through the speakers. “I didn’t actually think you’d listen!”

Willa chooses not to respond. Instead, she leaves her bathroom vanity and heads over to her closet to grab her black leather heeled boots resting on the bottom of her shoe rack. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she starts shoving them on while she waits for Ethan to talk—knowing fully well that quiet pauses in conversations never sit well with her obnoxious friend.

“So, where’s fit Harry taking you?” Ethan finally asks.

“Some pub in Camden, according to the address he sent me,” Willa says while grabbing her tube of lipstick, keys, and wallet and throwing them into her small black leather shoulder bag.

“Camden!? Please tell me you’re not wearing your bloody Celine bag!” Ethan is absolutely ruthless and Willa is really regretting calling him back.

“Will you calm down? I doubt Harry would take me to some dodgy pub,” Willa assures him, flicking off the overhead light in her bedroom as well as the kitchen light and beginning to lock up her front door.

“It’s just so not you, Wills.” Ethan’s words cause Willa to freeze while turning her key into the lock in the hallway of her apartment complex. In retrospect, Ethan does have a point. Willa’s not entirely sure what she’s doing going out with the barman she’s been shamelessly flirting with for the past two months.

And while it’s slightly terrifying, Willa finds a rush of excitement scouring through her veins.

“What if that’s the point?” Her friend hums on the other line, and it’s one of those rare moments when Ethan is actually silent during conversation. Willa takes this in stride, locking up her front door and heading out towards the Underground near her complex.

She says goodbye to Ethan as she’s descending the cement stairs, knowing fully well that her reception will cut out the further down into the station she goes. Willa promises to call him the next morning, and reassures him that she’ll let him know if she needs a rescue (even though she’s fully certain that no danger will come her way with Harry by her side), and happily ends the call just as she’s stepped onto the platform.

The journey doesn’t take as long as Willa would like, considering she’s still wringing her hands together as her body is riddled with nerves when she gets off at the appropriate stop. While Harry has done nothing but make her feel comfortable, there’s no denying that for the first time since knowing him, she’s finally meeting him outside the comfort of The Churchill Arms. She’s finally going to be able to stand near him without the barrier of the bar between them, and while the thought of that is what sends her brain into overdrive, there’s no denying the nervous butterflies floating around her stomach, racking against her ribs until she’s forced to meet the situation head-on, exiting the Underground faster than when she first entered.

Once she’s on the pavement outside, she reaches for her mobile to pull up the address Harry sent her last night. According to her Maps, the pub is a short five minute trek from the tube station. Tucking her chin into her charcoal longline jacket to escape the biting wind, Willa starts walking, trying her hardest to quell the rib-racking nerves shaking her body.

Just as she’s a block away, she notices her destination on the corner of a somewhat quieter intersection. The building is tall, brick-faced at street level, a black sign with The Camden Eye written in capitalized white letters. The pub is lodged between a restaurant and a coffee shop that’s long since been closed. When Willa cranes her neck up, she can tell that it’s two-floors, with loud laughter reverberating through the cream-colored cement walls that have aged with time.

Willa’s head begins to search over the small crowd of people outside the front door, trying her hardest to spot curly hair amidst the cigarette smoke wafting around the entrance. Just as her eyes fall on a tall figure in a cable knit jumper and a long navy trench coat, eyes locked on the glowing screen of his mobile, her own vibrates in her left hand, and she notices it’s from Harry.

Hey, I’m waiting outside. Can’t wait to see you. x

She grins at the message, locking her phone instead of responding to his text considering he was standing just across the street from her. As she approaches him quietly, she takes this time to quietly acknowledge him. It’s sort of cute the way he stares at his phone, undoubtedly waiting for the bubbled three dots to appear with her response that won’t come. He shifts a bit in his brogue boots, the hand not holding his mobile nipping at his lower lip.

Willa wonders if Harry is as nervous as she is, too.

Before she can get caught, her heeled boots stop a few feet away from his, and she watches his head snap up when she calls out his name softly.

Almost instantly, Harry shoves his mobile into his pocket, no longer needing the distraction. Instead, his green eyes shift to Willa’s blue, and his mouth quirks up in that slanted boyish grin of his that she has grown to love, his dimples appearing through the light stubble surrounding his mouth. Willa watches as his eyes dart down from her face to scan over her outfit, and for the first time since knowing her, Harry finds that he quite enjoys the version of Willa standing in front of him.

This version wears denim jeans that are tight around the waist and upper thigh, before falling straight until cropping just at her ankles, showcasing her square-toed leather boots. He takes note of the haphazard holes in her trousers, giving Willa’s look a bit more edge than he’s normally accustomed to. Harry thanks the gods above that she’s wearing another top that shows just the perfect amount of cleavage, his eyes falling to the stacked gold necklaces resting on the smooth skin under her long neck.

While Willa appreciates the way Harry’s arms look in his collared work shirt, there’s something about the way he looks in a cable knit jumper that gets her heart racing just a bit quicker than normal. He looks to be the perfect mixture of comfort yet cool, and as her eyes linger on his waist hidden beneath a pair of worn-in denim trousers, she can’t help but be fully aware that she’s been ogling him for far too long.

