#falling off things into pits or missing jumps

[cowbot-lumberjane]

DUSK was kinda mid to me and im tired of pretending it wasn't

[evieelyzabethh]

"taste"

☆"you're wonderin' why half his clothes went missin', my body's where they're at"☆ Wearing Arcane characters clothes {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw☞ slightly pervy jayce, a bit of fluff, Viktor calls reader a whore, a bit suggestive for all of them

an: this is the case for all my titles, but I feel I should clarify; the songs are not meant to accompany the headcanons, I just get lazy when naming things so I cherry pick song lyrics then use the title lol.

♞Vi♞

♞Vi never thought she would have to worry about her clothes going missing. They're all tattered and torn, holey from all the times she's been cut or stabbed, blood stained from all her injuries throughout the years, and absolutely falling apart at the seams. Hell, her own shirts are so ruined she usually just walks around in chest binding bandages. Granted, stealing Vi's clothes started from an accident of convenience.

You didn't think anything of it as you slipped on the old thing, the writing so faded you could no longer make out the outlines of the letters and the color so sun-bleached it just looked a dull beige. There were holes along the shoulder blade, rib cage, and chest, the hems had long since unraveled, and the neckline had been cut. It Vi wasn't so averse to throwing things out, it's home would've been the garbage can ages ago. But still, it was comfy and clean and something of hers, so you pulled it over your head and carried on into the laundry room where you sat on top of your washing unit, vibrating along with the clunky machine beneath you. You decided to read as you wait, eventually become so engrossed with your book, you miss the sounds of Vi trudging her heavy feet across the floor as she returns from her most recent bout of getting her ass kicked. She hums her way around the space, painfully shrugging her jacket over her aching shoulders, enroute to the laundry room where she finds you, ankles crossed with some old mystery book in your hands. She gawks at you for a moment, not quite knowing what to say at the sight of you in her clothing. It looked good on you. Well, everything looked good on you, but this looked right. "Did you get all dressed up for me, pretty? You jump a bit at the sudden intrusion of her slightly gravelly voice, but eventually relax into her warm, musky presence. She knows how you feel about her smearing her bloody lips across your freshly showered skin, so she bites her lip to swallow her urges. "Depends, did you get yourself all battered just so I could patch you up?" She snickers, wiping the remnants of dried blood from her top lip. "Will my honest earn me a pre-shower kiss?" Of course, you nod your head. You have a very hard time denying her, not even bothered by the feeling of her gauze bound hands grip on your thighs and your skin beneath her shirt. She whimpers, leaning heavily onto the washer, her fingers likely leaving marks from how desperately she grabs at you for stability and her own sanity. She doesn't realize until the adrenaline wears off how much tonight did a toll on her, pulling away from the kiss to rest her head on your shoulder. "You need help to the shower?" "Yeah", she murmurs, hardly louder than a whisper, holding onto your waist as you hop down and sling your arm over her shoulder. "No more pit fighting for a while?", you question lightly, to which she responds by pulling a hefty bag of coins from her pants pocket. "Not for a few months."

★Ekko★

★Ekko has a commune, he is absolutely no stranger to sharing, especially when it comes to clothes. As many times as you have snuck a few of his jackets over the years, he has taken his fair share of your tops, liking the way they constrict and show the definition of his biceps and show off his sculpted lower abdomen. You swap rings, hair ties, and all sorts of accessories, it's another way that you two are visually all over each other. I also wouldn't be surprised if he was the type to buy things knowing they would eventually end up in your closet.

★This being said, you would have better luck getting a reaction out of him showing up wearing nothing rather than in his clothes, at least clothes that aren't important to him. He's so desensitized to the idea of sharing; a regular hoodie wouldn't get him going. Wearing something of his though, his jacket, his mask, replicating how he does his face paint, that would certainly get him. It's the explicit connection to him that gets him, it's you proudly wearing an echo of Ekko.

It was cold and wet and dreary. The sky was grey, and murky puddles formed in the innumerable cracks and crevasses in the dirty floor of the Undercity that the ground began to look like a muddy sea of water. It was the perfect day to be inside, maybe make some warm soup, put on a vinyl and pretend the crackley sound bites are early lightning bolts, and bundle up beside Ekko and call it a day before the sun went down. This was not the case as Ekko was out covering the gardens so they wouldn't be flooded by impure water and preparing for any potential storm surge, leaving you home alone, wrapped in his favorite jacket. You doubted it would be a big deal, it's not like he's ever been upset about borrowing his clothes without asking before, but his reaction when he returns home scares you for a moment. His eyes are closed as he walks through the door, carelessly toeing off his shoes, lifting up his already soaked shirt to wipe the running face paint before it gets into his eyes. From your place on the couch, you look out the window for the first time in hours to see it pouring down, the droplets pelting on your windows and the wind sending the occasional pebble flying at the glass. "I'm telling Scar to do this shit next time, it's too damn w- oh." He freezes, midway through yanking off his raincoat, eye's slightly irritated as they stare at you. oh? "Is that my jacket?" You falter a bit. "Yeah...is that ok?" You had no plans of going out in it, wearing only some old cotton shorts whose elastic waistband snapped years ago and a thin tank top. You didn't even have a bra on. He collects himself though, smirking as he looks you up and down, how good the color compliments your complexion, drinking in the slivers of skin, the sight of your nipples through your top. Of course it's ok, in what fucking world would it not be? "Yea, baby, it's fine." His mumbles, his voice lower and his eyes a bit wide. "You look good in it, too. C'mere, do a spin for me."

❂Jayce❂

❂This man is 6'7 and built like a brick shithouse, his clothes absolutely swallow you and he thinks it's adorable. He gets a fit of cuteness aggression, he just wants to squeeze and hug and kiss you until you pop. It speaks to that part of him that is quite aware of his sheer size, his biceps are the size of your head, you have to look up just to make eye contact with him, his clothes practically fall right off you. He's just so...big.

He awakes slightly startled and feeling empty, immediately feeling your lack of warmth in his arms and slightly panicking. It's too early in the morning to be rational and his frequent nightmares are doing him no favors. He hates waking up alone and cold, he feels like he's waking up in that cave again. His senses calm his rapidly beating heart, the comforting smell of coffee and something syrupy sweet, the sound of something sizzling on the stove. He throws the comforter off him, cringing at the feel of the cold floor on his feet before he throws on some socks and sweatpants to wander around half-asleep in. His brain short circuits when he sees you, his large shirt practically hanging off your shoulders, flowing around your bruised and kiss-bitten thighs. You moved lithely around the kitchen, going back from chopping strawberries for the waffles, stirring the eggs, flipping the bacon, and he's man enough to admit he's blushing a bit. You made breakfast for him! That's so cute. He slides behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, bending down to plant kisses on your neck. "My shirt looks really good on you, gorgeous." You giggle, turning around to face the big man behind you who picks you up by your hips to set you on the countertop, settling in between your thighs. "You think?" He hums. "Maybe a few sizes too big, but it's endearing. You look like a little fairy, like I could carry you around in my pocket all day." And his eyes are big and out of focus, that charming gap-toothed smile on display as his hands rub over your smooth skin, pushing his shirt higher and higher. Too big is certainly a familiar sentiment, how desperately you were crying that out just last night is still looping in his brain as he says it. "Maybe I'm normal sized, and you're just a giant. Have you ever thought of it that way?" He chuckles. More times than you can imagine.

☽Viktor☾

☽Hard immediately, next question. His work outfits look completely normal on him, but the buttons pop at your chest and the vests accentuate them in a way that's pornographic. Even his ties only serve to enhance the fantasy, even though they are the exact garments he wears to his lab every day. There is nothing innately sexual about it at all, but that's the fun of it. The fact thar you chose to wear that black lacy bra that you knew would show through the top, the way you wear his reading glasses low on your nose, the red bottom heels that you wear, which in any other context could be seen as perfectly appropriate work attire. It's the performance of it that he appreciates.

He knows exactly what game you are trying to play with him, no matter how hard you try and play coy. There is no way that you accidently shrunk your blouse in the wash, hell, he knows that's not your blouse because the buttons are on the wrong side for it to be female attire. He knows that's his tie, he is one thousand percent sure that if he was to yank you by it and check the underside, he would see his initials embroidered. He knows you left it loose on purpose, you have requested for the entire relationship to pick out and tie his ties for him, he knows you can make it tighter. Everything is utterly loose, for lack of a better word. The top button is undone, the tie isn't completely tucked under the collar, the slit of your skirt is not where it should be. It's a play at looking professional that you and him both know is just a test to see how long it takes for him to crack and rush you both home. At first, he's willing to play ball because you always crack first, but today, however, you decided to be serious about your productivity. He tries to focus, he really does, but after a while the clicking of your heels becomes too hypnotic, the fake attempts at adjusting your tie begin to pile onto the sexual frustration, and you lean over one too many times, giving him a good whiff of your perfume and oh you went with a red bra to match his red tie. He waits for Jayce to leave the room, slamming the book he was 'reading' shut as he lets out a very aggravated breath. "I want my shirt back." Cut and dry, his hand flipping the tie you're wearing to confirm that is indeed his. You smirk, and he would feel the need to wipe it off your face had it not been for the fact that he swallowed his pride hours ago after his hard on became too much to ignore. "You want it back now? Right here." And you're already slipping off the other buttons and he contemplates whether it's worth it to barricade the door with the table to buy you more time or be rational and tell you to stop. "Had I known you planned on being a whore today, I wouldn't have invited you over." You pout as he pulls the knot of his tie, grabbing your hands to bind your hands. "But don't I look pretty, Vik?" He rolls his eyes. "You look magnificent, love."

☼Mel☼

☼Like Ekko, she isn't a stranger to sharing clothes with you. Even if it's not hers, she has an exact replica tailored just for you. This being said, she loves playing dress up with you with her clothes. Anytime she needs to clear out her closet or has an article of clothing she doesn't know how to feel about or just gets bored, she'll call you to wherever she is and request you be her doll for a little bit.

Though you had been in Mel's closet for what had to have been hours at this point, you couldn't really complain. Never had you felt more pampered in your life, tens of gowns, trousers, and blouses gracing your skin as you twirled on the platform in Mel's closet as she analyzed the garment from every angle. Now you stood in something white and flowy, the sleeves long, the bodice double lined for winter weather, the hemline off the shoulders and trimmed with fur, the bottom thick and heavy. "What do you think lovey? Do you think it's too on the nose, you know I've never been the biggest fan of fur." Her hand feels across your chest, dusting off where some of the fluff had fallen and rubbing the soft material in her hands. "I don't see you in fur, it's too much of your mother's thing, but I do think it's nice. The lining is really nice on the skin, sorta has a fleece feel to it." She nods, moving her hands along your waist to connect with the silver zipper. She clucks her tongue. "Would I be silly to not wear it because the zipper isn't gold. I know it's a miniscule detail, but I really don't do silver." You chuckle as you look around her closet, a room larger than the bedroom you grew up in filled with racks of clothes that had some sort of golden sheen, be it from the color of the fabric, some sort of metallic accent, or a reflection from the general vibe of the room. "My love, you have so many clothes in here I doubt you would wear it regardless." She smiles. "Are you getting tired of this." You hesitate, which is plenty answer enough for her. You had been standing for hours at this point, and your back was starting to ache from how straight your back had been. "Do you have it in you for just one more. I promise, it'll be quick." She already has it out of the box, a very small party dress that you had never seen her wear before. "I bought it months ago but have been going back and forth between whether or not it would look better on me or you." Of course, you oblige, and she giggles as she zips you out of the dress, carefully sliding it off until the fabric pools around your nearly naked body. Her tunnel vision is briefly abandoned as her movements slow, lingering over the curves of her body, her fingernail tracing tiny hearts on the skin of your chest. "I know I say this every time, but you truly do look beautiful out of everything. Undressing you may be my favorite part of this." You playfully roll your eyes. "Stop being a flirt and just zip me into the dress, I want lunch."

[maudie-duan]

Summary: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, they say, but does it really have to be the end if it turns into one of the deepest connections you've made in a while?? Paring: Long Hair Harry x (Fem)Reader Tags: Always Open @sassamanda77

Word Count: 16K

A/N: I've been working on this story on and off for weeks. Didn't like it at first, but I was really craving an LHH fic where he's just really emotional and in his feelings. So there will be lots of angst.

Warnings: Strong Angst/Smut: mentions of Zayn leaving, and the band's hiatus. Implications of fooling around under the influence of alcohol, Size Kink, Talks Of Oral Sex (M/F receiving), Fingering, (M/F) Masturbation, Slight Spit Play (Just barely), Edging, While I don't condone unsafe sex, there is Unprotected Sex, Pull Out Method...on a lighter note there is lots of fluff, Soft Harryx100, Very Emotional.

(If I missed anything PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!)

What was the last thing you remembered? Before the dizzying haze sent the world spinning, a tunnel vision of shadows speeding past you. Maybe there was walking, a stumble, a hand gripping yours, maybe the distant face of a stranger.

What was his name? 

And then there were lights? There were so many lights; was the bar really that bright? There was that last shot when the burn of the alcohol was no longer apparent, the sugary finish the only thing washing over your tongue. Kelsey said to take another, so you did; the scene was already blurring around you, and then she said one more, so you did it without hesitation. 

After that, there was the bathroom, except Kelsey wouldn’t leave Bryan’s side, so you had to go alone. Yes, this is where the world started fading because you remember using the bathroom and seeing yourself reflected in the dim lighting of the mirror, but what happened next? 

“Fuuuuuuck—” is all you can say, squeezing your eyes shut, face planted in the pillow. 

When was the last time you felt this hungover, your ears ringing, the roar of a headache this intense, so painful that it hurt to even move your head? A pang so deep in your temples that there’s pain with every thud of your racing heart, feeling the throbbing pulse with every beat pounding through your skull--a steady reminder of the many drinks you felt the need to indulge in, now churning in the pit of your stomach. 

And then there was the ache in your jaw as you gritted your teeth together, willing yourself not to throw up because you didn’t know if you could even move another muscle. Had you fallen? Was that it? Fallen and hit your head…

“That bad, huh?” a deep voice sounds in your ear. 

At first, you don’t think anything of it; maybe it was a figment of your imagination, the demon on your shoulder from last night whispering in your ear, materializing through the pulsing headache ripping through your brain. 

But there it was again, and this time there was a dip in the bed next to you, “I’ll get water?” it says, and maybe you’re still dreaming because every time you move your head, the world still seems to spin, any movement too fast, and there’s that wave of nausea again and that voice—that smooth voice, and is that an accent? 

You know you need to lift your face from the pillow, but you’re unsure if you have the strength or the will to stir this feeling any further. That voice is familiar, though, and when the blanket rustles, the feeling of the moving sheet awakens your naked body and alerts you. Wait naked? You think, whipping your head toward the movement on the bed, and when you spot the man sitting next to you, your whole body reacts, a sudden jolt jumping through you, and then you’re falling off the edge of the bed, the sheets coming with you as your body hits the ground with a hard thud, agony already taking way. 

“Oh my god—oh my god—!” you yell, clutching at your chest, your heart slamming against your ribs, every breath coming at a rapid pace. If you thought your head was pounding before, this was a new torture. 

“I didn’t mean to give you a fright,” He says, and you watch his tall figure crouch next to you, grasping the sheets tight around you as you study his features. It’s like each aspect of his face pulls at your mind like a distant memory. 

He hands you the bottle of water and comes down to his butt, a small smile playing at his lips, and the longer you stare, the more you think you remember; at least you know you came here willingly, hence your naked body under these sheets, but was there sex? 

He’s quiet, only a smile, and when you bring the bottle to your mouth, he laughs, “You don’t remember a thing, do you?”

And when he laughs again, you watch his dimples dip into his handsome face, and you think to yourself…if you’re going to have a one-night stand, this is definitely someone you would want to go home with…or to a hotel? Because when you force your eyes away from his face, you peer around, eyes moving around the luxury suite.

“Did we have sex?” you ask, eyes shifting back to him, and he licks his lips, drawing his knees to his chest, a casual demeanor taking way.

His face morphs from playful to serious in a matter of seconds, which makes your heart drop, and even though it was more plausible than not, you kind of hope you didn’t because you can’t remember a single detail of being in this hotel room, and as you clinch your jaw the ache travels to your temples, bringing tears to your eyes because this has to be the worst headache of your life—and fuck this guy is so hot.

What do they say? You can’t experience beauty without pain? Then you’re cursing to yourself, thinking the one time you score a decent one-night stand, you would, of course, be too miserable to enjoy it. 

“There wasn’t sex in the traditional sense, I guess…” He tells you, cutting through your thoughts.

“Mmmm…” you mumble, eyes sweeping over his face. Then you find yourself smiling because he looks so earnest, and his answer has you searching the tiny treads of memory you can’t seem to conjure no matter how hard you try.

There’s a faint grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, and you can tell he remembers everything, but something tells you that you’ll have to dig for the details. 

“Would you mind…maybe elaborating a little?” you push, watching the smile spread on his face. He reaches forward then, stretching past you to the nightstand, the scent of his faded cologne filling your nose, beckoning you as your eyes fall to the inked skin along his ribs, and then it’s like they’re all coming into view, a sleeve running up and down his arm—fuck.

He sits back on his heels, “Here, I tried giving you these last night, but you passed out pretty quickly after…”

“After…?” You try again and look down at his open palm, the ibuprofen resting in the center of his large hand. You grab the pills and toss them back, guzzling the rest of your bottle of water as if your life depended on it.

He laughs again, his deep rasp breaking through, “So if I can remember correctly…” He starts with a grin, his British drawl making your heart skip a beat. 

“You said, Gerry…I want you in that bed. Then you led us to the room.” He bursts into laughter then and says, “My name is Harry, by the way.”

You immediately feel the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with shame--shame for your bold behavior, which few have ever seen. “My apologies, but please continue,” you say.

“Don’t worry, Darling, it was quite humbling. Very few get my name wrong…”

You shake your head, thinking you would probably believe anything he told you if he said it with that smile. The same smile that probably got you to this hotel room, but now you’re having second thoughts about who was calling the shots, thinking maybe you’re the one that spurred last night on—you in one of your rare moods, a toss-up of what kind of drunk you’d be, but at least you weren’t bent over a toilet crying over your Ex, so that was a win already.

“Do you want to shower?” Harry asks, as your eyes travel down his torso, eyeing the tattoos; not a single one is familiar, except maybe the butterfly—Like perhaps you saw it in a dream, and why is he wearing boxers, and you’re completely naked?

“I would love a shower…” You breathe, watching as he springs to his feet, a little too fast for your current state, and he smiles when he catches the dizzying look on your face.

“Man, you’re in rough shape…” He laughs, reaching out a hand, and you clutch the sheet to your body, embarrassed by your lack of clothes, suddenly feeling more modest than you’d hope in this kind of situation—But there’s nothing a hot shower can’t fix, right?

Here is the thing about Harry: He brought you back on a whim. He had no intention of bringing a girl back to his hotel room; in fact, it was never in the cards to even go out. He was here in Vegas with the band, probably even the last time they would play here since there was already talk about their impending hiatus. 

Harry was minding his own business, passing you in the hallway on your way out of the bathroom, and when you locked eyes, he watched the smile grow on your face. He thought…fuck…another fan… but when you stopped him in his tracks, there wasn’t a glimmer of recognition. 

You planted your hands on his chest, gazing up at him--a bold move on your part—which immediately piqued his interest. Harry was just drunk enough to play into it. Maybe see it through and play along to see what your next move might be. When you pushed him against the wall in the shadowy light of the hallway, he nustled his face into your neck, trying to shield his face from all the random people shuffling in and out of the bathrooms.

And this is where maybe he did spur you on just a little…

The second he drew a breath, breathing in your scent, he felt himself giving in. The warm flesh of your neck was so close to his mouth that he couldn’t help but push a soft kiss—press his lips into your skin and listen for the gasp he knew would fill his ear, your hot breath fanning over his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and what else could he do?

He felt your hands roaming his body, clutching at his shirt, pulling with such want that one of the buttons on his shirt popped open, making him pull away in laughter, excitement surging through him that felt foreign because when was the last time he just got to let loose like the? Tensions had been so high lately that nothing in him wanted to be here in Vegas, but now he could at least have a little fun, and why not?

Harry hated Vegas; it almost felt worse than New York, a dense population, always a sea of faces, a place he could rarely go unnoticed, and here he was letting some stranger fondle him, and when you asked him what his name was, he laughed again, pulling away with curiosity, he wanted to see your face, he wanted to know if you were playing into some kind of bit, but then you noticed the tattoo at the center of his chest, and the look in your eyes told him otherwise. 

You didn’t know who the fuck he was, and this made him even more curious—Yeah, you were drunk, but so was he, and would this be a bad thing? He hadn’t had sex in a while, on a sort of cleanse he held himself to for the last six months, and maybe you guys didn’t have to have sex; there were other things. 

But as your hand moved the thin silk of his shirt aside to get a better view, you forced your hand to his chest, pinning him against the wall, his body unmoving as your finger began to trace the outline of one of the butterfly wings. Harry watched as your finger slid down the center of his abdomen, his muscles tightening, forming a straight line to the top of his belly button, sending a rush to his dick.

When you bit down on your lower lip, Harry nearly lost his mind; even then, he wanted to hear your thoughts, wanted you to say them out loud. 

There you were, standing before him with very few words, and then you called him Gerry, which somehow sealed the deal for him. He knew nothing about you, whether you came there alone, what your name was. He figured he could ask you in the car, but as you guys pushed your way through the bar, Harry made a point to be your guiding light, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you guys past the flashing lights of the cameras, cursing to himself the moment you guys stepped foot outside the bar—what was supposed to be fun and low-key turned into him moving through a crowd of people, and while Harry didn’t regret his choice, he knew that you would bare the sting of this later.

Do you want to shower first? You ask, taking hold of Harry’s outstretched hand. Your eyes are trained on his face, watching a smirk spread on those heart-shaped lips you knew you were lucky enough to kiss last night…because there must have been kissing, right? You just wished you could remember.

“You want to take separate showers?” He grins, pulling you up from the ground, and just as you stand to your feet, the sheet is ripped from your body, but your reaction is too slow, and when you look down at your feet, Harry’s foot is at the edge of the material.

“Shit, I’m sorry…” He blurts, adverting his eyes while you stand there clutching at your breast, trying to cover yourself in any way that you can. “I have already seen you naked…if that means anything…”

You laugh then, your face burning, “Yeah…but it would be different if I actually remembered…” 

“So you really don’t remember a thing?” He questions, covering his eyes.

This makes you smile as a bashful look takes Harry’s features--the kindness to cover his eyes is enduring as he crouches back down to feel around for the sheet on the ground blindly, patting his hand across the floor. He grasps the material and holds it out to you, not daring to peek.

“Thanks…” you say, your smile stretching wider, and you can’t help but laugh as you pull the sheet around your body. 

You like Harry’s easy energy; nothing about how he’s presented himself has made you uneasy in the slightest, and when you give him the clear to look, his eyes don’t even wander. They move straight to your face, making your heart pick up a beat.