But when her eyes finally catch his and she takes note of the surprised glint in his irises, she’s not embarrassed at all, because Harry’s also aware that he’s been caught, too.

“Was starting to think you’d bail on me,” Harry finally says, stepping a bit closer to her on the somewhat crowded pavement.

Willa giggles and Harry’s heart almost stills. “Told you I was coming, didn’t I?”

Harry’s starting to think that if he had to banter with her for the rest of his life, he probably wouldn’t mind it at all. In fact, the thought is practically all-consuming at this very moment.

“Well, I’m really glad you’re here.” His voice drops a bit as he takes one last step towards her, brown leather boots touching black. Both Harry and Willa are conscious of the fact that this is the closest they’ve ever been to each other. While Willa has always known Harry to be tall, she’s extremely aware of it now when he’s standing this close to her, leaning forward with his torso so that his neck falls to keep his eyes locked on hers. With this distance (or lack thereof) between them, Harry can smell Willa’s perfume without the overbearing scent of stale ale lingering in the air. He wants to bask in it for as long as he can.

“Me too,” Willa finally responds, reminding herself that she needs to pull herself together if she wants to get through this night without embarrassing herself any further.

Harry seems to sense it too, standing straight and gesturing his head towards the front entrance. “Ready to head in?”

Willa nods. “You wanted to spend your night off at another pub?” She watches the way Harry’s neck falls back as a loud laugh rips through his lungs, and she can’t keep her eyes off of the bob of his Adam’s apple and suddenly, her throat has gone completely dry.

“I’ve seen your local. Figured I’d show you mine,” Harry says, holding the heavy oak door open for her with that dimpled grin of his.

Once Willa’s stepped through the front entrance, she can’t help but take in the drastic difference between Harry’s local and her own. Willa takes in the sticky wooden flooring, chipped from overuse and stained from various liquors ruining the coating. The high-tops lining the walls are no different—antiquated and blemished, some wobbling in the corners, no doubt lacking a distinct charm. The bartop itself is busier than ever, long and sleek. Willa notices the overworked brown-haired barman pulling pints from the tap and heckling other patrons, and she finds almost everybody in this small pub knows each other in some strange way. The atmosphere is vibrant and light, loud and serene, and Willa finds it rightfully so that this is Harry’s local.

Because it’s practically him personified.

Before she can think too much of it, Harry’s long fingers are wrapped around her wrist and he’s dragging her straight to the far corner of the bartop where a small group of people are pulling long gulps from tall pint glasses. Just as they get close enough, Willa’s eyes widen when a few of them call out Harry’s name in heavy Northern accents, and she can’t help but watch the way he interacts with his mates.

They’re clapping his back while Harry appropriately says his hello’s, but before he can get lost in conversation with them, he turns his back towards the group and rests two strong hands on Willa’s shoulders, gripping the heavy material of her coat.

“Here, give me this,” he says softly, peeling off the fabric from her upper body with such intense care that Willa can feel her already dry throat practically barren at this point.

He watches her as he strips the wool from her thin arms, handing it back to her carefully as he rips his own off, before gathering both jackets easily in one hand. Once he tears his eyes off of hers, Harry grasps Willa’s wrist again, dragging her softly towards the far corner past where his friends reside, shouting over towards the brunette barman who’s neck nearly snaps in his direction once he hears Harry’s gruff call.

“Oi! Horan! Take care of these, would ya mate?” Willa watches as Harry rests the arm that isn’t holding their jackets on the bartop, heaving his upper body over the ledge so that the long material in his other hand does not lap up any spilled drink on the counter.

The barman grabs them, before entering a doorway behind him and disappearing into what Willa can only assume to be an office. Harry’s back in front of her now, smiling that toothy grin that makes Willa feel as if she’s completely lost the plot.

“Let’s get you a drink, yeah?” Willa just nods, afraid that if she tried to speak her voice would come out gravelly and hoarse. Harry’s hand slips into hers and he gives it a gentle tug until Willa is standing right beside him, her front resting against the bartop with Harry attached to her right side.

“Who’s this, Harry?” The barman asks once he’s reemerged from the back room in a muffled Irish accent. Willa watches as he gives Harry an amused look under his blue eyes, and she can feel Harry’s gaze shift from her left cheek back to the man in front of her.

“This is Willa.” Harry says her name as if it was something everybody should already know. And judging by the wide look in the barman’s eyes and the way Harry’s cheeks start to flush a rosy color, Willa can only guess that these people do, in fact, know exactly who she is.

And for some reason, that makes her feel all warm and gooey inside.

“Willa! Hiya, doll. ‘M Niall.” Willa smiles at Niall, watching the way the skin around his blue eyes crinkles when he gives her a gleaming grin. His arm is extended out towards hers, flannel shirt rolled up towards his elbows revealing untouched warm skin. When she shakes his hand, she makes sure not to break eye contact, and she watches as Niall gives Harry a look that seems to be laced with approval.

“I’ll take a pint of Fuller’s, mate,” Harry says to Niall before looking down at Willa with a shy look on his face. “Want your usual? Can’t be sure that it’ll taste as good as when I make it, but I’m sure Niall here could give it a go.” There’s no sign of an innuendo laced in Harry’s words, but for some reason, Willa can practically feel the sexul tension grow tenfold when he speaks to her. She shivers a bit, despite the fact that she is quite warm to begin with, before shaking her head and turning her attention towards Niall who is already, undoubtedly, staring at them with a knowing look in his eyes.

“I’ll just have a vodka tonic with lime, please.” Niall nods at her before grabbing a pint glass and heading over towards the taps, leaving Harry and Willa to themselves for a moment.

“What do you think so far?” Harry asks, his body mirroring Willa’s as it rests against the bartop, with nothing but his chin resting on his left shoulder, looking down at her under the curtain of his eyelashes.

Willa just smiles, cocking her chin upwards so that she’s looking right back at him, and Harry feels his lungs constricting for air. “Ask me after a few drinks.”

It’s coy and sultry and sexy, and the thesaurus in Harry’s brain is working overtime, but instead of getting lost in her gaze (something he’s quite positive he could do without really trying), Niall reappears with two drinks in his hand, sliding the clear glass over to Willa first before exchanging the pint for Harry’s credit card to start a tab.

“Cheers, Niall,” Willa says kindly, before taking the straw between her cherry lips and drinking a generous amount. The immediate rush of liquid alleviates the dryness of her throat, and she tries her hardest not to moan at the feeling.

Harry holds his pint up in Niall’s direction in thanks, before resting his right hip and elbow on the wooden countertop in order to face Willa. She mimics his movement, and Harry’s eyes watch every discerning shift of her body, the way her hips sway in her jeans, the way her tight blouse leaves little to the imagination. His eyes shift from her exposed neckline to her jaw, to her full lips, to the slope of her nose. Suddenly he feels parched, and he’s practically draining his beer once his eyes meet hers, watching the way her lips twitch upwards in a tempting smirk.

Before he can force his mouth to form words, a body approaches Harry's left side, and he feels the heavy arm of one of his mate’s wrap around his shoulders, nearly sloshing the beer over the rim of the pint glass. Sadly, he tears his eyes away from Willa.

“Who are you hiding from us, Harry?” He asks. He’s almost the same height as Harry, and when Willa looks at his grin, she can tell that he’s just trying to take the mick out of his friend. Before Harry can introduce her, Willa places her glass on the bartop and extends her hand to the dark-skinned man.

“Hi there. I’m Willa.” Once his larger hand is in Willa’s much smaller one, he glances over at Harry with a gigantic grin. Harry just nods back, his eyes showing nothing but adoration for the blonde-haired girl, and suddenly he’s realizing that his nerves about her meeting his mates were absolutely unnecessary.

Willa Tillerson can hold her own in any environment.

“Ah, Willa. Nice to meet ya, babe. I’m Marcus.” The inflection of her name only causes Willa to give Harry a look, one that’s laced with surprise and maybe a little bit of teasing. Because she’s found it quite endearing that he’s told his friends about her, and while the flush on his cheeks tells Willa that he’s a bit embarrassed by it, the quick wink she shoots in his direction tells him that he’s nothing to be worried about.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Willa takes a long gulp of her drink as Marcus starts talking to Harry about one of their other mutual friends. But before she could be left out for too long (not that she needed the constant attention to begin with), Harry suddenly asks Niall for another round and shifts the conversation to her, telling Marcus about her job and how successful she is at it.

She thinks that’s quite charming, to be fair.

“Wow, you’re working on a mansion in Knightbridge?! Blimey, that’s proper lush. Congrats! Pretty fuckin’ wicked, Willa,” Marcus says, reaching between Harry and Willa and smacking his hand on the bartop to get Niall’s attention. “Oi! Horan! Line up some shots, would ya? Harry’s date here’s earned ‘em!”

Both Harry and Willa try not to flush at the word date. Instead, their eyes meet through their periphery, and Harry’s not quite sure how long he can stay in this bar without pushing her up against the wooden walls and feeling her against every single ridge of his body.

Their eyes fall to the copper liquid in the shot glasses, noticing that Niall has poured a generous amount not only for the three of them, but for the rest of Harry’s mates as well. Willa doesn’t even look at them, though. She barely even acknowledges Niall when he shouts out a cheers! in their direction. No—instead her eyes are locked on Harry’s, taking note of the green and turquoise swirls, the golden sphere around his pupil, the way his eyelashes fan over the tops of his cheekbones, the way he licks his lips in preparation for the bitter liquid about to fall down his esophagus.

Harry’s watching her just as intently. Wonders how in this small space filled with people she’s the only person in his atmosphere. How everybody else has practically vanished at this point. How her hair shines under the shitty pub lighting, how her light blue eyes look like mirrors, how her red lips pucker a bit, her mouth hanging open just slightly so that Harry can see the tip of her tongue.

He can’t imagine looking at anybody else.

She doesn’t even want to think about anybody else.