You can shower first,” he offers, and as soon as he says the words, you feel this draw, this urge, this want to be close. 

A want to explore what it is about this guy that’s conjuring this strange sense of wanting to give your all. Was that what it was last night? A sense of safety? You could have done anything…he could have done anything, but something tells you he didn’t take advantage of the situation.

“We could shower together…if you’d like…?” You ask almost as if it were a question, letting it hang in the silence between you. Harry ponders your words, weighty in the way his brows knit together, his eyes surveying your face, his gaze on the verge of making you backtrack. 

And then he smiles, and you see that glint in his eye, the look that probably lured you in, and he says:

“A mutual shower, no sex?” 

He holds out his hand with a mischievous smirk, turning up the corner of his mouth, and when you grasp his hand, his grip is firm, his green eyes holding you in place, and you wish you remembered what these hands felt like on your body. Did he play into your assertive mood, or was he more gentlemanly? Did this kindness show through the whole time?

You return the smirk, feeling your guard waiver, “Deal--” Then he tugs you toward the bathroom, the sheet falling around your body like a gown, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be swept off your feet—that giddy feeling of new wonderment filling the air around you both, and when Harry laughs it makes your stomach flutter, like a crush you’ve held secret for years and now you’re finally playing out that fantasy. 

Because later, when this was all said and done, this is the part you’ll look back on and wonder why you did it, why it was so easy because this…him…that feeling blooming deep in your belly would become as familiar as looking in the mirror, and although his face felt distant right now you knew it, somewhere deep within. 

…

Harry couldn’t believe it worked, getting you here in the shower with him. 

He could tell you were nervous. 

The way you kept making small jokes to mask your apprehension, your eyes barely meeting his. When you wrapped the sheet around your body tighter and wiggled yourself up onto the counter, he could see you trying to play it cool, and maybe you would have fooled anyone else, but there was something jerky in your movement, stiff, still guarded, everything understandable, but there was just this tiny piece of him that wanted that girl back from last night.

It didn’t have to be sexual. Although that part was pretty amazing, Harry admired your boldness the most. Yes, he knew that alcohol had a lot to contribute to that, but it came from somewhere, right? He wanted to get this part over, you know, get past all the weird stuff because whether or not he wanted to admit it to himself, you guys were complete strangers. 

So he stood there, patient, his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall as the silence stretched, both of you waiting for the water to warm up, “Are you from Vegas?” he asked. 

He watched you draw in a deep breath, your posture straightening. “I’m from Colorado…you?” and when he gave a faint chuckle, he watched the realization dawn on your face as you let out a nervous laugh.

“England…” Harry laughed, running his hand under the water. It was the perfect temperature, but he knew you weren’t ready. 

“Still kind of cold.” He lied. 

You shrug, “What are you doing in Vegas?” He asked next. 

“I’m supposed to be here with my friend Kelsey. I was actually hanging out with her and her boyfriend last night…damn…I hope she’s not freaking out right now. I can’t remember if I called her.”

“You did--” Harry confirms, followed by a laugh.

Harry catches your eye for a brief second right before they dart to the ground, your cheeks flushing, and he’s still trying to wrap his brain around you and the person you were last night, feeling himself getting sucked in all over again, but differently something more approachable, less fleeting. 

“I don’t do this a lot,” you finally tell him--a pang of guilt is eating away at Harry, and his mind is trying to piece together why you felt like you had to explain yourself. Was he making you feel weird, he wondered? 

When Harry heard this bit, a sense of relief washed over him; this he could work with, this he knew, “Yeah?” He questions.

“Actually… I’ve never had a one-night stand…I ummm….” He watches you swallow the rest of your words, your eyes searching his face. As you gaze at him, he observes the fear creeping into your features, witnessing it take over.

And when he sees this, he’s quick to speak up, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do…and last night I didn’t do anything that you didn’t ask of me…I only did what you wanted…I swear.”

When your eyes sweep over his face, he feels this need for you to believe him because it’s true, and when you breathe the word “Okay…” You nod, then your face relaxes, and you hop down from the counter and move toward the shower, leaning past him to check the temperature of the water. 

When your arm grazes over the soft skin of his stomach, he sucks in a breath, his nerves getting the best of him now, and when you turn your head, your eyes move over his belly, and he stills himself, afraid to move, “Did those hurt?” You ask, and he watches your eyes trail along the band of his boxers.

“They did…” He says, “But it was more of me wanting to cover up another tattoo there, and then these just happened…”

You nod your head again, and he feels himself involuntarily sucking in his stomach, suddenly self-conscious, your neutral gaze unreadable. 

Then your eyes flick to his, smoothing your lips together, “I think it’s ready…” you tell him. 

“Yeah?” He asks, wanting to make sure this is something you want. 

“You’ve already seen me naked…” you laugh, then out of his own bewilderment, that damn sheet drops to your feet, and you step into the hot shower, eyes on his the whole time.

Okay…so he could definitely work with this, and even though he was fighting back his boner, the half-mass that threatened to give him away. He knew he couldn’t help it, and as Harry pulled down his boxers and stepped in behind you, he turned away, not wanting to weird you out. 

…

“Do you want some of the water?” You ask, your eyes closed, the hot water hitting the top of your head like heavy rain. The humidity of the shower fills your lungs as you reach and smooth your hair back, and its soothing warmth is all-consuming.

You know that you’re on full display, but you’re having one of those “fake it til you make it” kind of moments, and you figured if he didn’t like what he saw last night, maybe he would have asked you to leave. I mean, he was the one offering the shared shower in the first place. 

You thought the longer you kept your eyes closed, the longer you could keep them from roaming. You knew you were hogging the hot water, but something about the heat washing over your scalp felt like a christening of new life, the ibuprofen starting to kick in. You stood there finally at peace, massaging your scalp as a long sigh slipped past your parted lips, causing Harry to clear his throat. 

When your eyes flutter open, you blink away the water, the moisture from your eyes blurring your vision. Then, you step away from the downpour, taking care not to look anywhere but at Harry’s face, his focus trained on your eyes, never drifting any lower.

This made you smile, knowing damn well his eyes had plenty of time to survey your body, and a piece of you wanted him to. 

There was something about him that made you want him. You wanted him to watch you, maybe make the first move so that you wouldn’t overthink it, and here you guys were, in the midst of a hot shower, your bodies only inches away as you both played polite, and the thought alone was driving you crazy. 

That’s when you grab hold of his arms, trying to maneuver around him in the tight space, guide him toward the shower head, watching as the water cascades over his dry hair, and when you let go, your gaze falls to his shoulder, the trickle of water floods down his chest as Harry closes his eyes, and he lets his head fall back, an audible sigh escaping as you watch his lips part, his tongue coming out to lap tiny droplets of water—and fuck you are so turned on, a dull throb pulling between your legs already.

“This feels so good…” he mutters, caught up in the tranquil lull of the water. 

Would it be so bad to take a peek? See what Harry would have been working with? Because if you’re honest, your eyes may or may not have flitted over his mounding bulge stretching out the front of his boxers earlier, so why not confirm and put your curiosity to rest?

But here you are with every opportunity—do you do it? His eyes had to have roamed, and as your eyes scan down his body, you watch the toned muscles along his torso tighten and relax as he moves his arms above, running his fingers through his long hair, and there’s those damn…what are they…leaves? 

And as you eye them, you can’t imagine what he could have possibly covered up; it doesn’t even look like anything was there…and oh fuck, you think as his thick dick comes into view, the weight of it hanging heavy and hard between his legs and shit. There was no way that was inside you last night because as you sucked in a deep breath, reeling over his size, Harry asked, “Can you pass me the soap,” and for the second time that day, you jumped, slamming your hand over your mouth to muffle the yelp of surprise rising. 

When you peel your eyes away from his dick, your eyes meet his, and of course, he’s smiling because your dumbass couldn’t stop gawking.

Now you’re blushing, and when you pivot on your feet, you slightly slip, causing Harry to grasp hold of you--your wet hand slides down the wall and comes to a halt as you push the weight of your body into the palm of your hand and holy fuck, Harry’s hands are on your naked body, and as you right yourself, his hard dick pushes against your ass, and you’re trying everything in your power not to provoke it any further—push into him, nudge the idea into his head.

“You okay, Darling—” Harry questions, and you don’t even have to turn around to know that he’s smiling; you can hear it in the pitch of his voice, the amused tone of someone who just caught you red-handed, but how could you not look, and why are you making this so awkward? There’s no reason to freak out, but like the weirdo you know you can be, you’re doubling down, pushing out the first words that come to mind.

“We didn’t have sex--” you force, over-dramatic, of course, and then you’re repeating it. “We didn’t have sex…we for sure--did not--have sex.”

He laughs, “I know silly…I told you that already…”

“Yeah, I know--” you tell him, your tone getting pushy, the embarrassment of it all catching up to you.

“Okay…” He says, “Is everything okay?”

“I just accidentally looked at your dick…” you blurt, almost as if you’re waiting to be reprimanded. Harry drags his hand from your waist as his hand finds purchase on the wall next to yours. He releases you then, his breathy laugh filling your ear, and he pulls away, tsking his tongue several times in a row, making you smile.

“Why would you taking a peek at my dick be more confirmation than me saying? He pokes.

You shake your head, pushing yourself upright, “You just want me to say it?” 

This warrants another laugh, the laugh echoing through the shower, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about…I swear?”

Then your head whips in his direction, catching his cocky grin right before it disappears, “You know why…”

“Come on, Darling, humor me just a little?” he pleads, and now you look again, your eyes sweeping to his hard dick, your gaze making his cock bounce, and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to suppress your smile.

“I’m just a shy girl…” you joke.

“You weren’t shy last night…” he tells you, with that sexy smile again, and you laugh, your nerves getting the best of you as you try and play it cool.

“It doesn’t count…I don’t remember…” you say.

“Well…I’m just a shy boy… I’m not sure I can repeat your demands out loud…”

You gasp, pushing a hand into his chest, “My demands?” you ask, and Harry grabs hold of your wrist, holding your hand in place.

“Yes, Darling, you were very demanding last night…”

“Stop…I might go run and hide.” You threaten him, feeling shy, but there’s something calming about his energy. You like his playfulness and find yourself wanting to play into it. 

“Like go hide back under the blankets?” He offers, poking you in the belly, and then your eyes drop to his finger moving away, your boobs coming into view, a reminder that your casually standing here naked with a dude you just met, and it’s starting to shock you how easy this feels.

“If I get back in that bed… I’m going back to sleep…” You tell Harry, firm, no room for negotiations.

“Can there be cuddling?” Harry suggests, taking a step toward you as you ponder his offer.

You laugh, a nervous flutter growing in your stomach, “So you want me to stay?” You whisper, your back hitting the wall. You were so focused on Harry’s gaze that you didn’t even notice the steps he had taken toward you, caught up in the idea of sharing a bed again.

 Now, there was proof that your body acted on its own accord around this man, that you could be inching backward and have no conscious thought of it until you were staring up at him, watching him plant a hand next to your head, walling you in.

And now you’re holding your breath, contemplating his next move, his inquisitive gaze sweeping over your face—what is he thinking? 

Then Harry reaches forward and tucks a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Moments later, his finger drags along your jawline as you exhale that weighted breath—His close proximity dizzyingly affecting you as you fold your hands behind your back and flatten against the hard-tiled surface—Your mind is desperate to find something real, something to root you in place. 

It’s like suddenly you’ve been here a million times with this guy, this stranger that’s growing strangely familiar by the second, and as you glimpse the smile spreading on his beautiful face, your eyes drop to his mouth just as his tongue comes out to smooth over his bottom lip, and he rubs them together, drawing you in even further.

And as if there were an invisible string tugging at your core, you push your hips from the wall, an urge pulling between your legs as his thumb traces a faint line across your lips, and he presses his body to yours, your lips parting the second his thumb moves away. 

“Would you like to stay longer?” He whispers, his tone like honey dripping down your spine, and there you go again, arching your hips into his. Then his hand comes up to your waist, softly gripping the skin at your side, driving your hips back until your hands are flat against the wall again, Harry’s hard dick pushing against your thigh, and your willing yourself to stay perfectly still. You stand there compliant, relishing the feeling of his hand moving to your hip. 

Your throat is tight with every word you want to say, and as you nod, you swallow down hard, trying to force the lump down, “Yes…” you push, your voice barely above a whisper, and he’s smiling again, his lips corking into a playful grin, and you’re dying for him to kiss you because he could kiss you right now.

Those lips could be pressed to yours in a matter of seconds because his face is so close, so close that you, yourself, could close the gap, but you’re too scared, and when you watch his gaze flick to your lips, again, you rub them together, preparing for that kiss, because he’s definitely going to kiss you, his head is moving, he’s closing the gap, and as your eyes flit closed, you hold your breath waiting, waiting…and then his lips, press into your cheek, delicately lingering until his raspy laugh fills the crook of your neck as Harry moves his mouth to the shell of your ear, “Maybe later…” 

Then you grab hold of his hips, pulling them into yours, your arms wrapping around his neck, and then you’re hugging him, and you don’t know why you’re doing it. Still, it’s like this primal urge of wanting to be close to him, to feel his body next to yours, this safety that seems to emanate from every fiber of his being. You want him close, to feel that closeness with Harry, because you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe, this open vulnerability. 

It’s like it’s overtaking you, and when Harry’s arms wrap around your body, his grip tightens, and he returns the gesture—Everything about it feels real.

It’s like this surreal calm takes over your body, and suddenly you’re crying, a few tears drifting because this feels so good, this hug, and you think you wouldn’t need anything else, that this is perfect, and he’s not letting go. Then he pushes his face into the crook of your neck, his body trembling in yours, his weight slightly shifting. That’s when you realize he’s crying, huffing a hot sob into your neck, and you hold him--You hold him tight because maybe he might just need this more than you. 

…

Harry didn’t think he would cry, but there he was, crying into the neck of a total stranger, not even second-guessing himself because once he heard your soft sniffle brush past his ear, he knew he was a goner. 

Harry felt his edges crack them crumble into a sob like the weight of days, months, the years were coming down on him--All the days that had vanished slipping past him, and while Harry had the world at his fingertips, there had been a hollow opening up, one big question mark, marking his life with no plan for his future because 

Harry knew that things with the band couldn’t last forever, that the shelf life of a boy band was short. It wasn’t just the band; they were all getting tired, especially Zayn, who was already on his way out the door. Harry could feel it, see it there in his features, Zayn 

withering away right before their eyes.

Another collective weight, the foundation of their legacy, splitting beneath their feet.

So when you stumbled into his world, he wasn’t necessarily looking for you, but here you were, wrapped in his arms, both of you tucked beneath the blankets as Harry listened to your slow breaths, your body growing heavy as you drifted off to sleep, feeling a world of safety crashing into him.

At first, he told himself he would wait until you fell asleep and then sneak out of the bedroom, hang out in the living space, watch a movie, or write in his journal. But the second he opened his eyes, you were still in his arms, your face inches away from his. He watched as you stirred awake, your eyes lazily flitting open, a slow smile waking on your face. 

“So it wasn’t a dream…” you whispered, making his heart flutter, and without thought, his lips moved to your forehead, and Pressed a soft kiss to your skin. 

As the kiss lingered, he breathed you in, thinking how was it that you both used the same soap, but somehow you smelled more inviting, the soap taking on a whole new aroma, one he wanted to savor, and when he pulled away, you brought your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb back and forth. Then, your hand drifted to the nape of his neck. 

And as you drew in a breath, you pulled his face to your mouth, your lips moving to his temple, and ever so gently, he felt your lips meld to the tiny hairs along his hairline, whispering the words, “I’m so hungry…” and when you laugh, a puff of warm air ghosts over his ear, sending a slow hum down his spine. 

This is the feeling he had been longing for. That feeling of ease, of comfort. 

It had been months since he had three consecutive days off in a row; it had been even longer since he had felt this building notion, this anticipation of feelings—the beginning of a crush—those silly flutters in the depth of your belly every time you look at them, and you were merely a stranger. There could be nothing else from here. He didn’t even know if you knew who he was. 

“Let’s order room service…” he whispered, trying to keep his voice even as he bit back tears. Your eyes wandered over his face. He wondered if he had asked what you were thinking if you would tell him, and then he did, his heart starting to pick up.

“What are you thinking?” he forces the words tight in his throat. 

And to his surprise, you don’t even hesitate, “That for some reason you look familiar, but I swear I can’t figure out why…like maybe it’s just my brain recalling your face from last night…”

Then Harry is holding his breath, watching, waiting for you to figure it out, and when you say, “I don’t think I could forget a face like this—” he lets out a quiet breath, pressing your hand into his cheek.

Just then, a rapid tap drums from the other room, and Harry lifts his head, his eyes flicking to the open door of the ensuite. “I think someone’s knocking,” he hears you say through the onset of panic. 

His heart races, and he tries to remember if they had anything planned as a band, but today and tomorrow were free days. Why the hell would anyone be bothering him? 

The knocking stops, but then the sound of clicking fills the silence of the room, and just as Harry is piecing together what’s happening, the hotel door opens; a soft glow from the hotel hallway bleeds into the main room, and Harry springs to his feet as a man calls out his name. 

“Shit—be right back…” he told you, fidgeting with his boxers, now sitting low on his hips, “It’s just Paul… probably checking in—” 

And when Harry catches the worry streaking your features, he bends down and kisses you on the cheek, “Don’t worry, love, it’s just a friend…” Then he watches your brows knit together, mulling over this bit as Paul calls Harry’s name again, his voice drawing closer to the bedroom.

…

Lights began to beam through the dark doorway as you watched Harry step out, closing the door behind him just as you caught sight of a man leaning down to click on a lamp next to the sofa just beyond the door. 

You lay there for a beat, wondering if you should feel fear, but the feeling never stirs, then your thinking why did Harry need all this space, and what does he do for a living to afford such a luxury hotel room.

As soon as Harry closed the door, the room was swallowed in darkness, and you bound off the bed to search for the curtains, opening a small section until you realized that the sun was setting, the twilight of the evening just settling over the bright lights of Vegas and holy shit, what a view. 

You had to have money to get this kind of view, so you opened the curtains wide, sinking into the comfy chair next to the window, crossing your legs underneath you, mesmerized by the hustle and bustle far below, the room so high that you could barely see the people moving around, or maybe your eyesight was shit, either way, it was the perfect view.

Bored, you turned on lights, trying to breathe life into the room. 

When Harry took longer than you expected, you shut yourself in the bathroom, taking this moment to spruce up. As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your eyes darted to the oversized t-shirt Harry let you borrow.

Your eyes scanned over the faces, filling five boxes, the last box spelling out “1D,” and you laughed, thinking, what the hell is this? The faces of these little boys stretched across the shirt, blue, pink, and purple, repeating the pattern, and at the very bottom of the shirt, it read, ‘Up All Night Tour 2012,” which was two years ago. Harry seemed too old to be repping this; how old was Harry anyway?

The more you look at the shirt, the more you want to make jokes, like, of course, it says ‘Up All Night’ They looked just on the cusp of no longer having a set bedtime, and with any boy band, you find yourself surveying their attractiveness, your eyes only lingering on the dark-haired boy with the earrings who probably grew up to be really hot, with those dark eyes and dark lashes—the others weren’t your vibe, but then you felt weird thinking that, like how old were they anyway.

Then it dawned on you that they were the reason you were here, that Kelsey arranged this whole trip to Vegas around this concert, the only way she wanted to bring in her 21st birthday, at the iHeart Music Festival.

That’s when you made a mental note to ask him about this band, see if it was worth it, see if your friend was crazy for dragging you guys here because you could barely afford it as it was, and when she brought her stupid boyfriend, it ruined the whole trip…maybe hooking up with Harry will be the only highlight of the trip after all.

Eventually, you returned to bed after searching for your phone. You found it under the bed, but it was dead. Now you had to wait for Harry and Jeez. What was taking so long?

When the door finally opens, Harry is running a hand down his belly, a sweet grin, peeking at the corner of his mouth, “I’m starving…” He drawls his British accent heavier when the words are lazy.

“I think food is the last step to curing this hangover.” You tell him, sitting up on the bed.

“Sorry that took so long…we were going over plans for the next couple of days.”

“Gotcha…” you nod, “Is that good or bad?”

“It’s whatever…” He pushes, shrugging his shoulders as he puffs out a breath of frustration.

“I think for like the first time in a while, I just need a vacation…” He continues.

“Vacations are nice…” you agree.

“Do you get to at least enjoy Vegas while you’re here? Did your friend want to go out? I could always ditch. I don’t want to impede on any of your plans—”

He laughs, “I’m technically not old enough to hit the town just yet. It wouldn’t be a good look…”

“Wait, what? Weren’t you out last night?” 

“Well yes…but that was 18 plus…”

“Are you telling me you’re 18?” you blurt, surprised because you thought you guys were at least the same age.

“Darling, I’m 20… don’t worry… you’re not robbing any cradles trust me…” and you watch as a faint blush creeps into his cheeks, and when he runs a hand through his long hair, he scrunches his nose, making you laugh because shit, this dude is hot, like probably the hottest guy you’ve ever scored as far as hook up’s go. 

“What?” He asks, eyes searching your face. You push yourself off the bed, coming to stand in front of him, feeling a sudden urge of confidence, and when you bring your hands up to cup his face, you ask:

“May I kiss you?” and he lets out a nervous laugh, grabs your face in his hands, and matches your stance.

“May I kiss you…” he jokes, and you drop your hands, wanting him to take the lead.

“Yes…” and just as he’s leaning in, you say, “But let the record show…I did ask you first.”

His breathy laugh fans over your lips as he presses his mouth to yours. Your smile slowly fades as your lips begin to move together. When Harry deepens the kiss, you release a chaste breath. Your lips part, and you swipe the tip of your tongue over his top lip. Then Harry groans, and the vibration hums across your lips.

Your hands come up to his waist, gliding up his torso until they wrap around his neck, your hands threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. You couldn’t believe you were kissing him. It was like everything that you had imagined in the shower, except his touch was a lot more gentle, his pace slow, meaningful in the way his thumb caressed your cheek back and forth, kissing you the way you’ve always dreamed of being kissed, like cue the night sky and all the stars above you and this would be absolutely perfect, but fuck the stars if you had this mouth kissing yours.

Because what were the stars if you had his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you in place, anchoring you there, because suddenly it feels like you’re floating, this kiss dizzying you, a heady sense of giddiness coursing through your entire body and all you can think is this…this is what I want right now.

And you’re acting on it, greedy for it, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and you want this, you want this right now, and Harry seems to be picking up your cues, and as your breath picks up, so does the kiss, and it’s breath after breath, this urge growing, and as you begin to move the kiss, taking a slow step back, Harry breaks away.

“Mmmm…” He breathes, swiping a thumb over his bottom lip, a grin spreading across his mouth, and there’s that urge again, and you take a step forward, your mouths crashing together.

Then you’re picking up on that same rhythm, and then you’re pulling him toward the bed, you’re mouths move with hunger--desperation in each step that you take backward, Harry moving with you until the backs of your legs bump the bed, and your pulling at his waist, needy for him to crawl into this bed with you, and then he laughs, halting your hands, and you open your eyes just as he’s pulling away from the kiss, his eyes trained on you.