Suddenly the shot glasses are in their hands, and without breaking eye contact, Willa leans a bit closer so that she doesn’t have to extend her arm too far in order to clink their glasses together. She’s so close that all she has to do is whisper a quiet, “Cheers, Harry,” in his direction, watching him mimic her words before bringing the rim to his lips and swallowing whole.

Harry’s eyes are locked on her lower lip, and he’s watching as her soft tongue darts out between the folds to lap up the whiskey dribble that never made it into her mouth. He shudders, his mind conjuring up any and every inappropriate thought, all filled with ice blue eyes and ruby full lips and her.

He’s not quite sure how he’s going to contain himself. But before he could harp on it much longer, Niall places another round in front of the pair, and Harry’s almost positive that the only thing that will make him calm down is liquor.

Or maybe, it’ll just make everything that much more difficult.

***

After an hour and a half, Harry’s almost positive that he’s going to burst.

He’s watching Willa from a short distance away mingling with the rest of the girls in his friend group. She’s taken to his friends quite easily, and while that’s impressive in its own right, Harry sort of wishes he could spend the entirety of his evening alone with just her.

Harry’s downed enough pints to make him that much more sociable, that much more calm, that much more pliant. But, the drinks have somehow made Willa that much more vivacious, that much more amorous, that much more teasing.

It first started when Marcus’s girlfriend complimented her boots, and somehow dragged her away from the comfort of Harry’s side. Before she could slip away, she made sure to rub her arm against Harry’s, flush her side against his, brush her fingers against his wrist, before slithering a couple feet away. He’s been trying his hardest to pay attention to the conversation going on in front of him, but every couple of passing minutes, he can feel Willa’s warm gaze on his. And whenever he looks over, she’s always staring up at him under her heavy eyelashes, keeping hold of his gaze before slipping the plastic straw between her lips.

Harry’s not sure how much longer he can hold on, to be fair.

With every passing drink that Niall generously places in front of Willa, she’s fully conscious of the fact that she’s turned into an absolute tease. And while she feels bad, she can’t really help herself, considering Harry is looking extremely delicious leaning against the bartop with the sleeves of his jumper pushed up, exposing his strong etched forearms and big hands.

She’s never one to lose her cool, but she can feel herself grappling with her self-control with each lingering gaze Harry leaves her with. Whether it’s on her eyes, or her lips, or her collarbones, or when he brazenly darts down to her chest—she instantly finds herself craving to be alone with him.

Willa’s not sure how much longer she can hold on, to be fair.

Once she realizes her third drink has been emptied, she kindly excuses herself from her conversation with Marcus’s girlfriend and slowly approaches the bartop near Harry and his friends. He notices her approaching just like he notices everything about her, and in a bold move, Willa sneaks by his frame, making sure to rub her front against his side, her hand falling just above his waist, as she excuses herself to get past him in order to reach Niall.

Harry doesn’t even excuse himself from his friends before he turns around and approaches Willa. She’s leaning against the bartop, her backside fully visible to Harry and he takes this moment to appreciate the length of her torso, the plushness of her backside, the reach of her legs. He places both palms on the wood outside of Willa’s forearms, easily wrapping himself around her body, resting his chest against her back. Willa smiles at the warmth, before adjusting her back a bit in order to feel the friction of Harry’s waist against her, noticing in her periphery the way Harry’s knuckles turn white against the edge of the counter.

“You’re killing me, Willa,” Harry whispers roughly into her ear, the tips of his curly locks tickling Willa’s cheeks. Instinctively, Willa tilts her head to the right, exposing more of her neck for Harry, practically moaning at the feeling of his lips so close to her pulse point.

“I could say the same for you,” Willa mutters back, pushing her backside almost completely flush against Harry’s front, and she jumps in surprise when she feels his right arm wrap around her waist.

“Are you suggesting something?” Although he’s whispering, his grainy voice cuts right through Willa’s insides, causing a shiver to run over her entire body. She can feel his words rush straight through her middle, falling lower and lower until they settle in her core, and she’s suddenly both hot and cold all over.

All of a sudden, Willa is spinning around until her back is against the bartop, with her elbows leaning on the edge, her front practically millimeters away from Harry’s. His eyes have grown darker and she’s fully aware of the rising and falling of his chest, and how his gaze has shifted towards her breasts, completely pushed out at this angle, and all she can think about is kissing his mouth.

But before they can, Niall places two more drinks on the countertop behind her. Harry’s hooded eyes snap up to his friend, and Willa takes note of the strained look he shoots in his direction. Niall clearly has bad timing, and while Willa would normally turn around and acknowledge the barman politely, she suddenly has the urge to dismiss all of her morals and forego most of the rules.

Harry fully expects her to turn around at the intrusion, but after Niall walks away and he realizes that Willa is still trapped in between his arms, his eyes dart down to hers and he sees her white teeth biting her plush lower lip, and he’s completely lost all self-control.

Willa runs a long pointer finger down the lines of his chest, and Harry’s eyes watch the path she traces starting from the middle of his pectorals, falling down the tenseness of his abdominal muscles, before settling just above the button of his trousers. Harry’s certain that Willa’s pupils are as dark as his, and when she lightly traces over the zipper of his jeans, a loud groan forms in Harry’s throat and he’s almost positive he’s about to break in half.

“I’m gonna head to the loo,” Willa says, grabbing her drink with the hand that was just tracing a tantalizing path to Harry’s nether region. Her grip on his forearm is a signal for Harry to move out of the way, but he’s suddenly found himself frozen in place. “If you’re up for it, I’ll make sure the door is locked.”

Willa sneaks away before she can take in Harry’s slacked jaw.

He turns around just in time to catch one last look at the undulation of her hips in her tight jeans, and suddenly he’s downing half of the fresh pint in front of him. He ignores the smirk Niall shoots in his direction, ignores his name falling from Marcus’s lips, ignores basically everything in his sight until he’s standing in the far less crowded hallway where the toilets are.

Harry waits until the girl in front of him enters and leaves the loo before he nearly breaks the wooden door down in order to reach Willa. He finds her by the sinks touching up her lipstick, and before he can even check if the coast is clear, she’s pushing him back against the door, flicking the lock with one hand before wrapping it around the back of Harry’s neck and bringing his lips to hers.

It’s as if time stands still, and it’s a bit surprising for both of them considering their minds have constantly been filled with visions of the other person doing exactly this. But as Willa feels Harry’s tongue slither against hers, and Harry feels Willa’s teeth bite at the flesh of his lower lip, and they both feel warm hands grasping at their sides—it’s as if everything makes sense.

Harry snakes his hands around Willa’s waist, leaving one above her hip while the other palms her ass in her trousers. Willa squeals inside Harry’s mouth, before interlocking her arms behind Harry’s neck, crawling her fingers up the back of his head, pushing and pulling at the soft tendrils along the way.

It’s everything and more and Harry feels as if he could finish in his pants, because kissing Willa is the one plaguing thought that’s driven him completely mad for the past two months. And now that it’s finally happening and she’s here in front of him pulling his hair and biting his lip and moaning his name into his own mouth, he feels as if he’s floating through air.

Willa slots her legs in between Harry’s before grinding her hips against his, and the sudden friction causes Harry to pull apart from Willa’s lips and rest his head back against the door, moaning loudly into the ceiling. The sound makes Willa squirm against his front, and she begins to mouth at Harry’s exposed neckline, running her tongue over his throbbing pulse point before sucking harshly on the skin.

Harry’s never been so hungry for a girl ever in his life, and with each lick and bite at his flushed neck, he can feel himself grow harder and harder against his pants. He’s desperate for friction, and once Willa begins lapping at the strip of skin just above the collar of his jumper, he shifts his hips forward so that she can feel him against her clothed core.

The force of the pleasure causes Willa to still against Harry’s neck, and when Harry pushes forward a second time, she can’t help the whimper that falls from her mouth. Once Harry hears it, he wraps his fingers in her blonde hair before bringing her face forward so that he can connect their lips once more.

Willa’s never felt so many things all at once—it’s as if an electrical current has shot straight into her chest, and the only thought she can think of is Harry. He’s moved his hand from her hip to her right breast, and the smooth kneading causes her to grind against Harry again, a breathless fuck falling from her lips into Harry’s mouth.

When they break apart for air, Willa can see her lipstick on Harry’s mouth and it’s enough to send her into a frenzy. Harry notes her blown out pupils, her messy hair, her smudged lips, and it’s as if he’s completely lost all restraint.

Willa’s eyes dart down to Harry’s stifling erection trapped inside his trousers and without even thinking, she begins to palm him through the denim. His forehead falls into the crook of Willa’s neck, and she can feel him heavily panting with each hot breath that scorches her already flaming skin. His muffled moans prompt Willa to pop the button of his jeans, her fingers falling towards the zipper slowly.

Before she can reach under the waistband of his pants, three loud knocks form against the other side of the door, and Willa’s hands immediately fall to her side. Harry’s head lifts from her neck, darting towards the door before falling back to Willa’s eyes.

She calls out a quick “one minute!” before breathing loudly through her front teeth, creating a soft whistle with her frustrated huff. Harry quickly buttons up his jeans before pressing his forehead against Willa’s, sighing breathlessly against her warm skin.

“As much as I like your mates,” Willa starts, “Any chance we can get out of here?”

Harry laughs a bit before nodding, pressing a quick kiss against her forehead. “My flat’s close by.” Willa finds herself nodding, her mind completely clouded over by lust and the fact that she very nearly had Harry’s cock in her hand in the inside of a public toilet in a tiny pub in the middle of Camden.

From the dazed look in Harry’s eyes, Willa can confirm that he feels the same, and all at once he flicks the lock beside them, grabbing Willa and holding her a bit close to his front as they hurriedly rush over to the bar to close his tab, praying her body covers his half-hard erection in his jeans that practically hide nothing.

With the safety of the bartop covering his lower half, Harry calls out to Niall before grabbing a handful of notes from his wallet, throwing them on the wooden top without even double checking the amount. Niall gives both of them a knowing look, taking in their flushed cheeks and unkempt hair, before cackling loudly at the pair.