“What?” You ask, “Is this not okay?” 

His hands smooth down your forearms and grasp your hands, “If this is what you want…I hate to say it…but I really need food…” He suggests, dropping one of your hands to pat his hungry belly.

“Food?” you repeat, almost dazed because you literally almost had him in this bed.

“Yes, love, I need fuel to take you on again…” he rasps out with a laugh.

“Again…?” you ask, licking your lips, the taste of his mouth still on yours keeping you in the moment.

“Yes… you’re a feisty one…” Harry tells you, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Mmhmmm….” is all you can say when you feel his lips press into your neck, revving you back up, and you squeeze his hand hard, gasping out a breath of desperation as you tug his hand toward the ache between your legs.

Harry releases a weighted breath as he pulls away, his eyes locking with yours. You pressed his hand to the fabric of your panties and unclenched your tight hold on his hand. When you bite your lower lip, you watch the contemplation crease between his brows. 

Then ever so slightly, he drags his fingers over the warm center of your underwear, your mouth rounding into an ‘O’ as the pressure of his touch deepens over your clit, and he begins to draw a small circle with his fingers, and you whimper a low, “Mmmm…” just as his hand draws away slowly, a small smile playing at his lips, and your hips move in the direction of his hand, not wanting the touch to end.

Then you’re on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips to his again, and this time his hands are on your hips, forcing them back until you’re seated on the bed, and he breaks away from the kiss, pushing his weight into his hands, planting your ass to the bed, “Food first. Then this…” He reiterates, this time a little more firmly, and all you can do is smile, him nodding his head until you’re following along.

“Fine—” you puff out, sexually frustrated, to say the least. You laugh as you fall back onto the bed, ready to pout about it, as you swing your legs back and forth over the side of the bed, suddenly feeling a fit rising, and you exhale a loud dramatic sigh bubbling up from within, and when your eyes sweep to Harry. He’s standing there with a huge grin, stretching from ear to ear, and you cover your face, embarrassed maybe, but more overwhelmed by what this dude was doing to you, your resolve crumbling with every passing hour.

“See…I told you…feisty…” He chuckles out, running a hand through his hair.

…

Harry knew he was in for it the second his fingers slid over the soft cotton of your underwear as he watched you unfurrow, your jaw going slack, mouth curving into the perfect shape. He knew exactly what those perfect lips felt like wrapped around his cock, and had you put up more of a fight; he would have given in, fallen mercilessly into the greed that was overtaking him.

And when you fell back onto the bed, his fingers twitched at his sides, a whole vision of him falling to his knees to pry those delicious thighs open. The only thing between his mouth and your pussy was the weightless material of your panties. All he would have to do was slide them to the side, bring his mouth to your warm center, and taste you. Drag his tongue up your slit till he was spreading you open, the salty-sweet slick of your pussy coating his tastebuds because you were already wet, the fabric damp under his touch—you needed him like he needed you—and now as you both sat there taking your last bites of food, the T.V. droning on in the background, he was smitten.

“Okay—that’s fair, but what’s like the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you? You asked Harry, a broad smile stretched across your face as both of you enjoyed each other’s company, and he couldn’t believe how much fun he was having just sitting there talking to you.

Harry had to think this question through; he knew what he wanted to say, but how could he tell you without giving his identity away or not spurr on more questions to lead you there because Harry had decided back in the bedroom what this would have to ultimately be—a hook up—that’s all it could be because once you figured out who he was, it would scare you away. 

How could something like this work when it’s so clear that you both lead two very different lives? 

“Ummm…I guess…one time I fell in front of a room full of people…I mean, like a massive fall, a ridiculously stupid fall, and not only did I fall in front of all these people, but my family and friends were there too….and I just laid there for a second, not wanting to get back up.”

You laughed and asked, “Was it like a presentation or something?” and Harry studied your face, readying himself for the lie.

“Yeah, back at Uni, it was pretty silly, really…I had a nasty bruise down my hip later, but that didn’t hurt half as much as my ego.” He laughed out, stuffing his last bite into his mouth.

He liked the way that last line made you laugh as you took a drink of your water, your eyes darting to his mouth, lingering, making his dick tingle, and he wished he could hear your thoughts out loud, and then you surprise him:

“What are you thinking?” 

Harry is thinking a lot of things, and he knows that if he tells you the truth, it will shift the mood, switch gears from light and easy to possibly where you guys had left off in the bedroom. 

He could feel the tension floating at the surface of every thought—feel it in the way your gaze lingered, the way your lips smoothed together every time he licked his lips or ran a hand through his hair. The way he felt himself flirting, witty with a purpose just to make you smile, laugh that cute laugh of yours—you taking any excuse to touch his arm, his hand, he liked you loose like this, a girlish playfulness that sent a flutter to his stomach, his dick anxious to please you.

But that was the problem. Harry didn’t know if he could do it. He had gone so long without sex already, and he wasn’t prepared. 

There wasn’t a single condom in the room, and yes, you guys could fool around like last night, but he knew he would want more. Ever since you touched his face in that shower, held him while tears streamed down his face, he wanted to bury himself deep inside you, make you feel the way you made him feel—warm, safe, secure in his touch, your bodies pressed together in a haven that only you two could build because couldn’t this last longer? 

Did it have to end at this? All of it was so confusing, these feelings circling inside him.

“What am I thinking?” He finds himself repeating, trying to stay in the moment.

“Yeah…” You answer, your tone soft and inviting.

“I’m thinking that I’m really glad you’re here…and that this has been the best time I’ve had in a really long time.” And when Harry says it. He knows it wasn’t what he planned on saying, but the words tumble out of his mouth with intention.

Harry wanted you to feel precisely what he was feeling right now, and that was fulfillment because even if you didn’t move any further than this, this would be just enough, you being here, the presence that you’re bringing to his life in this very moment—this joy—Harry hasn’t felt this kind of happiness in so long that all he wants to do is bask in it, savor every second.

…

There it was again. That soul-deep kindness that’s been chipping away at your guarded facade all day, casting away doubt from the moment you opened your eyes this morning. 

Who was this person, this man sitting next to you on this couch? 

Where had someone like him been when all the others failed before him--his presence alone was the biggest mindfuck you have had in a long time because what the fuck are you doing here? Where was this going? It was starting to feel like more than a hook up; the time you both were putting in said otherwise.

Technically, you guys had already hooked up, even if you didn’t remember, he did, so you both had already gotten what you wanted, so your staying longer was a choice on both of your parts, and here you knew nothing about him, but feeling a draw so intense that you can’t even put a finger on the feeling, it’s like your soul already knew him—already knows him—his eyes as familiar as looking in the mirror, but what was the catch? How was this going to end? Could this be more?

“Harry, should I go?” You ask him, needing to know where he stands in all of this; hear the words that he wants you to stay.

He’s in the middle of gulping down his water, and as soon as he hears the question, he chokes the water down with a cough, eyes darting to you, and you wait for his cough to settle.

Harry takes a beat, taking you in, his eyes sweeping over your face, “Do you want to leave?” he finally says, making your heart pick up a few paces.

“I just want to make sure I’m not overstaying my welcome…” you answer, studying his face.

He shakes his head. “Am I making you feel that way?” Harry scoots closer to you on the couch, your body shifting toward his, and places both hands on the tops of your thighs, bringing his eyes level with yours.

There’s a plea rising in his features, a worry furrowing his brow as his hair falls into his face, and you reach to sweep the tuff of hair behind his ear, “No—I just feel like—”

“I don’t know…” And you can’t even look at him, his gaze too much, that look sucking you in, making you weak for this man—you want to fulfill every silent want that he has, every want that’s filling the air because you can feel it, the breath heavy in your lungs. You want him just as much as he wants you because you’re aching with it, pleading from the depth of your belly for it—an unspoken want so desperate it hurts.

“I want you to stay…” he whispers, cupping your cheek in his hand. The warmth seeps into your skin, and you close your eyes, wanting to savor the feeling.

Then there are tears, and you don’t know why you’re crying, but when the pad of his thumb swipes over your cheek, you grab hold of his wrist, your eyes shuddering open. His face is blurry until the tears spill over, and he’s wiping them away, “I’m scared…” you choke, barely able to get the words out.

“I’m scared too…” He manages, as his face begins to break, then you spring forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and when he falls back into the pillows of the couch, you crawl into his lap as he draws you into his body, Harry holding you tighter than he’s had this whole time.

“I think I really like you…” He murmurs, pushing the words into your neck, and you feel your whole body heat with the thought; your feelings mutual, but all you can muster is a “Yeah?”

And as you relax into his lap, Harry’s grip loosens enough for him to rub a slow hand up and down your back, your body going slack, and your head nestles into his shoulder as the tears continue to fall, and you close your eyes, getting lost in the feeling of the rhythmic stroke of his hand.

It’s not until he scoots his hips forward on the cushion that you stir from your trance, his arms a fortress from whatever was plaguing you before, and you shift your hips until you’re realigned with his body, your hand absentmindedly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger. 

You listen as Harry draws in a slow breath through his nose, one of his hands traveling lower, moving over the curve of your hip, skimming under the back of your thigh, and he grabs your flesh, pulling you further into him, your center now pressed against the mound of his boxers as your legs spread just enough to make it known, your body waking, the path his hand took now alive with his touch. 

Without thinking, you press a delicate kiss to the skin of his neck, your lips slightly sticking to the damp aftermath of your hot breath, which came and went as your emotions slowed. Harry’s shoulder slick with your tears. When you lift your head, your hair is glued to the side of your face, and you brush it back, forcing it behind your ear. 

The blush of his lips is the first thing you see, more prominent in the trace of his tears now glistening on his flushed cheeks, and when your eyes meet his, a tear spills over, and your throat seizes with the sight. You have no idea why he’s crying, but somehow you feel the pain of it settling in your bones, the pain fitting to your flesh as if it was your pain to carry. 

Will a kiss make it better, make it all go away? 

Because the way he’s looking at you with those green eyes, so green, islands in a sea of pain, the whites of his eyes red, giving it all away. You reach for the hem of your shirt, bringing it up to his nose, and wipe it clean, making Harry laugh. It’s a start, and when he grabs hold of the shirt, he silently nudges his chin upward, a quick nod, signaling for you to take it off, and he helps you lift it over your head, your bare breasts coming into view, and you’re straightening your spine ready for him to take you in.

His head falls back against the cushion of the couch, his body slumping as the tears continue to come, like the sight of you is too much to bear, a pained look as he bites his lip, and everything in you wants to ask, just ask, that’s all, but it doesn’t feel like the right time, like whatever Harry feels he needs to release, let it go, so he can move on from it.

He scoots himself further down on the cushion, his ass nearly toward the edge, and you shift your weight into your knee, pushing into the sofa, your outstretched hand coming down next to his head. 

The sudden jolt of your arm falling into the pillow makes your boobs bounce up, only inches from Harry’s face, and the two of you lock eyes as you adjust yourself in his lap, a chill running down your spine when his warm breath fans over your skin, bringing awareness to your hard nipples—the unspoken need for him rising as the air grows thick around you, all your focus closing in on Harry.

His long legs become the perfect chair, enough space between you and the tenting bulge forming in his briefs, and he drags a hand down his torso, dipping into the band to readjust the growing boner that has your mouth watering because there’s no way that dick hasn’t already filled your mouth, that your jaw hasn’t stretched around it, tried to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could, was that it? 

Was that the pain in your jaw this morning? So stiff you could barely open it. 

Did he fuck into your mouth until he came, shot his warm load down your throat? Did you both go to sleep satisfied because now you’re thinking the only way you could leave this hotel satisfied is if that dick had been deep inside you, a memory for later when all else fails when you have to say goodbye because you’ll have to say goodbye, right?

The head of his long penis peeks out of the top of his boxers, and the material settles over his girth, and all you can do is stare, his fingers grazing up and down the fabric as he comes to full mass, the movements slow and steady like a sunset opening up to the night, taunting you, knowing that darkness brings all the things you hide in the light, and these are the things you want to give him, the things you want to share.

…

It’s an unspoken want, but this is what Harry needs, he thinks while he watches your body lengthen, your posture righting itself as you cup both of your breasts in your hands, your gaze moving from his dick to his face, your mouth smoothing together, stirring a hunger in him when you pinch the tips of your nipples with your fingertips, arousing yourself, and your rock hard nipples even further. 

And what a fucking sight to see, the pleasure it brings when you clamp down on the tips, just hard enough to release that soft gasp slipping past your parted lips, and he wants more. He wants to see it all, and when Harry reaches for your wrist, he pulls your hand between your thighs--he wants to see you touch yourself--he wants to see you plead for more than just your fingers. 

The gesture is silent; no words needed because your fingers are already moving, a palm pressed into his knee as he watches you steady yourself, the other hand moving over the center of your panties, a slow, gradual pace as your hips jut forward. 

He sees your need growing as you find your rhythm, your gaze focused on him, right where he wants it, making him even more turned on as he watches the slow circles, your legs widening when you press a foot to the ground, rising slightly, your body secure. 

That’s when you slip your hand into your underwear, the need more pressing, your breath picking up, and when you roll your hips into your touch, your head falls back as you unleash a gentle moan, your eyes flitting shut, ready to get lost in it.

Harry decides to join in on the fun, stroke his hard throbbing cock, while he takes you in--The idea of him being inside you was only a fantasy at this point, but maybe he could make it real.

Harry knew he couldn’t be as graceful as you. What started as slow and delicate for you was already sloppy and pressing for him. He couldn’t help the groan rippling from his throat as he cast it with a slowing stroke, forcing himself to stay in rhythm with you as your eyes fell to his, then his hand, and you both shared a smile, and he locked his knees together to give you more stability, your weight sinking into your hips as you slowed down.

“Tell me what we did last night?” you asked with a smile, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as he forced his dick completely out of his boxers, his cock resting in his hand.

That’s when Harry felt the power shifting in his favor, “Take your panties off…I want to see…” He tells you, glimpsing the smile widening on your face as you come to standing, and when you swing your leg over his, he spots the wet center of your undies, and he has to let go of his dick, or else he might come. 

“Fuuuuck…” He breathes, “Those are mine now,” He forces as his gaze follows the motion of you stepping out of your underwear.

He loves the playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you swipe them from the ground and toss them on his chest. 

“Here…” he tells you, patting the space beside him.

You laugh then, Harry’s chest tightening in anticipation, but you comply, gracefully taking your seat next to him. What was bold before slips into a timid smile, your eyes darting to your hands clasped together in your lap, and this is what Harry was waiting for: the vulnerability you were giving so freely.

…

Was this it, you thought? Was this going to be the moment you’ve been waiting for? 

The undressing was easy. You had already done that part; this part was new, and the rest was still a mystery, every event from last night. 

Harry places a hand on your thigh, and you grab hold of it, nervous, too nervous to look at him, suddenly scared because suddenly sex with him was a real possibility, not just a passing thought that had flitted in and out of your mind all day. 

When he leans in and whispers, “You okay?” his rasp catches in the shell of your ear, and you nod, shooting him a quick glance, and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, chills running down your arms.

“Lay back,” he asks, your eyes on his face as his eyes flick to the arm of the couch. You turn and look, pausing to take in the empty space beside you and you picture yourself lying there. 

When you turn back to Harry, he’s watching you, his eyes glancing over your face, and he sits back, lifting his hips to push down his boxers. When he leans forward to push them past his knees, he kisses your lips, soft and brief, and when he pulls away, you crawl toward the end of the couch, doing as you’re told, a giddy sense of pride swelling in your chest, that you guys have made it this far.

Once your head is resting against the armrest, you bring your knees up, pressing your feet flat to the cushion, your knees slamming together when you catch sight of Harry rising, his face serious, unreadable, sending a pulse between your legs, and my god, you want him so bad, you want him to shove that fucking dick so deep inside you that you’re yelling his name at the top of your lungs, so loud that your voice fills every vacant space in this room.

“This may come as a surprise,” he starts, his penis in his hand again as he stands before you, “But I don’t have any condoms…” and he laughs, your eyes trained solely on his hand, now gliding down his hard dick, his words barely registering. 

You tear your eyes from his moving hand just in time to catch the cocky smirk rising on his face, “Good thing we didn’t have sex last night. I’m not on birth control anymore…”

“Mmmmm…” he hums, watching you lick your lips, and you swallow hard, your mind in overdrive, already contemplating what you would say if he asked to fuck without one, and when your eyes sweep down his body, you think, fuck it, let’s risk it all! 

This thought makes you laugh, “Yeah…” you say, meeting his eye again, “So… that’s bad, right…?” you ask, your clit throbbing, and you bite down on your lower lip, praying he’ll make the decision for you both.

“I think…?” He answers with a curious smile, the words coming out more of a question, and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to find relief from the pressing thought of you guys fucking, raw, and nasty; no holding back because that’s what it would be if he stuck that warm, supple dick inside you…and your almost begging that those are his next words, the tension building between your legs, your gaze, and Jesus Christ, just say yes or fucking no you plead internally. 

Your legs fall open at the sight of him continuing to stroke himself, your fingers already rubbing slow circles, enough to satiate the ache, and then Harry smiles, that fucking smile, so cute, and so sweet, his dimples dipping, “Sit!” you force out through a wave of pleasure—a single word humming through your body enough to take you to the edge and you have to stop touching yourself or else you’ll come right then and there and it’s too soon. 

Harry doesn’t even question you. He drops into the cushions, one of the decorative pillows in his way, and he thrusts his hips forward, his dick still in his hand, and when he falls back into the couch, his hard cock stands tall, ready for you, and he scoots his hips back down the cushion, opening up space for you to climb on top. 

“So we’re doing this?” he asks, and he definitely thinks sex is about to happen. There’s not a single trace of question on his face as his hand glides down, hitting the base of his dick, and damn it, he wouldn’t even care if you shoved him inside you right now, and should you just do it, just fuck him now, and worry later because this is the first time in your life that you would, that you’ve ever wanted to. 

Without a word, you climb into his lap, leaving a space between you and his moving hand. When Harry drops his penis to reach for your face, it hits your inner thigh with a thud, heavy and hard, and maybe in another lifetime, you would ask him to smack that fucking hard dick across your lips, tap your cheeks, feel the thickness down your throat, and maybe he already has, you’ll never know, but there’s no time because you have to find relief. 

Harry’s kiss is sloppy, his mouth moving against yours with force, with hunger, his tongue coming out to wet your lips, and you follow up by shoving your tongue into his mouth, greedy to taste him. 

When your tongues clash, Harry pushes a groan into your mouth. The tremble runs over your tongue, sparking a cooling chill down your spine that sends a quiver to your clit, “God dammit!” you yell into the air with a laugh, and your head falls back, your eyes fluttering shut as Harry, presses a wet kiss to your neck. 

“I want it…I want you,” Harry pleas, his woody voice filling your neck, and you’ll do it, you really will, but that little voice in the back of your head is telling you that you’ll regret it. 

“I just want to feel you for a second,” he gravels, forcing you back in his lap, creating enough distance for you to take hold of his dick, now hot in your hand, and it’s so fucking tempting, the thrill filling your chest, the thought swirling something deep in your gut, and your fucking pussy beats with it.

Your mouth is already watering, and you work a glob of spit against the roof of your mouth, thick, and you spit down onto his cock, Harry laughing out a breathy, “Shit, baby—” as you both watch it drip over his pulsing head, the saliva working down his sensitive cock. 

You spit again for good measure, working it down his dick. When you bring your hand back up to the head of his penis, Harry sucks in a sharp breath, stopping your hand the second you smooth over the tip; a smile stretches across both of your faces, a knowing stare—your whole world as you know it, right now, in this very second is getting lost in those green eyes peering back at you, and you’re captivated, his eyes moving to your lips and you draw yourself forward in his lap.

With his dick in your hand, you lift your hips, pressing a hand into his knee, finding stability as you press the head of his penis between the lips of your pussy, your wetness dragging down his shaft until you hit the base of his cock, a moan leaving your mouth as you push against his dick with more pressure, your hand starting to work the tip.

“You’re teasing me…” he breathes, letting his head fall into the pillow, and he closes his eyes, his lips parting, a slight twitching in his hips, and he hooks both arms over the back of the couch, letting you take control. 

His dick is warm against your pussy, your slickness marking a glossy streak down his thick dick, and you follow the wet path back up to the tip, rolling your hips once you reach the top, giving the head of his cock a little more attention, and when you press him into your cunt, needing more pressure, his tip dips past your entrance, a quick stretch as his dick snags on your opening. You both groan out in unison, Harry’s head whipping up to meet your eyes, a throaty laugh filling his chest, and his dick pulses against your clit.

Your strokes get more aggressive, up and down, stroking down with your hand in tandem with your movements, his dick getting more and more wet and sloppy as you tease your entrance again. Then, Harry grabs hold of your thighs, his fingers digging into flesh as he bucks his hips up, and you yell out a pained “Ahhh…fuck…” as your hand wraps around his dick, pulling it away, and your body shudders, the overwhelming sensation edging you.

Harry drags your hips forward as you move through the wave. Your head falls to his shoulder as warmth rises from his body, your hot breath filling the space between you, and you close the gap by pressing a kiss to his inked skin. “We can if you want to…” This time, his words hang between your stare as you bring your face up to his. 

“Harry…”

“I know…” He coos, his soft lips hitting the lobe of your ear, and his breath splays over your neck, sending a hum down your spine, between your legs, and he grips you tighter. 

His arms wrap around the small of your waist, bringing you flush to him, his hard dick pushed to his belly, now tall between you.

He’s so fucking ready for you, but you like the way he begs.

The heat of him pressed between your thighs is making you crazy, your clit swelling for it, and you want it so bad. “Just for a second,” he begs, his voice straining as you begin to move against him, each movement short and precise. 

You circle your arms around his neck, feeling the tension build, the urge for him growing deeper, tugging at you from within, every spot you know he could hit, whispering from inside you, begging, pleading. You press your forehead to his, each breath growing shorter and faster as you work against him, trying to fulfill that pressing need for him as he stares back at you, waiting for you to say anything.

“Just for a second…?” you force out, your fucking pussy aching, the friction on the verge of pain and pleasure as he pulls you down harder, forcing your clit against him, and you can barely move your hips, Harry strangling your movements, making you desperate for relief.

“Just for a second…” he whispers with more control, and he lifts his chin to push a kiss to your mouth while your hips are fighting for more.

“Just—a second…” you say into his mouth, already pushing a knee into the couch, and lift your hips, breaking Harry’s hold. 

He grabs hold of his dick, both of you gazing down as he guides his dick to your opening, and you spread yourself, making it easier, your hand shaking as adrenaline surges between you both. 

Harry nudges the tip in, your pussy opening for him as you grab hold of his neck, and you slowly sink with a loud, “Mmmmm….” pushing past his ear, filling the space, but all you hear is, “Oh, fuck, baby… that’s so good…” as your walls stretch around him, the pain sharp, and foreign, but as his dick pushes past the spots that need him, that were calling out for more, there’s pleasure—pure fucking pleasure.