“You two have fun!” Once they have their jackets, Harry grabs Willa’s hand and leads the way to the front door, not even sparing his friends a second look. He doesn’t even think to put on his trench coat, his body still blistering from wherever Willa’s hands were placed. She feels the same, rushing after Harry wordlessly as he drags them through the busy streets of Camden, racing towards his flat to keep this sexually charged energy-filled bubble from popping.

Before long, they reach an old brick building that looks as if it were once a factory of some sort, but was recently transformed into a modernized apartment building. Willa doesn’t get the chance to observe it much longer, because before she knows it, Harry’s punched in the code to the front door and shoves her into the open elevator door before pressing his lips back to hers.

It’s quick and hurried and somehow completely satisfying every craving itching up Willa’s skin. She’s not even sure what floor he’s clicked or how much time they have left in this confined space, but her fingers are pulling at his chocolate tresses and his hands are gripping her jaw and cupping her cheek and all she can think about is how much she’s been waiting for this moment to finally happen and now that it’s here, she’s kicking herself for waiting this long to feel it.

Harry breaks away once the elevator doors have opened, and with one last peck he’s gripping her waist and shuffling them towards the last door on the right of the short hallway, holding her against the slate grey door before picking up where they left off. Willa’s moaning into his lips and he can feel her clawing at the material of his jumper, and before they can get too carried away, he shoves his key into the lock and thrusts them both into his dark flat.

He flicks a switch on to the right and before Willa can get adjusted to the new light, Harry’s mouth is at her neck and his hands are inching their way up towards her chest, pushing her back against the door and she feels completely lightheaded.

“Harry, fuck. You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” Willa says, her head falling back against the heavy door as Harry kisses along every inch of her exposed neck.

“God, been thinkin’ about this for months, Willa. You’ve no clue what you do to me, do you?” He’s speaking against her skin, his lips ghosting over the upper swells of her breasts. The feeling is almost too much, and Willa feels her body arching from the door and pressing her chest closer towards Harry’s mouth, needing every inch of his searing mouth against her skin.

His palm cups over her core above her jeans and she sighs out blissfully. He hasn’t even touched her yet, and Willa feels herself freefalling towards the edge. She’s not sure if it’s because she hasn’t been touched like this in a long time, or if she’s been waiting for this moment with Harry for months now, but she’s completely enraptured by him and all she wants is him inside of her.

“Show me, then.” Willa’s words cause Harry’s lips to pause against her chest. His head shoots up and his eyes meet hers, and Willa watches the smirk work its way against his lips.

“Is that what you want?” His voice is husky and he’s leaning in so closely that the words form over Willa’s swollen lips, and they’re enough to cause the wetness to spread inside her knickers.

Willa grips the back of Harry’s neck tightly, her fingertips ruffling the hair at the base. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

Harry groans before bringing his lips roughly to Willa’s, dragging her away from the front door and leading her into his bedroom. On the way, Willa steps out of her boots, flings her jacket and purse somewhere, not even caring if Harry has a roommate or someone who would be bothered by the noises escaping their mouths.

Harry does the same, and she can sense that even if he did have a roommate, he could give less of a fuck if he or any other neighbor of his could hear what the two of them are doing. They finally reach the entryway of his bedroom, and when they part for air, Willa presses her body tightly against Harry’s and she can feel every inch of pleasure coursing through his veins.

She brings her palms to Harry’s front and begins rubbing him over his jeans, running her fingers along the strained length of his cock hidden under the fabric against his thigh, and the throaty moan that escapes his mouth is the only affirmation she needs to unbutton his pants and pull them down his legs.

Willa falls with them, kneeling on the hardwood floor and bringing her lips to the tip of his cock. She licks a stripe from the base of his shaft all the way up to the tip, making sure to outline the hardened vein on the outside, pulsing against his skin.

Harry shudders, weaving his hands around the back of Willa’s neck and gathering her hair into a messy ponytail to ensure it doesn’t get in the way. He watches as she wraps her mouth around the tip, flattening her tongue against the rest of him as she works her way down, inching herself closer and closer down until he’s practically completely enveloped in her throat.

“Holy fuck. Are you real?” Harry calls out between grunts, and the second she looks up at him through the thick of her eyelashes, he can immediately feel himself careening towards the edge, remembering how he thought of her in this position multiple times.

He pulls at her hair, signalling he needs her to stop deepthroating him. Willa lets him go, the suctioning pop reverberating through the quiet bedroom once he’s no longer in her mouth. She pouts up at him, and the vision along with her sticky lips is enough to cause Harry to roll his eyes behind his head.

“Christ, babe. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last if you keep doing that,” Harry groans, reaching down to pull her up so that she’s back standing in front of him. He pushes a strand of hair that has fallen in front of her face behind her ear, and Willa settles into the open palm of his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I’ve been picturing you doing that to me for months. So the fact that it’s actually happening I just—shit. Need a minute.”

Willa smirks before inching her fingers under his jumper, walking them up the ridges of his stomach before settling on his chest. “Yeah? What else have you pictured me doing?”

Harry’s eyes widen at her forwardness and he can practically feel his cock twitch against his stomach. “You really want me to tell you?”

Willa smiles, resting her other hand against Harry’s jaw and bringing it close to her mouth. “I’d rather you show me.”

Harry growls before stepping out of his jeans and pants and walking her backwards to his bed. He pulls his jumper over his head, exposing the warm planes of his skin littered with various tattoos. Willa’s hands immediately trace the outlines, her lips hovering over the matching sparrows under his collarbones causing Harry to moan loudly.

“You’re far too overdressed,” Harry mumbles against her lips, reaching forward and pulling her shirt over her head, her breasts hidden under a nude lace underwire bra. Harry’s eyes fall towards her chest, before following the lines of her stomach until his hands begin hovering over the buttons of her jeans.

“Please tell me whatever’s under here will match,” Harry says, his mind completely stupefied at the sight of her half-naked in front of him.

“Why don’t you pull those down and find out?” Willa’s words cause Harry to whimper, and before she can even blink, Harry has pried her legs from her jeans, his mouth watering at the sight of her see-through matching knickers.

“You’re fucking incredible,” Harry says, taking a step back and watching the way she looks splayed out over his duvet. He’s completely hooked on her, one hundred and fifty percent fucked by the way her hair falls over his pillows, the way her chest puffs out against her bra, the way her long legs fall from the ends of her knickers.

He’s in awe.

Willa looks up at him in that way that makes his mind fall to mush, and with a quiet “c’mere,” he’s completely hers.

She brings her mouth back to his and his hands instantly fall to her back to unclip her bra. Her hands fall to his backside, pressing him against her clothed core, begging for friction. She moans when Harry’s lips fall to her chest, before wrapping his mouth around one of her nipples, lapping his tongue against the pilled bud, causing Willa to lift her back completely off the mattress.

His hands graze over her core, cupping her heat as his mouth moves to her other breast. She feels him push the lace fabric of her underwear to the side, before slipping his middle finger into her wet folds. She’s a writhing mess underneath him, and as much as she loves the touching and kissing and kneading, she needs more.

“Harry,” Willa gasps, her own palm sliding up and down his shaft, causing him to groan against her chest. “I need you to fuck me.”

He stills, looking up at her through clouded eyes. “Yeah?”

Her hand squeezes a little harder around him, and she pushes her body upwards to graze against his, watching the way his eyes shut tight in pleasure. “Please.”

He nods, reaching over into his bedside table for a condom, leaning over her again and ridding her of the last layer of clothing between them until they’re both flushed skin against flushed skin. His eyes scan her body, and when he looks at her, she can practically feel the devotion falling from his gaze.

“Are you sure? Can’t guarantee I’ll last long,” He admits, and as much as Willa appreciates his affable claim, she really just needs him inside of her. Without speaking, she grabs the condom from his hand and rips the foil open with her teeth, before sliding it down the length of his cock.

“I’ve never been more sure. Show me what you fantasize, Harry. I’m here.” That’s all Harry needs before he’s lined up at her entrance, slowly sliding into her warmth.

He makes sure to take his time, allowing Willa to get adjusted to the feeling of his length inside of her. It takes her a moment, but once Harry’s almost three-fourths of the way inside, the pinching feeling suddenly fades into something almost euphoric, and instantly her hand reaches out to grip Harry’s wrist by her head.

“More, Harry. I need more.” He groans into her neck, sliding out of her almost completely, before pushing all the way inside, bottoming out with one loud cacophonous groan.

He gathers his rhythm quickly after that, and when Willa wraps one hand around his glistening bicep and the other pulls at the curls at the base of his neck, he reaches down to lift her ankle over his shoulder, the other hand kneading her breast and his mouth latches against her own.

The new angle allows Harry to reach that plushy spot along Willa’s walls, forcing her back to arch off the mattress and her fingernails to dig into the skin around Harry’s bicep. “Oh my god, Harry. Yes. Right there.”

“Fuck Willa, you feel so good. Love when you say my name,” Harry says against her mouth, his teeth clacking against hers, tongue sliding in to taste every inch of her.

“Harry!” Willa calls out through a moan when he lifts her leg higher into the air, causing him to reach deeper inside of her than ever before. He’s nothing but a narcissist, and the sound of his name crying out of Willa’s lips is enough to cause his movements to falter a bit, his release coming far quicker than he imagined.

“Shit, babe. I’m close,” Harry says against her neck, his eyes fall towards her navel where he can see the tip of his cock push inside of her. The vision is enough to cause him to spiral down down down, but he needs to make sure Willa is close too before he completely falls into the abyss.

“Me too, Harry—fuck! Me too,” Willa squeaks. The fingers resting against Willa’s chin inch their way towards her mouth, and instinctively, Willa wraps her mouth around them, sucking deliberately while watching the way Harry’s mouth parts in wonderment.