And just as you hit the hilt of his dick, your breath hitches, the entire expanse of him now inside you, and you tense up as your mouth moves against his. Harry slows you both down, and you gasp into his mouth as soon as your hips ease to a standstill. 

The sudden pause magnifies the intensity of the stretch--his length stretching past anything you’ve ever felt before, his girth widening you beyond any measures you’ve ever experienced because they were nearly warm-ups, lead-ups to this very moment because it is so fucking good, so good, and then your hips are moving, Harry scraping out a sharp groan into your mouth as you continue to kiss.

Each time you lift and lower back down, the walls clenching around his dick loosen. 

His dick is wet with your juices, nice and slick, the fit better with every movement, and it sends a flutter of excitement to the pit of your stomach, “So good—” you breathe out, “That dick is so good…,” and Harry laughs, grabbing hold of your face, not wanting to break the kiss.

He’s more romantic than you pictured.

He’s gentle and lets you move at your own pace. When you swivel your hips on the way back down, he nips your lower lip, bringing you with him as he falls back into the cushions. “Play nice…” he laughs as you guys hit the pillows with a soft thud. 

“I don’t want to play nice…” you tell him, taking his bottom lip into your mouth, and you gently tug, grabbing hold of the back of the couch. 

That’s when you slam down on his dick hard, releasing his lip. His eyes roll back as his body relaxes into the couch, his hands twitching on your hips, then sinking into your skin to grab hold of you, and he lifts his hips, drawing you forward, then back. The first time it’s slow, but he does it again with more force, and you cry out a moan, his cock deep in the pit of your stomach, and you squeeze the firm surface under your palms to ground you.

“Tell me how good it is…” he pushes out, between a moan, “More—” you shout, and he juts you up with a raise of his hips, and you yell out his name, letting your head fall back as the force runs through you.

Your entire body heats with the growing pressure, and when you look back at him, he’s securing his hands on your waist, bucking into you again, and as soon as you hit the base of his dick, he does it again, and again, until your bouncing up and down, losing your grip on the couch—losing control, each thrust up a welcoming embrace, tipping you closer to your threshold, and it’s hot, and heavy, your hands slipping on his chest as you try to steady yourself.

“Oh my god—”

“You’re going to—” you choke out. 

“Say it!” he says as you fall into his chest, your resolve etching away, and his grip tightens; Harry gaining more control, his pace consistent, his strokes shortening, deeper, as he holds you in place.

Your gaze is trained on his chest, your hand smoothing over the butterfly--transformative that’s what this will be because you’ve never gotten this close, this fast, without the extra work of your hand, and it’s a completely different feeling, a feeling you have to let go and let happen, every breath in and out, pulls deep in your belly.

“Come—I think—” you blurt, your mind becoming a jumbled mess, every sense entirely overwhelmed, and when he smiles at you, the knot building tightens, and you feel your walls beginning to clamp around his dick, like a fist, as Harry slows his thrusts.

“I’m going to come—I’m coming—I’m coming,” you stretch out with a long moan. 

And It’s that quick, the feeling sneaking up, and just as you’re coming undone, he yanks his dick from inside you with enough force that you collapse onto his chest, leaving you hollow, a sliver of emptying space closing as your walls continue to pulse, and you rub your pussy against his lower abdomen, riding out your orgasm, with that last bit of friction. 

…

Harry hadn’t intended sex, but here you guys were in the aftermath, his hand wrapped around the head of his dick, cum spilling out into his hand as you rode out your orgasm, his body the object of your desire, and he fucking loved it. He wanted this feeling with you for as long as you allowed him. 

“That was—” you huffed out, trying to catch your breath as every harsh puff pushed into Harry’s neck, and he was taken—the start of obsession creeping in because that was--amazing.

“Amazing—” he laughed between a quick inhale, finishing your sentence.

He felt your lips press into his skin, chills running through his whole body, every touch electric, heightened by the energy you guys shared, a connection he hadn’t felt in so long that he forgot what it felt like to actually let go—to get so caught up in the moment that nothing else mattered—and yes, using the risky “pull out method” isn’t the best decision but maybe you guys could cross that bridge later. He didn’t want to think about it; he wasn’t ready for the reality that it would bring, the reality that you would be leaving. 

“Stay another night…I promise I’ll make it worth your while…” he told you. 

That’s when you laughed, a breathy sigh leaving your mouth. Content, your gaze was starry-eyed, beaming up at him. Your body was totally relaxed against his. “As long as there are pancakes…” 

Harry couldn’t decipher his feelings, what this was turning into for him, the way he was catching feelings.

When was the last time he had stayed up all night just talking about anything and everything with someone? He wanted to run his fingers through your brain like you ran your fingers through his hair, everything light, a delicate touch, a mindless gesture, comfortable and charismatic, your walls completely down.

What made you tick? Was it something he could figure out in one night, or would he spend months dwelling on the what-ifs because he felt hopeless for you, desperate for the idea of trying to make this work?

All night had been a fever dream, a kiss, a stare, a laugh; you filled every inch of this space—of his being. When he was inside you because, yes, he was inside you again, you took it slow, no rush, your bodies melding together in a slow rhythm, your mouths moving easy, light, a carefree laugh, a hand intertwined, a giddy clinginess that neither one of you could shake, and when the morning sun sliced through the edges of the curtains Harry was the first to wake.

He lay there as still as he could, not daring to stir you as his gaze lingered on your face, memorizing the details, your head resting on his chest. Your breaths were slow and rhythmic, in and out of your nose, a faint warmth beating down on his skin, almost humming him back to sleep. 

He knew this would be all the time that he had left with you, so Harry savored the seconds, meditating on the thoughts that circled his mind—dwelling on the questions that tugged and ground deep in his gut, the longing to be something else, knowing Harry could never lead a normal life, that love could never be this simple because, after all, you didn’t even know who Harry was, what he did for a living—how in hindsight you were still strangers.

How he was barely his own person anymore, and how could he ask you to share when this was all he could give? Hell, you’ve had him more than anyone else lately, more time than he’s had by himself.

Harry knew that when you woke, there would be no pancakes because he had a gnawing feeling that you wouldn’t want to stick around, that maybe you were the type that just ripped the bandaid off, and he was right.

As soon as you opened your eyes, goodbye had stolen the night and cast light to the inevitable—the end—and as your eyes lingered on his face, your lazy gaze taking him in, still half asleep, the corner of your mouth dropped just enough for Harry to peep the frown you were fighting, the still sadness in your eyes, that didn’t want to leave his.

Then your eyes dropped to his chest, your arm still draped over his torso. You lifted your head and pressed the softest, most delicate kiss into his flesh, your lips pushing into his skin, lingering, and when your mouth moved away, he watched you press your cheek into the warm spot you left behind, closing your eyes to savor the fleeting moment.

Because that’s what this all was, one fleeting moment after the other, and when you rest your chin on his chest, eyes meeting his, the knot burning his throat tightens.

All of his words are lost. Harry biting them back, pressing down on his lip that he’s trying to keep from quivering because you’ve just become the longest goodbye he’s ever had to make, and the grief of it is already taking him.

“I don’t think I’ll have time for pancakes,” you tell him, only furthering the pain building in his chest.

His heart sinks as the words leave your mouth, and you don’t even look at him, your voice still thick with sleep, and you clear your throat, Harry watching the effort it takes to swallow, and he knows you feel it too, the weight of the goodbye.

One more time…

He just needs you one last time. 

…

When Harry gently nudges you onto your back, you know what he wants, and so do you; your body moving with his movements as your eyes fill with tears. When Harry hums out a small sob, hovering over you, his face falls to your neck, and you reach between your bodies, feeling for the hard mass resting against your thigh.

You know what this is; you know this is goodbye.

What you didn’t tell Harry was that you knew, that you had figured it out, who he was—after you showered and slipped back into his t-shirt. 

The two of you stood in front of the mirror brushing your teeth, all laughs, flirty gestures. You stood there thinking this has never been so easy. You felt something wild stirring, the thought creeping into your head with the glimpse of his smile, and you thought maybe love, like maybe you could fall in love with a guy like him, like you could make it work. 

When Harry turned away to reset the bathroom, you stood there brushing your teeth, and you honed in on your reflection, thinking you hadn’t looked this happy in so long, so long that it overwhelmed you, and you stood there, your heart already longing. 

Already mourning this girl you got to be with him, trying to hold it together, trying to hold onto all your pieces because you wanted to give them all away, tell him how you felt, and maybe he would say the same. 

There wouldn’t have to be an ending, at least not now. 

That smile, that kindness could be yours, those lips, those hands could have you any time he wanted.

You were so caught up in this idea, and as your eyes lazily flit over yourself in the mirror. You half-heartedly glanced over the five faces reflected back at you, your eyes taking them in again, remembering you were going to ask Harry about the shirt. 

As you silently studied their faces. You found yourself focusing in on the boy with the playful smile, the boyish grin stretched across his face, familiar, his dimples giving him away and how had you not noticed before?

Then terror took way. 

It was like lightning striking your body, the realization like an earthquake ripping down your spine as your mind fought to keep up. The feeling was almost dizzying as your eyes flicked to Harry, now standing next to you, your toothbrush stopped mid-brush. 

You knew you couldn’t react.

That’s when you had to make the decision, and you knew in that split second that if you said a word, it would change everything. A sacrifice because this is what you wanted, this guy standing before you, just like this, how you’ve had him all night. 

So you bury it deep, a tunnel of grief already splitting inside you because it’s in those flashing moments you know he could never be yours, so you let him go and force the idea from your brain, letting him be exactly who he was, and will be until the time comes to say goodbye, because what he’s given has been so much bigger--bigger than all the fleeting moments--and even if it hurts, and it will hurt later, maybe it’s a gift you thought, and you ran with it.

So now, as he pushed inside you, the pain is sharp, and your body tenses, and you gasp in a breath and let it take way because there was already pain the moment you opened your eyes, the longing that never left your body. 

And as your mouths move together, the tears begin to fall from his closed eyes, your heart aching with it, and you close your eyes, getting lost in it, falling until there’s nothing else but this. 

It’s pain and pleasure all over again, and when he groans, you spread yourself wider, giving yourself completely as tears spill down the sides of your face, goodbye at the edge of each breath that pulls in and out of your mouths. 

Then it’s a whimper, a moan, a ragged hand dragging down his back as his strokes deepen, your nails digging as he rasps out a grunt of satisfaction.

Deeper and deeper, he pushes like he’s trying to merge your bodies together as one. The weight of him forcing against you until you don’t know where your skin begins and his ends--each stroke persistent and measured, like Harry is savoring the feel of you, memorizing it for later, your name falling off his tongue as if he’ll forget and maybe he will, but you don’t want to think of it.

And it’s right there. 

The look in his eyes, the words he’s holding back, but you’re close, and so is he, and the tears haven’t left, and you nod your head, Harry following suit—a shared sense of recognition. 

Harry lets you go first, and seconds later, he’s pulling out, and like every time before, leaving an empty void, but the satisfaction is in the pleasure you’re bringing him. 

Something tells you that very few get him like this, and this notion, this waking realization, is what you’ll walk away with. 

When your back is pressed against the door frame, readying yourself to leave, his arm perched above your head, and it’s all smiles, him putting your number in his phone. 

Maybe he’ll call, or maybe he won’t; it doesn’t matter because what he gave you was the gift of a lifetime—the gift that will keep giving every time you glimpse a picture of him in a magazine or a song comes on the radio years from now, you’ll know it, you’ll know the moments he sings of, the tiny details hidden in his words.

He sends you off with a parting kiss, your mouth moving until he pulls away, and you wrap your arms around his neck, your bodies coming together in one last deep embrace, and you both get lost in it, not sure who will pull away first.

That’s when a voice sounds behind you, Harry’s face lifting to see who it is. When he loosens his grip, you turn your head to see the dark-eyed boy with the pierced ears, and you look at Harry and push away, forcing yourself to leave.

The dark-eyed guy moves aside and gives you space. You move past him, walking a few paces down the hall, the elevator in view. You stop then, looking down at the shirt, pulling it away from your body to glimpse the faces, and when you turn back around, Harry is leaning against the door frame, hands pinned behind his back. 

That boyish grin is in full swing, “You finally figured it out, huh?” he laughs. You turn away and shake your head, a smile never leaving your face, and as the elevator door opens, you walk in and push the button for the lobby. Harry is still watching, and when the doors begin to close, you lean forward to stop them and yell:

“I figured it out last night—”

He brings his hands to his face, fainting embarrassed, and maybe he is. You can’t tell from this far away, but his smile never falters, and you take that as a good sign, “When?” he shouts back.

You step back into the elevator and shrug your shoulders, a cunning smile taking over as you shake your head. Harry pushes away from the doorway and starts walking toward you. The doors begin to close, and that’s when Harry starts to run. His tall figure becomes a sliver as the doors seal shut, Harry disappears, and you look down at your feet and wonder what the hell you just got yourself into.

A/N: This baby was long, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think of it here<-

Masterlist<-

[byfulcrums]

been rewatching rtte

toothless is called T multiple times, but the letter T doesn't exist in the alphabet of this world

i think hiccup was also called H???

hiccup went to the wedding of the man who tried to kill him and his family multiple times. no wonder he thought he could change drago's mind

snotlout is canonically a theater kid

"you're so small and cuddly" "please never say that again"

the twins are really smart, but they're also just stupid

hiccup straight up disappears when he's working on something

heather had a super noticeable crush on astrid

fishlegs got a love interest!! a plus size main character actually has a cool, badass love interest!

it was super hetnormative but it was cute

there was an island full of flying women who were implied to regularly commit cannibalism

hiccup taught all the riders how to fly with toothless, that's so sweet

everyone is a flat earther except for the twins

hiccup almost directly killed a lot of people

and killed a LOT more when destroying their ships

“scalding– cal..ding--" "toothle, plama bla!" was pretty much the funniest part of the entire series

dagur was bullied as a kid by a guy 8 years older than him who literally tattooed an imagine of him beating up little dagur in his arm??? What was that all about

actually we need to talk about how messed up everything about dagur is and about how the things that could've/did happen(ed) to him may be the reasons why he's Like That

just why was he imprisoned by the outcasts??? he didn't do anything to them directly

oof my brain is spiraling. "he loved you" "ig now we'll never know" what do you mean he didn't know if his dad loved him

there's a technically musical episode

tuffnut became hiccup's defense attorney and immediately got him the death sentence

hiccup regularly jumps off cliffs

he also jumped off a boat, with his arms tied and without toothless. just where did he think he was going

snotlout's annoying attitude is actually because spitelout pressures him too much and he feels like he has to be perfect for his dad :((

THE 'HICCUP'S EVIL MIRROR' VILLAIN THEME DONE RIGHT YESS!!!

viggo is the best httyd villain change my mind (you can't, swords at sundown, you may bring backup but i will win on my own)

skrill comeback skrill comeback SKRILL COMEBACK!!!!

"COMEEE TO DADDY"

what is a boar pit???

oh my god i had missed this series so much. it has no right to be this funny

this was my childhood. it has forever shaped the way i am

berserker heather the unhinged >>>

actually good disability rep! yay

hiccup complains about his peg leg pinching him

he straight up cannot walk without it and it is shown many times

"well, there are the benefits of a metal leg" after it got caught in a bear trap

funny moments, like snotlout trying to steal it to use it as a weapon

the jokes!! toothless laughing at the jokes!!! hiccup being so fucking done with the twins, who are always making the jokes!

there's an episode where everyone is so sleep deprived they actually start spiraling

astrid becomes a happy go lucky girl, hugs snotlout and tells him he's handsome

the fucking mood swings snotlout got were insane

the twins were straight up just hallucinating

"i sent them to wash their dragons, how could they mess that up?" cut to heather falling on her face with a bucket full of water in her hands

fishlegs becomes so paranoid, he's yelling at everyone all the time

"don't you know the trapper's trap can trap the trapper?? ...oh gods, i must be losing it, i'm quoting dagur"

YOOOO VALKA!!!! it's so nice to see her

hiccup tried to murder dagur to stop him from getting to toothless, which is scary bc it shows just how far he's willing to go for his bff, but also funny because hiccup. that was not going to work

oh the hiccstrid slowburn, how i have missed you

the twins's made up language

there was a beach episode turned murder mystery and a musical episode held at gun point

hiccup has a whole little speech that he periodically gives astrid to remind her that the twins serve a purpose

[yandere-3-sagau]

Creator Reader With No Powers Except Plot Armor

warning(s): death, mentions of suicide, violence

Reader doesn’t have any special abilities or golden blood so they are unable to prove that they are creator.

However, they also think Teyvat is a dream or they want to go back home so they accept any punishment from the acolytes.

But any time they are going to be executed, there is some divine intervention.

They are about to be burned at the stake but it rains.

They are schedule to be hanged but the rope breaks. They try again but every rope breaks.

They decide to shoot reader with arrows but miraculously every one of them misses. Even the one aimed right at their heart ended up being blocked by a bird flying by.

They are about to be beheaded but the machine breaks. So someone tries to do it manually but lightning strikes and the character loses balance and falls.

With how many times they try to kill reader but fail without them even lifting a finger they begin to believe that they’re truly the creator.

Reader is just going with the flow, not taking anything seriously. They thought they were lucky at first with how they’re able to avoid death.

Later on after they’ve accepted them as their true creator, reader begins to feel homesick and hate Teyvat. They’re swamped with all these responsibilities and expectations that it overwhelms them.

Reader then tries to discard their title as creator. They claim that they’re an imposter and apologizes for “fooling” them. However, no one believes them. They made the mistake of calling them as an imposter once, they’re not gonna make that mistake again.

When that doesn’t work, reader themself tries to die. But the divine interventions that they used to think were amazing ended up sending them into a pit of despair because every attempt they tries, they fail.

They jumps off a high structure/cliff, reader lands on a bunch of water slimes that completely cushion their fall.

Reader tries to stab themself in the heart but a flying rock knocks the knife out of their hand just as it’s about to connect.

Reader tries to ingest a poisonous flower but the effects are nullified when the super rare antidote plant falls off a tree and into their open mouth when they’re unconscious.

It’s like final destination but instead of crazy things happening leading to death, it’s crazy things happening deterring death.

[777heavengirl]

the one where it's easy

sirius black x reader ! - 1,429 words masterlist bags masterlist

Sirius thought it would be easy. Easy to live with you, see your face every day, wake up, and eat breakfast with you, spend almost every waking moment by your side. He had spent his entire life crying for company, permanent company in the place he'd call home. He had it with James, but he knew it was different with you from the second you moved in together. He'd thought it would be easy. But as he stepped into your shared apartment, boots muddy and soaked to the bone, cold droplets falling from his long strands of hair, he knew. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. 

He never thought that seeing you standing, in his t-shirt he was sure you didn't even notice it was his— your laundry mixed together more often than not, in his sweater— deemed the living room jumper, would make his heart clench the way it did. Sock-clad and bouncing to the music that poured from his record player, your back was turned towards him as you cooked.

"Was it bad out? Oh—" You finally turned to look at him. His dark jacket was wet like he had jumped in the ocean, and raindrops still stained his cheeks. You couldn't help but burst out laughing, wooden spoon in hand. "Godric, you look like a wet dog—you're going to catch something, come on—" you said, putting the spoon in the bowl. The half-mixed batter could wait a couple of minutes. You pulled your wand out as he stripped the layers, the bag of your missing ingredients floating out of his hands onto the counter and his jacket dropped to the floor with a heavy, wet thud, his boots coming off soon after. 

He was still speechless, trying to swallow the lump that formed in his throat as he continued to watch you cast spells of warmth and shoo him into his bathroom to shower. Sirius was never one for shyness. The feeling that lurked in the pit of his tummy was one he did not know well, but living with you had forced him to get to know it. He felt shy around you, conscious of the way you fawned over him, of when you baked for the two of you, overly conscious when he baked something. Always wondering what you were thinking- why did you look at him that way? Warmth in your eyes, a small playful smile on your lips like you were biting your tongue from poking fun at him. He felt awfully tender, gross, and cloying in the way that he looked back at you. He wondered if you could tell he’d give you the whole world if you asked for it.

He had largely felt like he had had a half-baked coming of age. Too rushed, innocence lost too fast. Between cruciatus curses and running away. He could always feel himself tripping over the truth of his situation. Harrowing and traumatizing. But living with you had been different, soft, and generous. A home he didn't know could exist. 

He stared at his, still, unpacked trunk as he exited the shower. He didn't know how to unpack. He said he’d do it weeks ago and yet, it remained untouched. Sirius had been living between Hogwarts, excruciating moments at Grimmauld Place, and Potter Manor during the majority of his teens. So now, at 20, he did not know how to make his house a home. Sure the common areas with you were homey. He had made sure of that, he wanted to give you a home. A place to be comfortable and happy. A safe place to come back to every day. But his room, a place you never entered, a place that he himself didn't particularly love being in, stayed cold and stripped. 

He was in your room all the time, sometimes reading in your bed together, splayed over each other a mess of limbs and pillows. He’d burst in the mornings when you struggled to get out of bed, jumping in your bed until you stirred away and shooed him off so you could get ready. Sometimes he’d fall asleep there with you, half off the bed and often waking up sweaty and sticky in the middle of the night, his heart beating in his ears and his fingers reaching for yours unconsciously. 

On the worst nights, when he could hear his mother’s viscous drawl in the back of his mind and his muscles tensed with the ghost of pain, he’d let himself succumb to the urge to curl around you. His fingers intertwined with yours, his head buried between your torso and the bed, and every time— every single time he did this— you’d pull him close in your sleep. 

But you never went into his. You never lay with him on his dark sheets, you don't knock or open his door. You knock from your own room, only a wall between you, or call out from some corner of your small apartment and he goes wherever you call. Sirius tries to dissolve the knot that forms at his throat when he thinks of the fact that your lack of presence in his room probably meant you didn't feel the same, you didn't have his need to seek the other out, to be with him every minute of every day. 

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye as he walked out of his room, his wet hair now washed and combed back. The tips of his black hair are still dripping onto his shoulders, and he smells like the perfume you got him last Christmas, wood sage, and sea salt. He always asks you if you can smell the lemon basil note, you never know what he’s talking about. But you hope that it's what you smell when he passes behind you, his touch gentle as his hand touches briefly on the small on your back to grab the chocolate chips and then proceeds to pour the whole bag into your batter. You don’t complain.

You hate the glimpse you catch of his room when you glance towards his open door, the coldness of the room taunting you— everything still barren and packed. Like he might leave any minute like he couldn’t even bother to take his belongings out. 

“Help me to pour it into the mold?” your voice was soft and quiet, Sirius’s most mellow vinyl playing in the background. Sirius nodded and took the bowl from your hands, you couldn't help but watch him as he did so. 

Scary, carefree, ever so reckless Sirius Black, combed and bathed and warm, baking brownies and taking a picture of them through the window of the oven door. With his checkered pajama bottoms and the plain white cotton shirt that rode up to reveal slivers of his torso when he moved his arms. Soft and pliable as he puts the film camera down, turning towards you to pull you into his arms. He hummed as he swayed the both of you, you never argued. You didn’t complain about how the wetness of his hair dripped onto you, or how he stepped on your foot purposefully, to get a rise out of you, a small chuckle leaving his lips as you stepped on him in retaliation.

No, you didn't complain, not about the pack of cigarettes he had left on your kitchen island even though you hate it when he smokes, or the jacket that soaked the floor of your entrance and no doubt had another pack of cigarettes soaked and mushy. You ignored the thoughts of him leaving and the way your stomach stirred thinking about what it could mean that he kissed the top of your head as you danced. Or when he kissed your cheek, one hand cupping the other side of your face, before leaving your arms to check on the oven. You certainly did not think of his unpacked bags, the three missed calls you had from your father, or the fact that you were waiting to hear back from a job interview.

You see a flash out of the corner of your eye and turn to see Sirius. Another flash goes off, as an unapologetic smile creeps up his lips. He always likes catching you off guard when he takes pictures. Nothing else matters right now, life is easy like this.

You try to not think of anything at all, anything but him and the brownies, and the shitty soap opera you’d watch while curled up together on the couch.

[007reid]

hi aine! i love how you write spencer sooo much so i have a short request

i would looove sub/virgin spence where he’s been touch starved so he’s really sensitive and whiny but reader praises him and guides him through it

-🌹

hi rose 🌹 for one of my favorite asks ive ever gotten, i did a horrible job on this one so im so sorry ml 💔and sorry for the wait too...hope this is somewhat worth it😭enjoooyy!!

virgin. spencer reid

pairing: sub virgin!spencer reid x experienced fem!reader. 1k

summary: exactly what the req says

warnings: whining, loss of virginity, riding, creampie, nun too extravagant. yu like the picture?😏😏

"y/n...y/n!" spencer's crying, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes but he's moaning, humming his whines into your neck.

"easy, baby boy," you croon, slipping out of him and slowly lowering yourself on his cock again. spencer's pawing at you desperately, like he's never felt such a thing before.

it's because he hasn't. it’s exciting, being in a relationship with spencer; it’s exciting touching him and seeing him jump or freeze and then melt into your touch. he’s pristine, like a shiny trophy, untouched—touch starved and so unfamiliar to the idea of physical touch or intimacy.

"'s too much," he whimpers pathetically, voice halfway stuck in his throat. "can't, can't--"

"relax, spence," you murmur, pushing back the pieces of hair, damp with sweat from his face. spencer's eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed like he's in pain or he's deep thought. you're not to sure which one. your hips continue snapping into his. "look at me baby." it takes a while, but spencer slowly peels his eyes open. they're glossy and his eyelashes are wet, and you're listening out for the word from him to stop but it never comes.

"y/n--" he gasps, right as your pussy clenches tightly around him. his eyes close again. spencer's breathing heavily, little hng, hng, hng's falling out his puffy lips. the sloppy sound of skin slapping against skin and spencer's whines and your quiet moans and the smell of sex clouds the room.

"you're okay," you reassure him, voice shaky trying to soothe spencer's nerves while trying to soothe your own. spencer's big and he practically splits you in half, the tip hitting the little button inside you that makes you want to scream without any maneuvering. he's not even trying, propped up against the bedpost as you ride him, hands pliant at your hips, the little slick of your wetness every time you lift yourself from him absolutely filthy. you lift his chin and he falls forward, planting a miss-aimed kiss at your jaw.

"you feel so good," he bambles. "so warm. i love you. feels so good but so much y/n, i--" he moans, cock pulsating inside you. his thumb flicks at your perky nipples.

"'m so full of you," you say, burying your face in his hair and wrapping your arms around him, trying to get as close as possible. "fuck. make me feel so good. my best boy,"

"best boy," spencer repeats eagerly with a soft little hitch of his voice. the tears resume. "y/n i can't it hurts, stomach hurts y/n please--"

you immediately know what he meant, and fasten your pace, hands on the base of his cock to make sure he won't slip out of you. spencer slides into you easily, your pussy stretched and wet for him and his fingers dig deep into both sides of your waist. spencer's moans cease and his hips starts bucking up to you, arms wrapping around your torso and he wouldn't stop talking. "gonna, think im gonna cum, yn please dont stop it feels so good, fuck!"

"cum in me," you coo, feeling that familiar buzz at the pit of your stomach too. "you got it. cum in me spence, so good for me, such a good boy,"

spencer's sobbing as he cums, warmness blooming at your core as he unloads his cum inside you. you follow suit, pressing at the sensitive nerves bundles at your clit, thighs shaking from the weight of your orgasm. spencer's shaking too, tears shiny on his rosy cheeks and you ride the both of you off your orgasms, the sweat on your skin cooling.

spencer's cum leaks outside the puffy walls of your pussy and down your ass when you pull off of him, pressing yourself at spencer's side and curling your body towards him. his chest is rising and his lips are parted. you watch your boy carefully, how his eyelids starts drooping as his breathing mellowed out. you should've saw it coming that spencer reid is the kind of man to get sleepy after sex.

but you've known him for long enough to know that spencer's mind never stops running, not when he's sleepy, not when he's asleep, not ever. "penny for your thoughts?"

he turn to you, smile debauched and eyes like marbles. he throws the sheets over the both of you and find your hand underneath the blanket, bringing it to his lips. "'m so grateful for you yn," he whispers like he's telling a secret. you strain your ear to listen. "so grateful. luckiest man alive. i love you. love you," spencer takes a long blink, and you know he's drifting off. you smile widely, so endeared. he weaves your fingers together. "i'll make it up to you. swear. after this. i swear."

spencer never speaks in choppy sentences, never speaks unless he's got the entire sentence planned out in his head and now he's babbling on like someone whose speech he would correct. amused, you reach out, smoothing down his hair with gentle fingers. "sleep, spencer," you say affectionately. he never needs to be told twice either, apparently, because his eyes flutter shut and he's out like a light, but fingers still tightly intertwined in yours underneath your blanket.

you'll just have to wash the sheets tomorrow.

[tinygrove]

Decent Man Pt.1

The second part

Pairing: Cregan Stark/fem!reader

Author's Note: I've decided to split this into 2 parts just to give myself a chance to work on the ending but I was eager to get something written. This is the first fanfiction I've wrote, or at least posted on this account so I hope it's not too bad.

Summary: You're newly wed to Lord Stark after having only been courted for barely a month. Although the anxieties of having to perform as a 'royal' wife start to eat at you, Cregan proves to be a decent husband.

You must have done it, how else would you be alone in his chambers. Blocking out all the noise and going through the motions would only get you so far. You couldn’t even remember the vows. Lord Stark had arranged for there to be no bedding ceremony, perhaps an act of mercy. You’ve heard some lords complain they simply want their lady wives all to themselves, untouched and unspoiled. You were neither. You weren’t sure if your Lord husband was either. 

You hadn’t learned much about him during your courting, not that it lasted long. Your father practically jumped at the opportunity for a stronger alliance to the most powerful house in the North. It must have appeased Lord Stark as well, seeing how quickly he’d agreed to the marriage, it had barely taken place a fortnight after you’d met. Now though, you were in his room, none to accompany you but your ladies in waiting. A few had come with you from your own keep, or rather your fathers. And one or two had been appointed to you since coming to Winterfell to stay. You could hardly form the words to tell them you could undress yourself. Maybe it was the cloak weighing you down, making it harder to breath the harsh winter air. You let it slip off your shoulders and yet you still feel heavy, a weight in your chest and a hard lump in your throat. 

Hearing the thick wooden door swing open and shut after heavy footfalls and quick scurrying of feet made the pit in your stomach sink even lower. “Are you well?” He asked, definitely due to your silent stewing. The whole night you’ve been lost in your own thoughts. 

“Yes, I am well, thank you.” You force a courteous smile to you face, although more brief and sour than you’d intended. You figure you’ll have to do a lot more of that in the coming years. “You do not look well.” Your not sure he says so in a demeaning way, more so that he’s seen through your flimsy facade. Or maybe he’s focused on the way your hands desperately seek purchase on your gown as your eyes start to brim with tears. You can’t control it when they start to spill. 

“There is no need for us to,” He gestures between you with a sigh, trying to supplement actions for words. “consummate the marriage tonight, if you do not wish it.” He tries to search your eyes for any sort of answer but you avoid his gaze. “Did you hear-” 

“Let’s just get it over with.” You say, voice low and wavering with all it’s strength to keep it from cracking. Another stray tear falls down your cheek as you reach behind yourself for the laces of your gown but two large hands hold your arms still. 

“You truly think so little of me? That I would– Like I said, there is no need to consummate the marriage tonight.” He brings your arms out from behind your back, holding your chilled hands in his. His fingers and palms are calloused, yet his grip gentle. “I barely had a chance to court you before we wed, perhaps we might come to know each other before; that.” Your eyes flicker down to where his hands encompass yours, and he quickly recedes after catching on but strangely, you find yourself missing his warmth. 

As your eyes find his once more he continues. “I shall have a few ladies in your service prepare a chamber for you. I know you’ve not had space for your things but I assure you they’ve been taken care of. In the mean time though you’ll need to take your rest here.” He turns to make for the door and surprisingly a part of you longs for him to stay. The brief bit of kindness he’s shown to you is more than you can say for those that attended your wedding. Your father truly had not exaggerated the icy attitude of those in the North. Lord Stark however, to see his wintry exterior slowly melt away has made it almost impossible to detest him. “I will see you on the morrow, my lady.” He opens the door and a cold breeze comes over you, yet you don’t shiver, the cold only emboldens you. “Thank you, Lord Stark, for your kindness.” your voice is somewhat steady now, no longer fighting an imminent sob. He nods at your words, “Cregan will do just fine, my lady.” You’re alone now and the chill is gone. All the warmth radiating from the hearth is slowly becoming too much to bear even as it smolders to embers. The absence of your Lord husband leaves you feeling alone now, more than you’ve ever been.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Hi! For the bingo: Daemon Targaryen & courting?

Mirror (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Warnings: Targaryen reader. Mature situations. Mature language. A bit of angst, incest, and innocence kink.

Summary: Courting. Daemon’s version.

A/N: Everyone who writes Daemon fics has tackled this trope. I missed oneshots so bad.

There was little King Viserys wouldn’t do for his lovely daughters. During your childhood, there were two of everything. Two Septas, two dolls, two play daggers. For as long as you have been alive, there have been efforts made to make things fair.

No doubt, it was the legacy of your mother. Your father was nice enough, but you doubted he had the foresight to try to avoid sibling rivalry. Queen Aemma’s influence had been greatly missed after her passing.

It had been then when the problems between you and Rhaenyra had started. Your relationship had gotten even more rocky when she was named heir. The situation had turned so bad, even your father had noticed. And just as if it were one of his models, he had demanded perfect symmetry in all aspects.

The same rooms. Same number of servants. Same number of dresses you were allowed to own. An even split of your mother’s jewels.

Unfortunately, there were things not even King Viserys could fix. This was one of them, you thought, as you sat on one of the rails of the dragon pit.

Daemon and Rhaenyra race on their dragons in the open sky right above you. They shriek in laughter and shout things in High Valyrian. You are not sure which you resent more. Rhaenyra, for dragging you along with the promise of tending to Syrax or Daemon for interrupting your time with your sister.

It seemed as if all you did was fight now. The occasion where you did not was rare, and so, intrusion on it was not welcome. But at the same time, you can’t help but wonder if Rhaenyra is playing a cruel trick on you, dragging you here so you can see what you are missing.

Despite your best attempts at keeping yourself calm, you can’t help but feel rage bubble up in your throat. Rage, and a deep sense of failure. You had heard even Laena Velaryon, younger than you, had managed to claim a dragon. Was this why your father had chosen Rhaenyra to be heir and not you?

It felt cruel, and hurtful. Not only did your uncle always pay more attention to Rhaenyra, but now you had to watch them do things you couldn’t do. Go where you couldn’t follow, and made you watch them go.

They dismount a few feet away from you. With them, comes all the hassle and fretting of the dragon keepers. Caraxes always takes a long time to settle after going flying, and so, you relax in your seat. You hope enough time might go by, they forget about your existence and you can slip out unnoticed. It would save you the embarrassment of having to hear them flirt and tell you everything as if you were a child.

No luck for you today, though. You smell it before you see it. Sweat, leather and the unmistakable stink of dragon. Your nose scrunches up, and you jump off the railing just in time to avoid your uncle’s ruffling of your hair.

Rhaenyra snickers a little. Despite the dragon ride, she looks as royal and regal as ever. It’s a feat you admire and despise greatly.

“Trying to sneak up on me?” You frown. You don’t need any further embarrassing. Being startled and falling into the mud would have been just the cherry on top.

Daemon ignores you, tugging on your braid.

“No dragon yet?”

“No.” Your answer it’s harsh, and perhaps a bit rude, but this feels as if they are targedly mocking you. Daemon raises his eyebrows, looking on the edge of apologizing, if such a thing it’s even possible for him. Rhaenyra, more used to your moods, just rolls her eyes.

“Let her be, Kepa.” She whispers, as if you are not there. “She is always like this.”

“Pouty?” Daemon tilts your chin up with two fingers. You jerk your head away, glaring daggers at him.

“Bitter.” Rhaenyra speaks, and you glare at her instead. You do not understand why she is so mean, lately. Her being named heir has not done anything good for your relationship, but you had tried your best to play nice. She didn’t seem to care.

“I can hear both of you.” You complain, but they just laugh. Angrily, you stomp off.

You feel too jittery to go back to your chambers. It would make you more angry, if you were to go inside the castle so soon. It’s too pleasant of a day to be spent cooped up at the Red Keep. Too preoccupied with your thoughts, you don’t notice someone is following you.

Your feet lead you to the training yard. It makes sense, in a way. This is where you have been coming the past few months when the castle got too small to house both you and Rhaenyra.

Early in the morning as it is, the yard is empty. Save for your sworn shield, of course. While Rhaenyra had gotten Ser Criston Cole, handsome and dornish, you had gotten Ser Harwin Strong. Riverlander, just as handsome and with a clear infatuation with your sister.

But kind. Unbearably so.

“I figured your meeting with the Princess would not go as planned.” He explains, as he helps you out of your cloak and jewelry. Ser Harwin helps you put on some protective gear before handing you a wooden sword.

He has been teaching you swordplay for the past few months. Not so much for self-defense, but as a way to curb your more violent impulses. When you feel like you might throttle Rhaenyra or perhaps smother her with a pillow, you come to him.

It's good. You have not learned a lot, but there is something utterly satisfying about hitting someone as hard as you can. With wooden swords and against Ser Harwin, you know there is no real possibility of hurting him. He is much taller and stronger than you.

There is also something satisfying about blocking his blows, too. In the smacking sound, in the effort it takes. You understand why men enjoy battle so much, finally. When you walk away, you are always sore and bruised, but your mind is finally quiet.

“I have just resigned myself to an arranged marriage.” You say to Ser Harwin, as you block his sword with great effort. “All the men in the court are panting after her, it’s no use.”

And you do think you are on the right, this time. Too often, you feel overshadowed by her, and seeing your uncle and Ser Harwin on the same day just confirms it. You have no chance at finding true love, not when every man here only has eyes for her.

You didn’t necessarily were a romantic person, but a bit of attention would be nice. Feeling desired and admired in the way Rhaenyra was. They even called her the Realm’s delight, for Gods’s sake.

“Are they after her? Or her tittle?” Ser Harwin tries to disarm you. You hit harder, a low blow aimed to his ribs that he avoids with little effort.

“You tell me.” You pant, a little out of breath. It was something you frequently wondered yourself, but never about him. Ser Harwin clearly wasn’t hoping to be King. What he wanted was something much more carnal. You had seen the way his eyes trailed Rhaenyra’s figure when they were together in a room. He appreciated her personality, perhaps, but he clearly wanted to bed her.

You loved teasing him about it. For such a big man, he could sure get sheepish.

“Fair.” Ser Harwin chuckled, raising his wooden sword again. You liked that he was very good-humored. He didn't mind your teasing. “But think of the bright side. If someone is after you, they are really after you.”

You frowned. He had a point, you supposed. If a man were about to pursue you, it might be because you are a Targaryen, or because of your valyrian looks. But never because of the Iron Throne. With baby Aegon existence, you are certain that whatever your place in the succession line is, plenty of people would have to die for you to even have a weak claim to it.

“Wise words for one so young.” The voice startles both of you. As if you were children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you freeze. Ser Harwin even drops his wooden sword. “You should heed your knight, niece.”

“Uncle.” You answer, casually. You know Daemon. If he senses weakness, he is going to pounce. While Ser Harwin has given away already that you are not exactly doing something your father approves off, you are not going to have your Uncle thinking he has something to blackmail you with.

Daemon ignores you, choosing to attack the weak link. He tuts at Harwin.

“Poor form. And a poor trainer. Leave us.”

Harwin hesitates. He is not supposed to leave you alone and unprotected. Much less, with your uncle. Daemon it’s not known for his trustworthiness.

“With all due respect, Prince Daemon, I am not allowed…”

“Leave us, boy.” Daemon’s tone turns harsher. Channeling all the authority he has as a Prince. Now, your sworn shield can’t refuse. It’s an order, not a suggestion. But Harwin remains where he is, looking to you for approval.

Your uncle’s eyes flash dangerously at the defiance. You look at Harwin and nod. He leaves.

You twirl your wooden sword. Daemon smirks.

“Commendable.” He gives a slow clap. “Very loyal guard dog, you have there.”

“You could learn a thing or two.” You answer, vicious. The human equivalent of an animal biting down and refusing to release its jaws. By the brief look of hurt on his face, you have touched a nerve.

But soon, his expression smooths down into a vicious little smile, to match yours.

“So this is where you have been disappearing to.”

“So?” You ask, all nonchalance.

“Feisty.” Your uncle kicks Harwin’s discarded wooden sword away and unsheathes his. Whatever this is, it’s long overdone, you realize. You are bouncing with pent-up anger and frustration.

Daemon strikes at you, hard. The flat side of his sword hits your ribs. It hurts even with the protections Harwin makes you wear, a dull sting on your torso.

“If this was a real fight, you would be dead.” His tone is smug. You cannot take it, and so, bang your wooden sword against his hip.

“And you would be unable to walk.”

Your uncle laughs, coldly. He is angry too, you realize. In that messy way he gets, sometimes. Teeth bared in a cocky grin, still high on the thrill of riding Caraxes and chasing Rhaenyra.

Despite your best attempts, you are no match for him. He is a seasoned warrior. He has been at war for the last couple of years. No amount of anger can match his technique. Soon, he has you disarmed and cornered, Dark Sister at your throat.

“Not bad. I might even bruise.” His tone drips condescension, but there is something odd going on in his face. His pupils are blown, his chest is heaving, and there is no way it’s with exertion. While you were panting and begging for a respite, Daemon hadn’t even worked up a sweat. “You need a real sword.”

“Perhaps. But then Rhaenyra gets one, and this is only mine.” It’s more honest than you would like, but you are still trying to decipherate what exactly he is feeling. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy. You feel confused.

“Is that why you want a husband? To have someone only yours?” Daemon suddenly is much closer, twirling the end of your braid between his fingers.

You scoff, and push him away.

“That’s none of your concern.”

You storm inside the Red Keep, scowling. Finally, it seemed, Daemon and Rhaenyra had managed to run you off the castle’s grounds.

The encounter is barely given a second thought. You decide to keep yourself busy for the rest of Daemon’s visit to King’s Landing. Knowing him, he is due to get exiled soon. There is no point in worrying about it.

You fill up your days with activities, be it harassing some tutors, your Septa, or even visiting orphaned children in King’s Landing. That activity is one you and Ser Harwin particularly enjoy. It fills you with joy when you get to run around and play in the mud with your stern guard having no choice but to tag along. You have even caught him smiling when little girls ask to braid his hair.

Things are surprisingly calm. You would have expected your uncle to be involved in a scandal by now. Yet, there are no rumors of him bedding three whores in one sitting, nor there is an irate Otto Hightower asking your father to send him away.

Until one night, you find a jeweled sword resting on your bed. It’s small, but you can tell from the sharpness of the blade that it is made from Valyrian steel. You start training with it the next day, getting used to its weight. If Ser Harwin thinks anything of your sudden interest in doing more than hitting him, he doesn’t show it.

You are not surprised to find your Uncle waiting for you after your morning practice. At first glance, the courtyard is as empty as when you began your training. Despite it, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching.

Just as you are entering the Red Keep, sweaty and ready for a bath, Daemon steps out from the shadows.

“You look so grown up in riding attire.” He says, from beneath some trees. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Almost didn’t recognize you, either. No scandal in nearly a month?” You start to loosen your braid, accelerating the process of getting into your bath as you walk. There is nothing you want more than to just soak in hot water and let the warmth wash away your soreness. “You must be getting old.”

“Youthfulness is in the spirit.” Daemons hurries to reach you, falling into step right beside you. You resist the urge to walk faster if only to see him struggle. Power play. Always. Push, and pull, and don’t let anyone else get the upper hand.

“Ah, that makes sense.” You slow down your steps because while you enjoy angering your uncle, you would rather not anger him too much. “You have the spirit of a child.”

“I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.” Daemon ruffles your hair, uncaring that’s matted in sweat. You make a face. “Did you like your gift?”

“Depends.” You give him a feral little grin. Your uncle looks at you, as if deciding whether he wants to bite or not. Knowing him as you do, you know he can’t stand the intrigue.

“On what?”

“How many of Rhaenyra’s necklaces you had to melt to get the sword.”

“That blade is worth at least five of her necklaces.” Daemon boasts. You give him an unimpressed look.

“Huh. Then I like it.”

“Not love it?”

“It wasn’t ten.” And with a cheeky grin, you are off towards your chambers.

You don’t see Daemon for a few days. You hear him, unfortunately. He is everywhere at once, yet never wherever you are. You know of him in the shape of rumors and hearsay.

When you go fetch yourself a tea tray in the kitchen, your uncle is in the middle of the servants. “I heard last night he was with four whores!” As you ask a maid about your sister’s whereabouts, he is her chosen companion. “Princess Rhaenyra went out to race your uncle, Princess.” And of course, when your father complains, Daemon is in the midst of it. “He insulted Otto and then walked out of the council meeting.”

Despite your wishes, your uncle starts to occupy more of your mind’s space than you would like. You keep wondering what he is up to, each rumor more outrageous than the last. You cannot help but wonder if it’s you who was prompted him to wreak such havoc. The idea of having such power over him, that an offhanded comment can cause such a reaction, makes something tingle in your stomach.

You find him next in the gardens. Alicent and Rhaenyra are fighting again, a nasty thing that soon turns into a screaming match. That's a dynamic you have stayed out of, since you had memory. While Alicent and Rhaenyra were friends, you never felt anything towards Alicent besides a slight sympathy. She seemed nice enough, but she was not your friend.

Rhaenyra and you loved in the same way, you see. Possessive, harsh. As Princesses, you never learned to share. You wanted your person to be only yours. Alicent was Rhenyra’s, and so, you stepped aside.

When she married your father, you weren’t exactly pleased. But you had the emotional detachment Rhenyra lacked, being too close to the situation. In time, you had come to understand that it wasn’t like she had a choice, either.