He reaches down to circle against her clit with his wet fingers, and after a few more timed pumps inside of her, Willa’s crying out against his skin, her fingernails digging harshly into his bicep. Harry likes the pain, and that coupled with the sounds falling from Willa’s mouth is enough to push him towards his release.

He languidly pumps slowly in and out of her until her body has grown limp underneath him. Slowly, he pulls out of her, and Willa immediately frowns at the warmth dissipating from her insides. Harry rolls onto his back beside her, discarding the condom in the bin near his bedside table and trying his hardest to catch his breath.

“That was—”

“—Yeah.”

Willa’s giggling softly beside him, and the sound is enough to cause Harry to smile widely, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and bringing her to rest comfortably against his chest. Their skin is sticky from exertion, and Willa’s hair is knotted from Harry’s hands pulling through the tendrils, and Harry’s arms feel bruised from Willa’s fingers, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Can’t believe it took us that long,” Willa says against his chest, causing Harry to laugh loudly from above her.

“Yeah, we fucked up a bit on that one, I reckon,” Harry says back, combing his fingers through her long blonde hair. Willa hums at the comforting feeling, and she reciprocates the same, running her fingers lightly over the moth tattoo under his chest calmingly.

Maybe it was the alcohol she consumed this evening, or maybe it was the fatigue to her body from what her and Harry just did, or just maybe it was the fact that she had never felt more comfortable wrapped up in another person’s embrace, but almost instantly, Willa finds herself falling asleep, her soft breathing pattern lulling Harry into the same comfortable darkness.

***

It’s the absence of warmth that causes Harry to wake in the middle of the night. He looks over to where he remembers feeling Willa sleeping against him, and finds that his bed is empty. The only reminder of her ever being in his bed is the crinkled sheets and the overwhelming smell of her shampoo on his pillowcase.

His eyes dart over towards the clock on his bedside table informing him that it’s nearly five in the morning. He looks around a bit to see if she’s crept into the en-suite attached to his bedroom, but he finds the light off and no sign of movement inside.

Harry’s a bit bummed, to be fair. Although Willa never explicitly told him that she’d stay, he never would have pegged her to pull a runner in the middle of the night. Especially after the mindblowing sex they shared.

Or was it just mediocre for her? Harry thinks, silently cursing himself for underperforming in any form. He can’t really blame himself. He’s been imagining Willa doing the unspeakable acts she performed on him a few hours ago for months now, so he can’t really blame himself for finishing quickly.

Before he can mull over any other scenarios, the sound of bare feet padding against hardwood flooring causes Harry’s eyes to scan over the hallway. Willa approaches silently, tip-toeing into his bedroom wearing nothing but Harry’s discarded white undershirt, falling against the middle of her thighs. Her hands are deep inside a box of Golden Grahams, and the sight is enough to cause Harry’s heart to thump loudly in his chest, relief rushing through his veins.

He starts laughing, and immediately Willa locks her eyes on him, her chewing abruptly stopping. She swallows harshly before speaking. “I didn’t mean to wake you! I was just, er, hungry.” Willa holds up the cereal box slightly, and Harry just beckons her over with his outstretched hand.

“You gonna share?” Harry asks teasingly, and his just-woken-up thick voice is enough to cause her lower stomach to warm significantly in pleasure.

Willa giggles quietly while treading over to the bed, squeaking when Harry’s arms wrap around her waist and she crashes into his lap, her legs slithering around his waist comfortably with the cereal box in between them.

He reaches his hand in and scoops out a large mouthful, before tipping the open box in her direction and allowing her to do the same. She’s smiling through her chews, watching the way Harry’s jaw works through crushing the cereal bits before his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow.

Suddenly, Willa isn’t hungry for cereal anymore. She places the box on the ground near the bed, before wrapping her legs tighter around Harry’s waist, settling herself lightly on Harry’s lap. His hands wrap around her backside, his fingers squeezing the soft skin underneath her thighs, causing her to ground down a bit more against his hips.

“I don’t think I’m hungry anymore,” Willa says quietly, her hands falling comfortably around Harry’s shoulders. She watches his lips form that crooked grin that makes her smile right back at him, and slowly his mouth starts to lean towards hers.

“Good, because I’m thinking there’s other things we can be doing,” Harry says against her lips, before pushing her closer to his half-hard bulge and licking his way into her mouth, groaning at the sugary flavor residing on her tongue.

“Yeah? What’s that?” Willa’s teasing and Harry’s come to the conclusion that he quite enjoys her this way. Without answering, Harry reaches for the hem of his shirt and pushes it over her head, discarding it aimlessly on his floor.

“Whatever you want to do, Willa,” Harry says earnestly, noting the way her eyes twinkle in the moonlight falling through his window. She’s beautiful, and he suddenly realizes that his statement was true.

He’d do anything she wanted, as long as she keeps looking at him the way she is at this very moment.

Willa somehow knows how he feels without him needing to express words. She can see it in his eyes, the same ones that have looked at her for months through the crowded bar. And now that they’re in front of her, staring at her with nothing but adoration and fondness, she’s almost positive there’s no other place she’d rather be.

“I just want you,” she whispers, closing the space between them with a kiss, meaning every word.