So, it wasn’t like you were going to break with tradition now. To avoid their screams, you had decided to pace the gardens. Daemon seemed to have the same idea because you find him sitting on a bench with a book in his hands.

“Came to join me?” He asks, voice smooth like honey.

“Rather to escape the screeching.” You sit by his side, curiously peering at the book he holds.

“A Cautionary Tale For Young Girls.” Daemon’s smirk is the only thing that gives him away, that, and the fact that the book is written in High Valyrian. “Most illuminating read. You should try it.”

You laugh, despite yourself. His lips twitch into a more genuine smile, less full of smugness and bravado.

“I was getting lonely.” You say, softly. The admission surprises even you. “You are with Rhaenyra all the time.”

Don’t go where I can’t follow, you wish to say. Don’t take her from me. My other half. But you don’t speak the words aloud, from fear of him repeating your confession. You don’t want to beg Rhaenyra for affection, not when you have been competing with her all your life.

Daemon makes a face, as if pained of what he will say next. He seems wary of hurting you. You wonder if that means he cares for you, in his own twisted way. It’s not often he worries about what others think.

“She has a dragon.” No matter how gentle the tone, it hurts anyway.

“I miss her. Not you.” But it’s a lie. You know it’s a bad pattern, and you shouldn’t miss him, but you are so used to competing for affection that Daemon has become both your rival and the one you crave. The weeks without him have been lonely and taxing. No matter if it was you who pushed him away and didn’t care to reach out after.

“I remember you two were close.” Something must change in your face because your uncle reaches toward you, gently squeezing your arm.

“We used to be. She is just… So angry, all the time. And has all these new people. Admires, prospects…” You feel like a fool. There is a deep sense of unfulfillment and being wronged yet at the same time, you know you are being unreasonable. This was always going to happen. You can’t share the Iron Throne, and she has always been your father’s favorite. Rhaenyra was always going to be the heir.

“Which one am I?”

You shrug.

“It's not like I care.” But you do. You do care, despite your best sense. Because you want to be his favorite. You have always wanted to be someone’s favorite, but Daemon has a special brand of devotion for those he cares about. You wish you could be counted on that list, lately. By the smile on his face, Daemon can probably tell. “And it's not like before she didn't have things that were only hers.”

"I thought you shared everything.” Your uncle tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, closing your eyes.

“She has Alicent. Had. Still does.” You know when the time comes, Alicent will be there for Rhaenyra. They are tied together by destiny in ways Rhaenyra and you are not.

“The curse of the younger brother.” With your eyes still closed, his hand gently brushing your hair back, the words do not feel as if they are being spoken aloud. The gardens around you feel muffled, distant. Perhaps it’s the soothing touch, or the deep pang of sadness in your chest, but you do not understand what Daemon means.

“I beg your pardon?” You open your eyes, giving him a confused expression. Not only is he muttering nonsense, your uncle is much closer to you than he was before. Daemon’s forehead is nearly pressed into yours, his thumb now gently rubbing across your jawline.

“Viserys and Rhaenyra are the same.” He explains, tracing your cheekbone next. As if he is keen to learn your face from touch alone, carve it on his mind. It makes you smile slightly. The pain from mourning your innocence is very much still there, but it doesn’t feel like it’s tearing you apart. “Just as you and I are the same.”

“I…” You are not sure of what to answer. Naturally, it makes sense. You can feel it in your bones, but you can’t quite articulate the thought.

Daemon’s thumb presses against your lips in a downward motion, closing them.

“We could fly off tonight. Go to the Free cities, marry. No one would care.” His tone is fervent, urgent. Pleading with you. You keep quiet, and so does he. The silence stretches between the two of you. Your mind races.

Just as your lips flutter behind his thumb to answer the proposal, your uncle speaks again.

“We are free, you and I. But the Iron Throne chains them.”

It’s then you realize it was not a proposition, but rather an explanation of the thoughts you were unable to articulate. And perhaps it’s the sting of rejection or the deep sadness that has taken root on you since the death of your mother, but you cannot keep the words in. They come flowing, tumbling, rushing out of your mouth.

“I want to be a girl forever.” You say to him, starting to tear up. “I am not ready to be a woman.”

You are scared, you realize. No longer are you a girl playing to be a woman, dressing up in your mother’s jewels and dresses. Five years down the line, you will be married. Ten, it will be you who is a mother.

Your uncle gathers you into his arms, painfully soft. You would have never believed Daemon capable of such a tender touch.

“You can’t be innocent forever.”

“Everything is so complicated now. I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

You whisper against his neck. It’s a doomed wish. You know already it’s too late for it. No longer are you an innocent, no longer anything is the same. It will never be.

“Not all changes are bad. There can be pleasure in losing one’s innocence.” Daemon kisses your temple. “And I intend to show it to you.”

That night, the two of you sneak out of the Red Keep.

“I wanted to give you something only yours.” Your uncle says, as he leads you down the Street of Silk. Both of you are wearing rough cloaks, for discretion. You cling to his arm, afraid of getting lost in between the strange sights and smells.

There is so much to see and so much to hear. People laughing in the streets, singing, drunkards and patrons from the brothels mixing. While you are familiar with the streets of King’s Landing, you have never seen them at night. It’s both frightening and exhilarating, watching the city come to life in ways new to you.

There are no children in sight, only adults. The message that Daemon hoped to convey by bringing you here is loud and clear. You are no longer a girl, you are a woman. And so, instead of sleeping soundly in your bed as you have done all your childhood, you get to enjoy the wonders of the night.

The crowd gets even more rowdy as you pass the bigger pleasure houses and walk towards the ones that are at the end of the street. Secluded as they are, they spark your curiosity.

“Where are we going?” You ask your uncle, tugging at his arm. “Inside one of those? Why?”

“They cater to tastes that the rest do not.” Daemon comes to a stop in front of one, and takes off his hood. The woman at the doors takes one look at his hair and quickly ushers you both inside a room.

The room is bare except for a couple of chairs and a bed. You examine everything closely, noting the inferior quality of the furniture. These are not the kinds of chairs you are used to, at the Red Keep. After a while, and only when you notice no one else is hiding inside, you lower your hood. Being overly cautious never hurt anyone, after all.

“What tastes?” You squeeze Daemon’s hand. He gives you a puzzled look. “You said they cater to tastes…”

“You will see.” You are saved from the wait to know what he means by the door opening. Two servants, dressed in little clothing, step inside. Men, near your age. They are completely unique, yet similar. You get the feeling they are not simple servants, even though they serve you and Daemon goblets of wine.

You stare. You do not understand why they are not leaving.

Your uncle steps behind you, to whisper in your ear. His arms circle around your waist.

“Look at them.” He presses a chaste kiss just behind your ear. “Really look.”

So you do. One of the men is tall and strong. Almost wide. All bulging muscles. He has dark hair and light colored eyes. The other man is slightly slender, yet strong either way. He has lighter hair and a much sweeter face. They are both handsome, yet you do not understand what game Daemon could be playing.

“You wanted something only yours.” He mutters, kissing the crown of your head. He perches his chin on top of it. “Most girls, they don’t get to choose whom they lose their innocence to.”

It dawns on you then. He wants you to choose one of the men to… Well. It’s a nice thing to do, but so undeniably Daemon it hurts.

Feeling mischievous, you turn around in his grip.

“And I can choose any of the men in this room?” You smirk. Your uncle’s brows draw together, in disbelief.

“That’s the point, yes.” Daemon speaks slowly, as if explaining to someone particularly daft. Or innocent. “I’ll pay for it, don’t worry.”

“Good.” You smirk, and kiss him. You feel him smirk right back against your mouth.

[thegaysinmyhead]

Dead on Main Yandere PT 1 'Obsession'

(First part will now be labeled a prologue)

Jason had no idea what to do with the guy he saved from that warehouse-made lab. 

The white haired man was currently sprayed across the ratty couch of Jason's safe house as their chest rose and fell. The green blood had stopped falling the night before, and they hadn't even made it to the location before the skin was scabbing over. Jason watched the man sleep through the night (not in a creepy way) in shocked awe as the skin healed quickly. It was like watching a time-lapse at max speed, the skin knitting itself together and forcing Jason to remove his quickly-done stitches merely a few hours after he put them in.

Jason wondered if this man was a meta, but he knew that was wrong. No meta had ever activated the Pit, no meta especially ever talked to it. Because that’s what happened–this sleeping beauty spoke without words to him and the Pit.

The crime lord rubbed a hand down his face with a sigh, domino still placed firmly over his eyes but the rest of his face now clear. The white tuft of his hair flowed out between his still-clawed fingers, and the tips caught painfully onto knots. He had been trying to will away the sharp edges since he stumbled through the door, but his fingertips stayed stubbornly pointed. Jason let out a sigh as he turned his eyes to the unconscious angel on his couch.

Whoever this man was…he was like him. There was a warmth where the Pit sat that was calling to the freckled skin and warm green eyes. The green was like a breath caught in his throat, a chill going down his spine and forcing him to shiver. A rumble echoed from his chest, a cry to the being nearby who felt just as him. Dead on dead, like and like.

The white-haired man stirred with a groan, and Jason immediately shot up to his side.

RAGE-CONCERN-WORRY

The angel blinked like he was trying to get spots out of his eyes.

“Ancients–I feel like I got shot and run over by Skulker…” The man huffed as he slowly pulled himself to sit up, a hand clenching his head as he darted his pupils around. Jason squinted his eyes against the faint green glow now emanating from the waking meta(?).

“Didn't get shot, but you were pretty fucked up when I found you,” 

The man jumped as Jason came into view, green eyes piercing into his own blue. There was a tingle underneath his skin that was more pleasant than it wasn't, and the vigilante breathed out a sigh. The Pit churned in his chest.

“You a meta? It'd explain the floating and the green light show you're putting off,”

The man was now indeed floating, and he looked down as if he didn't even realize he was doing it. He slowly deposited himself back on the couch while eyeing Jason wearily, the green around him slowly dampening. It felt like a loss somehow. Like suddenly being pulled from a comfy blanket into the freezing cold. Jason shivered slightly, missing the warmth.

“...I'm not a meta,” The man said sheepishly, arms crossing underneath his pits as he shifted away from Jason. Shit, if this guy isn't a meta, what is he? Why were the Pits screaming down to his bones for this (unreasonably attractive) guy?

Green eyes turned his back to Jason with a flash, the tell-tale sign of heat behind his eyelids signaling his eyes mimicked the green of his guest. 

curious-safe-content

What was that? Why did Jason keep feeling things he could tell weren't his feelings? It was like the ever-present green was digging itself into his brain and translating things he didn't even know was a language.

RAGE-CONFUSION-SAFE

The angel audibly gagged.

“Dude—I've met some pretty janked liminals, but your ectoplasm is straight rancid,” The man said while dramatically sticking out his tongue.

“Like, seriously, it's like I'm sitting next to a sewer with a crocodile trying to bite at my ankles. How are you dealing with that much corruption?”

Jason blinked underneath the lenses. Ectoplasm? Was this another word for Lazarus Waters?  He feels like he should be more aggressive to someone who could supposedly smell(?) the Pit, but there was a steady stream of relaxation that had the Pit rumbling with warmth rather than anger. The Pit had never felt like this, so comfortable.

“Ectoplasm?” He murmured finally.

The man balked at him, “Ya know, the stuff I've been bleeding all over you and your couch? Very obviously green and glowing?”

Jason just continued to stare down at the white hair and freckled cheeks. There was a very obvious shuffle to move away from the glaring red lens of his mask.

“You're talking about the Pit,” 

There was a shrug.

“If that's what you guys call it on this side of the living.”

The green shifted from his chest into his throat, words on the tip of his tongue that he choked down. The fuck does this guy mean ‘this side of the living’?

RAGE-CONFUSION-WORRY

safe-comfort-hello?

Jason jerked backward as a feeling waved past him. It was like something was passing by the deepest parts of himself, gently brushing past him in his entirety –insecurities, regrets, hopes, dreams–and fully embracing them before pulling away. He suddenly felt vulnerable and stripped down; he bit back the urge to tear up.

“Dude. You have got to see a doctor about that. That cannot feel good,” The man was in front of him now, white fingerless gloves cupping his shoulder. There was the barest hint of scarring on the pale blue fingertips, and Jason wanted to simultaneously melt into the embrace and rip the hand off of him. Jason went with the safer option of ripping the hand off of him.

“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, and if you don't start talking I'm gonna put a bullet between your eyebrows,” He growled. He pulled one of his guns from its holster and pointed it at the angel (meta? Pit Demon?). The presence around him didn't even stutter or feel afraid. 

The man backed up, but seemed more amused than anything. His hands shot up in a placating motion but he was obviously not worried. There was something like a laugh tickling in the back of his mind. A laugh that just pissed him off more, but made the Pit purr.

“That's not gonna hurt me, big guy,”

Jason snarled with barred teeth, gums aching with pain and an unfamiliar warmth that made him want to bite down into something. He was fighting with himself through the warm comfort the Pit wanted to nuzzle into, and the apprehension/anger of an unknown in his safe house. Why did Jason bring him here? Probably because less than a day ago this guy had the skin of his chest held open by pins. Also because the Pit was begging to get closer to the white haired stranger. 

“Listen, man, I really appreciate you getting me out of there. Being a lab rat is not fun, at least let me fix that rank stuff in your system as a thank you?” 

Jason raised an eyebrow through his domino, pointing the gun more forcibly in the direction of the idiot talking to him. The man just held up his hands slightly higher with a shy smirk. 

“Alright! Alright! No need to be Mr. Big and Scary. Don’t really wanna Ghost Brawl when my body is still healing, please put the gun away,” 

Jason just huffed but clicked the safety back on the pistol, placing it on the table within his reach in case things went south.

“Why do the Pit waters react to you? Who the hell are you?” The crime lord questioned with a hiss. He lowered himself into an old recliner next to the sofa, placing his elbows on his knees as he leaned toward the stranger. The white haired man seemed surprised for a second before giving him a bright smile.

“Danny, Danny Phantom at your service! Or Daniel Fenton if you’re asking for my identity. Not like I have one right now anyways, considering I’m legally dead,” there was a snort as the guy floated above the couch, arms crossing as he flipped stomach down.

“–And what about you?”

.

.

.

TAG LIST [Might or might not be doing this in the future]

@justwannabecat

@fuckingfaraway

@kittenline

Prologue, Part 2

Masterpost

[Please let me know if anything is wrong or not working!]

[pangborns]

WOULD’VE, COULD’VE, SHOULD’VE…

God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be

tyler durden x fem!reader x the narrator (jack)

in which tyler entered your life just long enough to fuck it all up.

swearing, mentions of death, violence, panic attacks, manipulation, mean!tyler, kidnapping tbh, possible spoilers. (This may be the darkest thing I’ve written yet, so proceed with caution.)

Your shaky hand was quick to cover your mouth as the sobs poured out of you. You sat criss-crossed on the filthy mattress decorating the floor of the deteriorating home.

Admittedly, just two weeks ago you were a completely different person. You had a stable job, healthy friendships, and most importantly, no Tyler.

The night you met him, he had stopped you from calling the police on him and his friend for fighting in the parking lot outside of Lou’s Tavern. You remember his hand being so cold as it gently wrapped around your wrist. You remember the fear you felt in the pit of your stomach as you looked between the two bloodied men, the flush of your cheeks as they both gauged your actions, and the way you ultimately stopped your movement toward the pay phone. That was your first mistake.

“What’s your name?” Tyler questioned, he tilted his head a bit. You looked around him, watching as the man he was fighting spit out a wad of blood, he was still on the ground. Tyler stepped in front of your line of view. “Your name?”

“Oh- I’m, um, I’m (Y/N),” Your voice shook as you spoke to him. “I wasn’t looking to get involved with anything. I just don’t want anybody getting hurt…”

Tyler chuckled, pivoting on his foot to face his friend, “Y’hear that? She doesn’t want anybody to get hurt,” He was mocking you. The man behind him still didn’t say anything, he seemed lost in thought as he stared at you.

Wait a minute, you knew this man…“Jack?” You spoke incredulously, you did know this man! He worked a few cubicles down from you.

Tyler’s eyes widened, he whistled and fell back a few steps. “Jack’s got a friend,” Tyler continued his trek toward Jack, kneeling beside him. “Now, how do we know this woman, Jack?”

Jack seemed to try to stutter out an answer, his eyes were blown wide. His whole life could fall apart due to this very encounter, you could run off and tell everybody what you had stumbled upon. You could get him fired. His breathing calmed as he became lost in thought, you wouldn’t do that. You were only the woman who worked down the aisle from him, the one that asked him for paperclips as an excuse to interact, the one who emailed him the work he missed out on while he was sick, the one who so obviously had a work crush on him.

Your face was white at the realization, Tyler lowered his voice as he spoke into Jack’s ear, the two still watching you. Your work heels clicked as you started to back away, not failing to recognize how Tyler seemed to let you.

“C’mon man, she’s leaving you. She doesn’t care. She’ll probably run off and tell everybody about how much of a loser you are. What kind of guy stages fights in a run down parking lot-?” Tyler continued to egg Jack on, watching as his buddy’s face contorted.

“Wait!” Jack called out, stopping you in your tracks. “This is- he’s my friend, Tyler.” You released a small breath you were holding as he admitted that he really did know the man.

You nodded, muttering assurances to both yourself and Jack. Feigning a laugh, you started to turn around to leave for good.

“Don’t leave,” Jack pleaded, shakily standing up. “Let me- do you want to come over? To our place?”

You furrowed your brow. Our place. Was Tyler his roommate? “Why?” Your words came out shaky as you fiddled with your coat.

Jack grew quiet, he didn’t know why he extended the invitation. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue in thought.

“- we just moved in! Jack’s been eager to show it off to everybody we meet!” Tyler jumped in, patting Jack on the back extra hard as he stood up beside him.

You looked down at your dainty watch and read the time: 11:28. You stayed at work extra late today to pick up on Jack’s slack, so you weren’t too fond of any idea that didn’t include going home and sleeping.

“I don’t know, Jack. I’ve been working all day-“ Jack closed his eyes and hurriedly nodded, murmuring to himself. You opened your mouth to speak again, but Tyler was quick to cut you off.

“You heard her, Jack. She doesn’t care,” he smirked, throwing a wink your way. “She probably only puts up with you for her own personal work gain.”

The way he so openly spoke lies was incredulous. It didn’t even sound convincing! But from the look on Jack’s face, he so clearly believed those words. You furrowed your eyebrows, anger starting to settle in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s not true! Jack, don’t listen to him.” You demanded, stepping closer to the pair.

“Prove it.” Tyler stated curtly, tilting his head as he challenged you.

And that was how you ended up here, two weeks later, sitting in a decaying house surrounded by rats and roaches. The light pooling in from under the door was slightly blocked as a pair of shoes stood in front of the door. With a click and a creak, the door opened.

“Jack.” You addressed the man, watching as his hands shook while holding the tray of food. He refused to make eye contact with you, simply setting the tray by his feet and turning to leave. 

A sob escaped your chapped lips. “Jack, he’s a criminal. We need to get out of here.” You continued to plead. The man finally looked at you through his lashes. He gulped.

You could hear the countless men downstairs talking about their newest of plans to wreak havoc. Jack cringed.

“It doesn’t work like that, (Y/N).”

Another cry came from your mouth as you deflated a bit.

“Just give up. He isn’t going to let you leave until you join the cause.”

You sputtered, throwing your arms up in frustration. “Never! These are bad people, Jack.”

Jack pursed his lips, nodding a bit as he made his exit. The door shook as he stepped down the hall towards the stairs.

You screamed, pounding your fists against the floor. “Dammit, Tyler! Let me out!”

Your voice eventually grew hoarse and you had to give up. About fifteen minutes after your tantrum, you could hear the precise approaching footsteps of Tyler Durden.

The door cracked open and Tyler slipped in. “Heard you were giving Jack a hard time.” He tsked, not wasting a moment on a greeting.

You kept your mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Huh.” He nodded, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. A chuckle escaped from his amused smile. “I got all day, sweetheart.”

Your lip quivered as you fought back the tears. “I’m not joining your shit club.” You spit, eyebrows furrowing.

Tyler merely hummed. “C’mon hun, do it for Jack.” He teased. “Poor guy is in love with you or something! This is killing him, Princess.”

You reeled back at the nickname, cringing at his smirk. “I am going to get out of here one day. On my own accord. This shit hole will be crawling with cops in no time, Tyler. Mark my words.”

Tyler simply laughed at your threat. The thought seemed to amuse him, he lightly tapped your cheek before making his way for the door.

“Trust me, that won’t be happening.”

[fivestaralien]

i have a mingi request 🤗 x idol reader (secret relationship)who is missing mingi while hes on tour or smth and accidentally like thirst or cute tiktoks of him on readers main account and everyone goes crazy lol angst or lighthearted is up to u ty

better with you

-> mingi x idol gn!reader

warnings+": secret relationship, lil angsty, big time jumps?, reader shuts everyone out/depictions of a depressive episode (mingi also), lots of crying and sleeping, fluff towards the end word count: 1.8k notes๋࣭⭑ sorry this took me so long:( I hope you like this and thank you for requesting!! sorry if this wasn't as crazy as you wanted I tried my best but please lmk what you guys think!! comment/reblogs/asks help me out the most! I have a few things I'm still working on and I'm doing a semi big revamp to my layout soon bc I'm itching to change it. stay safe and be gentle with yourself<3

//

agony, agony, agony.

 this morning you had woken up as cranky as ever. wanting nothing more than to whine to your loving mingi and have him cuddle you until you no longer felt like shit. that wasn’t an option for you unfortunately as he is halfway across the world on tour right now.  

 you had already tried calling him but his voicemail was all you got. defeated, you pull up tiktok hoping to distract yourself until you feel tired enough to pass out. it sucked having to keep your relationship a secret but you loved each other too much to risk it. which is why you made a secret account to gush about mingi without the repercussions. 

 hours go by as you scroll and scroll. reposting, commenting and liking multiple videos about the guys on tour, funny moments and some spicy. you ended up scrolling on a video of mingi and wooyoung messing around on stage, throwing water at each other every chance they could. you couldn’t help yourself as your eyes wander along the now defined muscles showing through his soaked shirt. mingi not so subtly flexing even more now after noticing himself. 

 you roll your eyes with a soft smile as he turns to the crowd to show off. always the show off that one. you lean your head back against your pillow, letting out a sigh. why did he have to be so far away? you were tempted to try and call him again but it was well into the early morning for him so you didn’t want to disturb. 

 sleepiness begins to overtake your brain as you continue to scroll and before you even notice, your phone falls from your hand and you are fast asleep. 

 chaos was rapidly unraveling before the sun could even fully rise. as you step into the practice room you are met with a multitude of staff and your 3 members, staring at you with a mix of concern, hurt and anger. mostly by the staff and management on the latter emotion. 

 “what’s going on?” you hastily throw your bag on the couch nestled into the corner of the room. 

 your leader furrows her brows, “have you not checked your phone at all?” 

 “not yet, my phone is dead. you guys are starting to worry me.” 

 “were you on tiktok last night?” your manager asks in a tone that made your heart drop. 

 you think back to last night and all the tiktoks you interacted with, “i mean yeah but i was on my..” your eyes widen at the realization of your mistake, “no, no, no.”

 you sprint over to grab your phone, hastily plugging it into a random charger on the wall. the seconds tick by slowly as you wait for the little apple icon to pop up. the notifications that flooded in were insurmountable. your eyes couldn’t keep up. you catch a glimpse of mingi’s contact name and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. 

 it was a simple text. telling you that no matter what is about to happen that he is here for you and he loves you. this causes you to let the tears you’ve been holding back slip down your cheek. 

 the youngest of your group is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders, cradling your head into her chest. 

 you couldn’t imagine the thoughts running through his head right now. what is his company going to say or do to him? how are the members of both groups going to be affected? how could you be so stupid and forget to switch to your private account like you’ve done every other time? 

 the questions never stopped forming in your head. the severity of the situation fully settling into your bones now and you swear you had never felt this amount of fear in your life. unfortunately because of how crazy strict the idol world is, something so small like this could cost not only yours but also mingi’s career. that’s what is terrifying you the most. 

 over the next few weeks your mind and body were on autopilot. you have yet to reply to a single message that wasn’t from your leader or managers. both companies decided to just write it off as a fan hacking the account to sabotage both of your groups' comebacks since they were so close together. 

 since the fans couldn’t specify who exactly was active on the account they were coming after all 4 of you. you also had no choice but to confess to your companies about your relationship, which led to being banned from seeing each other. at least until after your schedules clear up and the frantic talks about the situation go down. 

 more weeks passed and finally you were done with shows and promotions. you felt like you could breathe a little bit easier now that you could just lay in bed and never leave your room. the members had tried to get you to get some fresh air and feed you, but you never opened your door. the only reason you were able to go to the bathroom and shower without anyone seeing you was the convenience of having an attached bathroom. 

 once it had reached almost a whole week of you holed up in your room, they take the risk and call the one person they know would get you out of your head.  

 the sky had darkened significantly by the time you opened your eyes for the first time today. you look over at your clock as it displays the time, a little after 10pm. a knock echoes throughout your room and the specific rhythm makes you sit up on your elbows. there’s no way he would risk coming here, right? you wrap a blanket around you tightly and slowly unlock and open your door.

 “oh, baby.” the corners of mingis mouth turns down at the sight of your pale sunken skin and red, puffy eyes. 

 he’s quick to guide you back inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. even though it had been months since you’d physically seen each other, your brain still turned off the second it registered that he was actually here. no longer seeing a reason to function when your boyfriend had no issue helping you make those decisions for you. it was something you didn’t realize you loved about your relationship until it was taken from you. 

 mingi lays you both down, pressing his entire body against yours from behind. his arms squeezing your middle so tight you have to gently loosen his hold. 

 “sorry, i just missed you so much. i’ve been so worried about you and i’m so upset with myself that i couldn’t be here for you through everything at the start,” he nuzzles his face into your neck, “i’m here now and i don’t plan on leaving anytime soon. no matter what our management says.” 

 he feels the way your whole body shakes and sits up on his elbow to see you quietly sobbing into your hand. 

 “hey, hey, look at me baby,” mingi’s hands go to either side of your face after you turn towards him, “ it’s going to be okay. i’m not going anywhere.” his thumbs brush away the tears still streaming down your face.

 your sobs didn’t stop even after hearing his reassuring words. mingi lets you cry until your breathing evens out and only your soft snores and the standing fan can be heard. he feels a little bit of worry leaving his body watching you peacefully sleep but as he rubs his thumb against your dry tears he feels the pit of his stomach sink. 

 when he first saw all the tiktoks and comments left on them, he felt so giddy that you were openly gushing about him so much. it was obvious to him that you were the one to do it and once the situation sunk in all he wanted to do was fly home and attach himself to you forever. as the days passed everyone could tell that something was wrong with mingi. 

 when he tells his members that you haven't answered him in almost 2 weeks, they try their best to reassure him that it’s going to take some time and that you’ll come around eventually. they were very relieved to hear him talk to your leader about coming to see you and when he didn’t come back last night it lifted a weight off their shoulders. 

 “yeah, they’re still knocked out.” 

 “okay, we are gonna stay over at my parents place and let you guys have the day and night to talk and have alone time.” you recognize the voice of the youngest. 

 you crack your eyes open and turn your head to see mingi talking to her. you squeeze your eyes shut at the sudden sharp pain that shoots up the side of your head. the groan you let out catches both of their attention. they cut the conversation short, the front door closing and locking not long after mingi makes his way back into bed beside you. 

 you nuzzle your face back into his chest and throw your arm around him. a sigh passes your lips as he peppers kisses along your hairline. 

 “how are you feeling?” he mumbles against you. 

 “okay now that you’re here.” your answer filling his chest with a warmth he had missed so much these past few months. 

 a peaceful silence washes over the two of you and you both end up falling back asleep. by the time you fully wake up mingi had turned on the tv and was watching a random show. he had moved to sit up a little against the headboard, bringing you along with him to lay the top half of your body on his and rubbing up and down your back softly. 

 you rub your cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt causing him to pause his movements. he watches as you begin to sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. his hand resumes it’s comforting pattern and you find yourself in a deep conversation with mingi for the next 2 hours. talking about how both of you felt with the whole scandal, how sorry you were for not answering his calls and figuring out how you were going to navigate between your job and your relationship more carefully. 

 after your talk the energy felt lighter around you and mingi couldn’t help but pull you back down to him and smother your face and neck with loving kisses. your laugh makes his smile widen against your skin. 

 “i know that it’s late but can we order in some food?” you throw your arms around his neck as he hovers above you. 

 “of course we can baby. the usual?” 

 you smile and nod then pull him down for your first real kiss since you’ve seen him.

// all masterlists, ateez masterlist

[salparadiselost]

A random idea that I'm not ever sure I'm going to pick up and finish. AU is that everyone lives in a movie genre and the universe if governed by the rules of that genre. Bruce, fed up with being a failed lover interest, starts to adopt kids from other genres.

-----

"I don't get it," Dick says, standing at the top small set of stairs and looking down them. There's like six of them, hardly enough to actually call it a staircase. Dick could probably jump the full way down without hurting himself. It's definitely not a flight, just six steps to get from the raised dias of the bank's entry to the street. But Bruce is still hesitating at the top, staring at them like they are a snake curled up in the grass. 

The man who had assigned himself Dick's father (He doesn't need a father. He doesn't have parents. His parents are dead. Killed. For eight years, their case has gone untouched as cold as their corpses. He needs to solve it. He needs to find the killer. He has to. He has to. He has to...) drags his eyes from the stairs to Dick.

"You live in a *rom com*," Dick practically spat the words. He had been growing to hate this saturated colour, plastic world. There were too many people. None of the streets were ever empty. Movements from the corners of his eyes that his brain screamed could be someone pulling a gun, someone reached for a knife, someone passing a drug off to another, was usually just a woman dressed in LuLulemon pulling her yappy dog along. It was maddening the way that his brain wasn't built for this. He saw people doing things and his mind screamed that it was clues! It was evidence! You need to investigate it! You need. You need. You need.

But he doesn't. Because he doesn't exist here. The Graysons don't exist here. No one has been killed in this city for over 100 years apparently. The worse crime in the paper had been when Miss Betty accidentally stole cupcakes because her and Joe's orders got mixed up. They were getting married now apparently.

Dick shook his head trying to dislodge the part of him that was screaming that he was missing a clue. He tried to focus on the present. Him. Bruce. Stairs.

"This is a romantic comedy," he repeated. "It's all about love, so what's the fucking worse thing that could happen on the stairs."

"*It seems I've fallen for you*," said Bruce suddenly, his voice so devoid of emotion it startles Dick. Dick's eyes snap up to meet the other man's eyes, but Bruce is still looking at the stairs.

"That's the part of the script," he continues, his voice blank. It's disconcerting. Dick has only heard him peppy or bubbly or other words that paint him as a happy-go-lucky dog. He's never heard... this. "I fall down the stairs and I... I break something. I lay there until she's suppose to rush in. She's supposed to be a nurse or a doctor or maybe just someone with first aid training. She's supposed to treat me until the ambulance comes and I'm supposed to say *'it seems I've fallen for you'*"

Bruce finally looks at Dick and he can't even describe what's in the man's eyes. It's... he would almost call it haunted. The same glint that he has when he stares in the mirror.

"I've broken my leg from falling down stairs 48 times. I've broken one of my ankles 53 times. My left arm 18 and my right 26. Three times it's been my collarbone. One time after two flights, it was my back. I was paralyzed from the neck down. I couldn’t move a damn finger, so I just laid there in pain until the clock hit midnight and everything reset. And that’s just the staircase falls. There’s also the open manholes, the broken railings, getting hit by a car, a couple of times where a bridge gave out from under me. Any of them will do as long as I end up hurt and on the ground."

Dick stared. Coldness washed through his veins, fixing him to the spot. For the first time since he got here, fear settled into the pit of his stomach. The only thing he could think to say was: "I thought that nothing went wrong here?"

Bruce gave a harsh laugh that seemed more fitting for Dick's genre. "Everything works out if you actually have someone who wants to love you. If your love interest isn't interested or she just doesn't bother to turn up... well, the universe keeps trying to correct itself even if that means you have to lay in a crumpled, bloody heap at the bottom of stairs for a few hours."

He... he didn't know what to say. Say that he was sorry? That Bruce didn't have anyone coming to love him?

He looked back at the stairs and saw them how Bruce saw them. He tried to figure out what to say, but Bruce just turned on his heel.

"Let's go find the wheelchair ramp."

[halexxsam]

Mushy May: Day 8 - Subtle Affection

Thanks to @forlorn-crows for mushy may! Calendar here. Divider from @wrathofrats.

words: 895

characters: dewdrop/rain/swiss/phantom/mountain/cirrus/perpetua

The ghouls noticed it a few days after the tour began. Small things left in the bunks from the city they were in. They thought it was one of the roadies or crew members at first, but later it became clear that it was someone on their bus. The ghouls first thought it was Mountain, who always had a knack for sneaking out to go shopping, loving to explore the food markets in Europe. When the gifts changed from sweets to personalized gifts, the ghouls suspected Phantom, or even Cirrus, but they were just as surprised at the gifts on their bed. On traveling days, they would find their bunk bed all made up, or stripped and their sheets being washed on the small washing machine. It was odd, but loving. 

One night, drinking over a lovely bottle of wine that was left on Mountain’s bed, the ghouls got to talking. 

“I don’t know who it is, but I have been eating all the little snacks I’m left. They are so good! I swear I can’t ever find them again.” Phantom whined out, missing the small piece of walnut chocolate he was left earlier. He had searched the markets for more of it but came up empty handed. 

“Me neither! But I keep on being left funny socks or fresh bandage wraps. I even got a pin to put on my boot.” Dew adds, knocking back his glass, red wine falling slowly from the corner of his mouth. 

“Maybe whoever it is doesn’t want to be found,” Cirrus says, though everyone can tell she wants to know who left a small lavender soap on her bed last night. 

The ghouls sit in peaceful silence, glad another successful show is under their belt. The bus moves along the dark roads of France, onward to Portugal. Perpetua pulls back the curtain and heads towards the lounge, nodding at the pack. 

“Hey, wanna join us?” Swiss asks, raising a spare glass. The human nods, and Phantom quickly makes room, moving onto Mountain’s lap. 

Swiss pours his Papa some wine, watching the man intently as he settles back against the cushions. Unbeknownst to his pack, Swiss quirks an eyebrow, covering the label of the wine from Papa. He watches him take a sip, savoring its taste. “What do you think?”

Perpetua nods, swallowing, his tongue darting out to savor the last of it on his lips. “Beautiful,” he hums, “a Bordeaux, very nice.” 

At that, Swiss let out a gasp. “You’re the one, aren’t you? Putting things on our bunks, leaving us gifts?”

The whole pack watches as the man blushes, looking down at his lap. His wrist moving still to swirl the wine. He hums out an affirmation. “Thought you guys would never guess.” 

Cirrus is the first one to get over the shock. “Well, thank you, Papa. It is very sweet of you.” 

The man just nods, smiling a bit. “My brother mentioned how you all like gifts, so,” He trails off, finally looking up at him, a nervous look on his face. 

They all nod, looking at each other. “We do, thank you. Can’t really have any possessions in the Pit.” Dew says, a hand digging in his pocket to pull out every single chocolate wrapper that was once left on his bed. 

Papa just laughs at the sight. “I’m glad you all like it. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

At that, Phantom makes a noise. “What do you mean?”

Papa blushes again. “Well, my brother told me about how he was with all of you. But I know I’m new, and different, and you are missing another ghoul this time around. So I didn’t want to impose anything.” 

Rain finally makes himself known, smiling devilishly. “Oh, is that right? Does our Papa want something?”

The man in question makes an odd noise, almost like he choked on his spit. “You are all very beautiful, you must know.” 

They all laugh, grins adorning their faces. Swiss moved closer to him, placing a warm hand on his knee. The man jumped slightly. “You know, Papa, you can be close to us and touch us, we are your ghouls, after all.” 

“I didn’t want to assume anything. I wanted you all to come to me when you were ready, if you ever were going to be.” He admits, a hand coming up to Swiss’, holding it softly. 

Rain flashed his eyes, his water ghoul siren blue coming out. His gills fluttered, tail coming up to play with the belt on his Papa’s waist. “You should come to the dressing rooms before the show tomorrow.” 

“Oh, okay. Do you need help with anything?” Papa asked innocently, taking the change in subject as an end to the previous conversation. 

Rain just nodded, his tails beginning to touch at the soft skin of the man’s hip. “Yeah, I think we all do. We have a part of our costume that is quite hard to get on, actually.” 

Dew laughed, his head falling back against the cushions, his second glass of wine sloshing at the movement. Rain moved from his seat, finding home in Dew’s lap, a hand moving up to his bare neck and taking hold. Dewdrop just whined, pressing into the hold. 

“Want you to put our collars on for us.” Rain smiled, “Dew likes his real tight.” 

[artist-issues]

okay SO

If I were to pitch a sequel for Rise of the Guardians I’d have the Pied Piper be the villain.

And he is introduced because Sophie (Jamie’s little sister, she’s about 11 now) has had a falling out with her parents.

Sophie Bennett is excited to finally join the super secret “Belief Club” that her big brother Jamie started when he was her age at their local school. The Belief Club, as you can imagine, are a gang of middle-schoolers who still believe in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the other Guardians. They collect library books about folklore figures, make up fun stories about the Guardians, look for evidence of their work in their own town, and just generally try to keep belief alive. They’re mostly the younger siblings of Jaimie and his friends who got to watch pitch be banished from the first film.

Jamie went off to college, and Sophie misses him, which is part of why she’s so determined to get elected President of the Club, like he was. Aside from the club itself, Sophie hates school and all things learning. Her grades start slipping immediately. This is a big issue, because Sophie’s mom has recently been hired to be a teacher in her daughter’s school.

When stress levels boil over, Sophie’s mom declares that Sophie is too old to spend all her time daydreaming about fairies and rabbits. She signs Sophie up for after-school tutoring, which is devastating to the pre-teen, because that’s right when the Belief Club usually meets.

Sophie decides to run away and live as an explorer, together with as many of her “supporters” as she can from the Club.

All of this is what’s going on in the human world. But of course, it’s influenced by…

the Pied Piper!

The reason Sophie’s mom turns so cynical and even short-tempered with Sophie is, in part, because Piper has stolen her baby teeth (and therefore, childhood memories) from the Tooth Palace. While there, he also kidnapped the Tooth Fairy, herself. Because of this, tensions are rising between adults and kids around the world—they’re no longer able to relate to one another.

It seems inconceivable to the other guardians that she could’ve been kidnapped—after all, there are an army of baby-tooth-fairies that should be between their queen and any harm. Bunnymund smells rats—but the magical kind of rats that appear to have infiltrated the Tooth Palace can’t be controlled. They’re forces of chaos, and they never should’ve been able to organize themselves well enough to overcome the tooth army.

Unless. Only one person could control rats like this (it’s the best line in the script)

North calls a meeting of all the remaining Guardians together, and Sandman explains. Long ago, just after the Dark Ages, the Man in the Moon chose a new Guardian. Apparently, the children of the world were still having a hard time believing that it was okay to relax and stop jumping at shadows—Pitch was gone, but plenty of other monsters lurked in the shadows, trying to take his place. For example, the wicked Mouse King, a monstrous creature of chaos who appeared in the form of a sea of rats, was stifling the wonder and hope of the poorest villages.

The Man in the Moon selected Pit D. Piper, (a gifted young German musician who tried to educate the poorest children with his rhymes until the plague ended his life) to become the Pied Piper and help solve this problem.

He would become the Guardian of Fun.

The Man in the Moon, as well as the other Guardians, advised their newest member to fight the Mouse King by working together, the way they had done with Pitch. But Piper, who wanted very badly to be believed in, had another idea. He didn’t think the other Guardians’ setup of hiding in secret palaces and doing their work in secret was a good idea. He wanted to live among the people, and have them see him.

He played a couple of clever tricks, got the children of a nearby village to believe in and see him, and even convinced their mayor to let him stay and make their village his home if he could end their rat problem. Piper did this, but the suspicious leader of the town declared that there was nothing “blessed” or “magical” about Piper—he was a charlatan, who had brought trained rats into the town to extort them.

The lonely Piper tried to prove he could be trusted, but to his surprise, the next day, several of the children could no longer see him. They believed the mayor’s story; he wasn’t a fairy or a hero come to save them, he was a trickster. Desperate to keep the few who still believed, Piper told them they should come with him. He would set up shop in a secret place, like the other Guardians, after all. And these kids could be like his elves—or his fairies, or whatever. He wouldn’t have to be alone.

But the children chose to stay with their parents—they didn’t want to leave, even if they did believe he was magical. Desperate not to lose them too, the Piper played his flute, trying to enchant them to follow him. When he turned his magic against them, the Man in the Moon summoned the other Guardians, and the Piper was cast out.

Now he’s back, and, plot twist, he’s working with the Mouse King. They plan to drive a wedge between all the children of the world and their parents. For the Piper, this is revenge; he wants to teach children never to trust in anybody, not their teachers or their mayors or their parents. Just trust themselves. But for the Mouse King, any chaos is a chance for him to grow more powerful and feast on the world again.

The Guardians have to rescue Tooth and lead Sophie’s mom to he, despite the fact that she can’t see them, and they wind up going to college to get Jamie to do it with them.

And I don’t know, I slapped all this together roughly. But I just think it’d be cool to end it with a redemption arc. Then the Pied Piper can be the Guardian of Trust, which I think is greatly under attack these days, especially between kids and their parents.

Get it, because the Pied Piper trusted the villagers to do what they’d promised, and when they didn’t, he gained the kids’ unconditional, twisted “trust” with his music in revenge. Anyway. I know it’s messy, but I don’t believe Rise of the Guardians could ever sustain a sequel, anyway.

. I started out making him look way more willowy and triangular, but then I realized both Tooth and Pitch and Bunnymund are triangle-shaped, so I tried to do squares…

And then James Dean happened by accident. I don’t know, somebody better at this stuff try to do this.

[selfishdoll]

NOW PLAYING…. SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE

You're the queen of the superficial, And how long before you tell the truth?

sum: being a physical therapist assistant wasn’t easy work at all, and it didn’t help that one of your patients was beginning to plague your thoughts, in more ways than one.

PURE COINCIDENCE . camboy & martial artist! kashimo hajime x physical therapist assistant! reader

cw: strangers to lovers (lowkey), kashimo & reader are 19-21, kashimo is ooc of course, modern au (no cursed techniques but he’s still strong asf), sex work, pet names, teasing, degradation & praise, shy!reader, curvy reader, kashimo is an ass man, lowkey corruption kink, slightly public sex, kashimo is reckless & dumb, dumbification, manhandling, rough sex, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, choking, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, etc.

i spent so much time on this & was winging it fr so it didn’t come out how i liked 😭😭. & it got much longer then i wanted it to be. also please excuse any typos or errors, it’s late 🙏🏾

You always thought boxing, wrestling, and martial arts were such violent sports. You didn’t see the appeal of beating someone black and blue— or forcing them into submission. You weren’t a pacifist by any means but fighting was just something you didn’t get it. Especially, when it came to making money off it.

Truthfully, however— you didn’t need to see the point. Your only concern was massaging your patients and assuring they didn’t overextend themselves.

Which happened often.

Today would be a good day for you, a starting point actually. After two years of grueling work, several months of training, and being placed in a hospital you hated; you were finally sought out by a private practice— a gym for martial artists. From what you’ve heard they were good; winning tournaments back to back and putting on quite a show for the audience.

A name that frequently showed up was Kashimo Hajime, the proclaimed God of Lightning. A title earned given how fast he was, no one able to keep up with the amount of punches that he landed on his opponent. You were sure that was impressive in its own right, but you simply couldn’t get past the name.

It made you giggle each time you heard it.

Your eyes trailed away from the building infront of you and over to your phone hooked up to the stand in your car. You pressed your lips together, “Looks like I’m here..” You mumbled to yourself, feeling anxiety gather at the pit of your stomach. A new job always did that to you, imagining just about everything going wrong. From possibly falling or messing up a chart.

First day jitters always killed your motivation.

But, you took a small breath; eyes closed briefly as you sinked into your seat for a moment. It would be fine, this would be fine. You’re gonna do great. Such affirmations swarmed in your mind, pushing you away from delving down a deep hole of anxiety and insecurity. Once you felt your heart relax just a bit you grabbed your phone and tote bag, turning the car off and soon exiting it. Shutting the door behind you, you assured the doors were locked before approaching the large metal doors of the building. Pulling them open, your eyes scanned the large area. It looked like a relatively regular gym; punching bags hanging from the ceiling in a few places, weights, and treadmills. The most interesting thing was the boxing ring in the middle of the room.

“Hello, miss? Can I help you?” You jumped a little as the voice interrupted your train of thought, turning to face a woman who was seated behind the front desk. You flashed a false confident smile, approaching her while shifting through your bag. “H—hi, I’m [Full Name]. I’m here to start as a PTA.” Your hand finally clasped around what you needed, lifting a packet of papers from the confinements of your bag and passing them over to her awaiting hand.

Her eyes scanned the pages rather quickly, “Oh, you’ll be working with Ms. Makoto.” She mused, flashing you a small smile as she passed the papers back. “She always comes late, so for now; I’d suggest walking around to get a feel for your surroundings. Maybe even talk to your future patients.” She shrugged to which you nodded, a small thank you, escaping you.

You wish she hadn’t suggested the thing at all, given how nerve-racking it felt to you. However, you now felt obligated to do it, especially with the way she was smiling at you so sweetly. Damn her.

Situating the strap of your bag onto your shoulder correctly, you headed over towards the actual gym area; eyes on the swivel to assure you didn’t end up in anyone’s way. Like you hoped, however, the martial artists were far too focused on their training, paying you no mind as their fists slammed against some punch bag or they pumped their legs on the treadmill.

The atmosphere itself was nice, really. You didn’t mind it, maybe you would get used to it.

Once you were finished walking around the people lifting weights, your eyes traveled over to the boxing ring in the middle, noticing two forms entering it and several people surrounding it. Interest quickly invaded your mind, moving towards the crowd to get a better look. You luckily found your way to the front, staring up at the two men that were currently stretching.

One was unimpressionable; hair shaved short with tanned skin. He was shirtless showcasing his simple build. He wasn’t small but wasn’t big either, sculpted but not bulky? It was clear he wasn’t a seasoned fighter. But, as your eyes turned over to his opponent; the difference was all too clear.

Standing at an impressive six feet, cloaked in a tight black shirt and baggy white pants, bandages wrapped around his forearms. You watched as he cupped his hands together behind his back, stretching his arms and fuck, were they big. Or rather the man was big in general, enough so you pitied his opponent.

You watched as he rose his arms above his head this time, eyes zoning in on the way his shirt followed— revealing his toned stomach and the pretty blue trail that traveled down. Oh, how you wanted to see where it lead to.

“[Name]?”

“Huh!?” You gasped out of your daze, head snapping over to a woman that stood beside you. She had short black hair that illuminated her pale features perfectly, sharp dark eyes already staring at you. Her gloss stained lips curled once she had your attention, “I’m Makoto. I’m sorry for being late.”

You gave a nervous smile, “I—I don’t mind. I was just uh.. getting to know my surroundings.” The physical therapist nodded at you with a smile, eyes turning over to the ring as a small sigh escaped her.

“I’ve told Kashimo to stop entertaining these rookies.”

“Entertaining?”

Makoto nodded with a soft hum, crossing her arms over her chest. “They always want to fight him for some reason, riling him up until he finally agrees to a spar. It’s ridiculous,” She mused, tapping a finger against her skin. “It’s clear whose going to win.”

You pressed your lips together, eyes turning back to the ring. To your surprise, Kashimo was standing upright while his opponent was in a fighting stance. Cocky.. Was what ran through your mind, eyes darting between the two men.

The man with a shaved head blew air from his mouth, springing towards Kashimo in a single step. Your eyes widened as you watched the cyan-haired man step out of the other’s way, bawling his fists. The sound of skin to skin contact was the only thing you could register, astonished by the pure speed of his fists, opponent trapped under the flurry of his hits. Makoto was right, he didn’t stand a chance; falling to the ring the moment the god of lightning was finished with him. The match couldn’t have been longer than five seconds.

“Kashimo, It was only supposed to be a spar— not a knockout!” Makoto called, softly complaining about unnecessary concussions. You watched as Kashimo’s bored expression fixed onto the physical therapist, a small snarl on his face. Makoto hissed at this, fussing at him not to glare at her.

He didn’t entertain her yelling long, eyes traveling away from her and fixing onto you. You didn’t hold his gaze long, or rather— you couldn’t, given its intensity. You simply turned to face Makoto waiting for her to get over her yelling so you could get started.

. . .

A few hours of work passed, the only major concern being Kashimo’s opponent and assuring he had no fractures or concussions from the match. Much to Makoto’s relief, he didn’t. Other than that you were observing and looking over charts, noticing the inconsistencies in Kashimo’s. Makoto then explained to you the man ignored injuries and she quite literally has to corner him to get him into her office. The mental image made you laugh softly.

Soon enough your shift was over, being informed you did well and to come at the same time tomorrow. It delighted you to hear such a thing. Exiting the building, you approached your car while searching for your keys in your bag, humming softly to yourself. Finally finding them, you pull them out; attention however, shifting over to the gym doors when they opened.

To your surprise Kashimo stepped out, holding a large duffel bag in his left hand while his right? Reached for the end of his shirt, lifting it up and using it to wipe his face. All under your gaze.

You felt ashamed staring at him in such a way, especially since he was technically your patient.

“You need somethin’, Miss [Name]?” His voice was muffled against the damp fabric, pulling his shirt down to reveal his sharp eyes starting at you. You jumped in surprise, nearly dropping your keys. “Oh, oh, no! No..” You breathed out, shakily pressing the button on them to unlock your car. To your horror the man gave you a small smirk;

“Safe travels then.”

“Mhm! You too!” The words escaped you meekly and far louder then you wished. Snatching the driver’s side door open, you entered the vehicle, barely even slamming the door closed before you turned the engine over. You quickly pulled out of that parking lot, attempting to forget the scene that just happened.

. . .

A soft sigh escaped you as you sat on your bed, leaning back to lay down, arms laying across your stomach. The sky was painted black, stars twinkling overhead with the moon rested aimlessly. It was getting late and you needed to get some sleep for tomorrow. You weren’t sure how work would be but you wanted to mentally prepare for the worst. However, you just.. didn’t want to sleep yet?

It was weird, really. You didn’t feel tired despite how nervous you were today. You almost felt proud of yourself.

“Still need to get some sleep though..” You mumbled to yourself, rolling over to your stomach. Pressing your face into your plush blankets for a moment, you mulled over how to force yourself to sleep. Milk, melatonin maybe? You don’t know if you had either. You spared two more minutes of thought before an idea entered your mind.

Masturbation. You were a genius.

You reached blindly for your phone while turning onto your back again, scooting up farther onto your bed as you opened the dreaded X app. Ignoring tweets from friends and celebrities you went straight to the search bar typing in something random. You just needed to get off once, it normally worked for you.

Using one hand to scroll, the other went down to your lower half, happy you previously discarded your pants as your fingers brushed across your thinly covered pussy. Warming yourself up, your fingers pressed against your covered clit, slowly rubbing it; feeling the gentle pleasure travel up your spine.

Fifteen minutes passed of this and your agitated scrolling, frustration building as nothing in particular caught your eye. Each video was either too short or too boring for something to use, or even some too much. This wasn’t supposed to be difficult anyhow. Just a quick session and then sleep. Yet, here you were; boredly scrolling.

You nearly settled for your imagination rather then a video until something caught your eye. Your thumb hovered over the video, eyes zoning in on it. It was simple, a male by himself, showcasing his lower half but nothing else. You saw the imprint of his dick through his sweats, strong hand gliding across it; teasing himself.

Pursing your lips, you clicked on the video, getting into a comfortable position. You watched as he delicately pulled the strings on his pants, watching the band loosen. His hips rose, hooking a thumb under the waistband to slowly tug down— not far, but far enough his length slowly came into view; popping out when his sweats rested on his thighs.

You sucked in a breath, watching his veined hand clasp around his pretty cock. He was pale, tip a soft red with precum spilling from the slit. He was also.. well, big; lengthy and thick— particularly around the base. You attempted to imagine it inside you, pussy pulsing at the thought of it splitting you open.

His thumb rolled on the crown of his length, collecting some precum before smoothing it down his shaft. To your surprise you heard a soft groan, feeling your stomach tighten from the sound. Most men on this annoying app were quiet in their videos, something you couldn’t stand. And while he wasn’t loud, it was loud enough your hand went straight under your panties, beginning to roll tight circles on your clit.

You moved in sync to how he fisted himself, his soft sighs and grunts escaping your phone’s speaker; envious you couldn’t hear such things right into your ear. You bit your lip as your legs shook, two fingers traveling down your slick slit to plunge inside you. Your hips rose, grinding your clit into your palm as your eyes focused on the man. You gasped out, watching as his pace quickened, hips rising to meet the thrusts of his hands.

His voice became ragged, pants desperate as he chased his release. And you, your own. You were so close, watching this stranger fuck himself. A pretty sight you couldn’t look away from.

“Oh, fuck..” Was what he hissed, nearly making your eyes roll back. You were there, right there, so close, until— you noticed something. Your eyes had unfortunately wandered from his cock to his stomach peeking out under his shirt, spotting something.

A soft tuft of cyan colored hair.

Your eyes widened for a moment, feeling your pleasure come crashing down as flashes of Kashimo in the ring and outside the building entered your mound. The way it lined below his navel so perfectly, it was all too familiar. “There’s no way..” You thought to yourself, attempting to rationalize it in your head. Kashimo Hajime, martial artist known as the god of lightning just didn’t seem like the type to do such a thing.

But then again, you knew nothing about him, so who were you to declare it wasn’t like him?

Such thoughts killed your lust filled high, pulling your hand out of your panties and quickly clicking out of the app. You turned on your side, phone rested face down on your blankets. Your eyes pinched close, attempting to calm your racing thoughts and think of solutions to this.

It was all pure coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe dying happy trails that particular color was some trend you didn’t hear about?

You seriously hoped it was.

. . .

Despite your many thoughts last night, you fell asleep shortly after that event. Though you did wake up and feel miserable, just imagining how nervous you’ll be facing Kashimo.

It’s probably not him.. right? You continued to try and convince yourself, closing your car door shut and beginning your trek over to the gym. Opening the doors and entering, you gave a brief smile to the receptionist that greeted you and made a beeline to Makoto’s office, reaching for the door.

Only for it to open, right in your face.

“[Name]! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there!” The physical therapist hissed softly, watching as you soothed the pain on your forehead. You only gave a small smile, shaking your head. “It’s okay. I wasn’t paying attention anyway.” The brief pain knocked Kashimo right from your thoughts, something you deeply appreciated and nearly thanked the reckless older woman for.

Makoto looked you over for a moment before sighing softly, nodding. “Alright, well. Set your things down. It’s not a lot to do today, but that could change.”

You gave a brief smile and nodded, entering her office. It was simple, resembling a hospital room with shelves lining the walls and a long black bed off against the wall. You placed your bag beside her own, turning around to spot Makoto at the door, talking to someone.

Moving closer you quickly realized it was Kashimo. His expression just like yesterday, bored with a snarl pointed towards the older woman— who was currently nagging, just like yesterday. You swallowed a breath, flashes of the previous night entering your mind, far too quick and vivid to ignore. It didn’t help that in the midst of her words his eyes traveled to you, causing you to still; wishing to fall through the floor right then and there.

The corner of his mouth twitched, “Don’t you have someone to mentor instead of wasting your time, naggin’?” Hajime questioned, finally releasing you from his gaze to stare back at Makoto. The physical therapist’s voice rose in pitch, Hajime turning on his heel and walking off much to her annoyance..

And your relief. You hoped he was too busy training to acknowledge you today.

Two hours passed with you following Makoto around, writing down a few notes on people’s charts and even tapping some people. They were nice and encouraged you even when your hands shook a little or you stumbled over your words. You really did like this job so far.

It was the afternoon now, Makoto letting you go on a thirty minute break. You entered the lounge room of the gym, hand clasped around the black container of food you had grabbed from your bag. Approaching the microwave, you opened it open and slid the container inside— shutting the door and pressing a random time. You leaned against the counter, scrolling through your phone for a moment before an idea creeped into your mind.

Assuring no one else was in the room, you clicked onto the app you used last night, going to your previous search and beginning to scroll. It took about five minutes before you finally reached where you wanted; the video you watched last night. Taking your food from the microwave, you clicked onto the account of the video, waltzing over to a chair and sitting down.

You attempted to rationalize looking at porn — or rather a porn account at work. It’s not like you were actively watching the videos, or touching yourself; you were simply searching for something, anything that signified this wasn’t Kashimo’s account.

But, you weren’t given much. Firstly, the account’s icon and header was blank while the bio was empty too. Despite this, it had quite a few tweets and followers, highlighting this account was quite popular. You bit the inside of your cheek once again, looking around you for a moment before clicking on the media section of the page. You scrolled, leaning your cheek into your palm. Most of it was solo stuff, showcasing his lower half and never his face. Your heart thumped however; when you noticed the spiky, cyan colored hair that rested behind him in a certain video. You bit the inside of your cheek, jumping when the lounge room door opened.

To your horror, Kashimo entered— giving you a brief glance before walking over to the fridge in the room. His hand reached for something, snatching it from the fridge and rising to shut the door, moving over to the microwave. While opening the door and placing his food inside, you watched his other hand fish his phone from his sweats.

And that’s when a idea popped into your head. A very, very stupid one. Your face turned back to your phone screen, biting your lip. You were still trying to convince yourself this wasn’t him, this was just some random man you’ve never met before.

And so, if you were to like a tweet of his where— your name was completely visible, you were sure he wouldn’t react at all. Your plan seemed solid, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

Taking a shaky breath, your thumb pressed against the hollow heart of a random tweet, slowly placing your phone back onto the table. Maybe.. maybe you were imagining it but, you could have sworn you heard the soft buzz of a phone.

One that wasn’t yours.

Fear shot up your spine, head moving slowly to the side, eyes traveling to the only other person in the room.

Who was already staring at you, cradling his black cased phone.

Your eyes locked, watching as a grin pulled his features. It was him, oh it was definitely him. Your eyes widened as the realization set in, quickly turning forward to snatch your phone and food from the table, getting up on shaky legs and heading towards the door.

“Not hungry, [Name]?” His tone was mocking, far too teasing for you to ignore. You didn’t even spare him a glance as you quickly shook your head, snatching the door open and exiting the lounge.

The realization of the situation finally dawned on you as you sped over to Makoto’s office, nearly crushing your container of food in your hand.

You had found Kashimo Hajime’s twitter, his.. special twitter. And he knew, you knew it was him.

. . .

About three weeks had passed since that fateful day. You were, surprisingly— okay. The day after it happened Kashimo seemed normal, not ignoring you but focused on his training. You remained on edge for the rest of the week expecting something. Maybe a big blow out or a private conversation, but you got neither.

And if you weren’t sure if you were happy, or upset by that. Either way, three weeks went by with radio silence and you growing accustomed to your job.

It was about forty minutes until you would clock out, seated at Makoto’s desk and flipping through papers. Your eyes scanned the page, assuring each chart was up to date and nothing was out of order. Luckily no one has gotten injured majorly these last few weeks, but the necessary procedures had to be done.

You heard movement beside you, eyes drifting away from the stack for a moment to spot your boss grabbing her things and placing them into her bag. Noticing your stare, she turned with an apologetic smile— “Sorry, [Name]! My daughter needs to get picked up. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded at her with a smile, glancing at the clock. You would have been nervous to be left alone, but it was only thirty minutes. And once you clocked out anyone that stayed back for training were on their own.

The door closed behind Makoto as she exited the office, your head turning to focus back on the papers. You hummed softly to yourself, pressing your cheek into your palm as you scribbled something on a page, flipping to the next.

Several minutes passed with this continuous routine, eyes finally shifting away from the work over to your phone. Five minutes until your shift was over. With that, you stood, collecting the papers into a neat stack before placing it back into its manila folder; placing that into your tote bag. You glanced around the area, assuring you weren’t leaving anything behind before grabbing your bag, pulling it onto your shoulder. Turning on your heel, you approached the door and opened it; letting out a soft startled noise.

“Oh, I was expecting Makoto..” Kashimo spoke, leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed in his usual attire; a black tight shirt with white sweatpants. His dark eyes traced over your form, tilting his head at you. You attempted to ignore the way his lips twitched a bit, as if holding something back.

You quickly cleared your throat, “Did you.. uh— need her for something? She left early is all.”

Kashimo hummed softly, “No..I think you’ll do.”

“What?”

“Think you could get the kink out my arm? I must have.. punched the bag wrong.” Kashimo claimed, smiling down at you. You withtook a breath, clenching the strap of your bag tightly. He was lying, and he knew he was lying too. Kashimo Hajime, punching the bag wrong? You could almost laugh at the thought.

And that smile? Oh— it was far from genuine, far from pure. Every alarm in your head rung, warning you to refuse and leave. Yet, you didn’t listen to a single one. Your body instead turned, waltzing over to the desk and setting your things down. “You can sit on the bed. I’ll take a look at your arm.”

The words barely escaped you before the deafening sound of the door closed behind him, a soft thanks, escaping him as he sat down. You felt his eyes on your every move, watching as you approached the sink and began to wash your hands— shakily, you might add. You spent extra time there, afraid to face the man.

Soon enough, however, you grabbed a paper towel from beside you; drying your hands and turning the faucet off. Tossing the soiled towel in the trash, you turned and walked over to him. “Wh—which arm?” You questioned softly, watching as he lifted his right one. You nibbled on your cheek, gently grabbing his bicep, thumbs pressing against the muscle carefully.

“If it starts to hurt, tell me..” You murmured softly, room back to being silent. This was stupid really; you making such a show of things. You knew he wasn’t hurt, shown in the way he reacted little with each squeeze you gave him; even pressing harder to see if he would react.

Like you suspected, Kashimo didn’t react at all.

“I wonder..” You blinked as his words interrupted your jumbled thoughts, blinking over to him. He was already staring at you, a small smirk pulling his lips. One that caused your stomach to drop. One that he wore in the lounge room that day. “—when you connected the dots, when you found out it was me.. did still watch me?”

You breathed softly, releasing his arm. “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.” You played at acting dumb, a useless facade he didn’t fall for at all. Instead, Kashimo chuckled softly, turning to glance away from you.

“Oh, don’t play dumb sweetheart. You know I’m asking if you fucked yourself to my videos.” His tone was harsh, eyes turning back to you; gaze intense. You swallowed heavily, watching him slowly lift himself off the bed. You stepped back, murmuring as he met your step, backing you against the cabinets. “Bet you wished it was my cock instead of your fingers; splitting you open, fucking you until your nothing but a crying mess.”

“Kashimo..” You spoke softly, rising your hands and placing them at his waist. You needed space, air— you felt like you would suffocate with his large form covering; with his smell swarming your senses. You gasped softly as his lips moved to your ear, cool breath tickling your skin. “Please..”

“Haven’t even touched you and you’re already beggin’ for me.” His words were mocking, a breathy chuckle escaping him shortly after. “Go on.. tell me what you want, [Name].”

You could nearly moan at the way your name fell from his lips, eyes pinched closed as your hands crumbled his shirt in a tight grip. You struggled for a moment to form words, eyes pinned to the floor to avoid his gaze. Unfortunately for you, this was one of the few times Kashimo was ever patient; hands seated perfectly on the porcelain cabinets, refusing to touch you until you answer his question.

Finally, after what seemed like moments you glanced up at him, rising to lock your lips with his own. You, please. Was what you whimpered into his mouth, feeling him react immediately. A hand rose to wrap around your neck, the other coming to the underside of your thigh. Kashimo’s clenched around your throat a little, driving his tongue into your mouth and marking it as his own. You whined softly at this, gripping his shirt so much the fear of ripping it entered your mind briefly. The heavy makeout continued only his hand dropped from your neck, grasping your either thigh and lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, feeling him walk backwards until he sat on the bed.

Your pussy rested just above his crotch, feeling his hardening length through the fabric of your stockings and his sweats. Your arms wrapped around his neck, murmuring against his lips as you slowly ground against him. To your dismay; the man rose his hand, slamming his palm against your ass— the sting causing you to jump, pulling back as a whine escaped your throat. “Kashimo—!” You hissed softly, glaring at the man who grinned back at you.

His fingers soothed the path, rubbing slowly circles into your covered skin, gripping every once in a while. “I suggest you fix your face or you won’t be coming at all tonight.” Kashimo breathed, slapping the same cheek once again. You lurched forward, gripping him so harshly as a soft cry escaped you. “Gonna take my time with you.. explore every inch of you under these clothes,” He hummed softly, hand reaching under your black dress, running his fingers across your thinly covered ass.

“— and i’m not gonna rush just cause your slutty pussy is desperate for my attention.”

“Kashimo…” You whined softly, pleading with your eyes. The man only smiled at you, a sinister smile; highlighting how much he enjoyed toying with you.

“It’s Hajime, princess.” The martial artist corrected, leaning to place wet kisses against your cheeks and neck. You moaned softly, feeling his fingers curl under your dress, slowly pulling it up your body. You moved uncomfortably as the cool air hit your bare skin, feeling him reach behind you; fiddling with your bra for a moment. Once he had unclipped the undergarment he tossed it aside with your dress, pulling back to glance at your exposed chest. You grew nervous under his gaze, having half a mind to cover yourself. Only, he didn’t give you enough time to do so before his large hands grabbed the soft mounds, leaning down to suck a kiss on your collarbone.

His thumbs pressed against your slowly hardening nipple, nicking your skin with his canines. You breathed softly at this, hands rising to curl your fingers into his hair, gasping as you felt his kisses lower; soft lips grazing your areola before he opened his mouth— wrapping his lips around your nipple. The unfamiliar feeling caused you to gasp, eyes pinched closed as you felt him began to suck; gently grazing his teeth across your heated skin while his tongue slid across your pretty bud. Hajime’s other hand was busy playing with your unattended breast, groping and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

Your moans grew, rising your chest into his face more; chasing after the pleasure he was giving, searching for more. All he was doing was sucking your breasts and yet, your pussy was clenching around nothing— feeling as if you were an inch away from release. You gasped out as he gently clamped down on your nipple, rolling the tender bud to hear you squeal. The ministrations continued as a hand traveled down your body, tracing the stretch marks that lined your skin— rubbing across your rolls before his fingers collected your stockings; pulling them down your body with such force they began to rip.

“Ha—hajime, they’re ripping.” You whimpered softly, words ignored as he snatched the rest of the ruined fabric from your body, tossing it to the forming pile. Your breath hitched as his hand traveled between your legs, two fingers gliding across your covered slit, feeling the wet spot forming on your panties. A soft swear escaped you as he pushed down, pressing against your clit, slowing rolling circles against it.

The added pleasure caused you to lean your head back, eyes pinched close as the feeling consumed your body. This was wrong, more than wrong actually. He was a patient and this was your boss’s office, the bed used by several others when being checked on. Yet here the two of you were, dirtying it with your own selfish desires. You should be embarrassed, maybe even ashamed.

Maybe you would feel so after he was done with you.

A soft pop escaped him as he rose away from your chest, the pretty mounds now tainted with his saliva. His eyes carried down your form, enjoying the sight; your hips moving at an attempt to find more friction in his hand, biting your bottom lip to cover the soft, pretty breaths threatening to escape your throat. Hajime hated himself for waiting to touch you like this.. to make you his. His eyelids lowered as he leaned close, pressing hot kisses against your skin again. “Using my hand to get off, huh? How pathetic..”

In any other situation you would have been offended by his choice of words, but now? It only caused you to moan softly, hips moving fast against his hand— feeling Hajime’s lips move over to your throat. You gripped him as you felt yourself grow more and more aroused, a band forming that was ready to break. Your moans grew louder as you got closer, digging your fingers into his shoulders before your eyes widened; feeling him move his hand away from between your legs.

The band slowly faded, high slipping through your fingers. You nearly sobbed— his name exiting you in a soft whine as the man did nothing but grin down at you. Hajime’s hands traveled up your form, soon tenderly wrapping his fingers around your neck, leaning close.

“Quit whinin’..” He cooed, stamping a kiss against your skin. You gasped as you felt his hood tighten a bit, hand drifting right back between your legs, breaching your panties. Without much warning he curled two fingers inside you, feeling your wet walls clench his thick digits. You swore softly, feeling his fingers reach much deeper then your own could; stretching you out and working you open.

Your pussy began to squelch with each thrust of the digits inside you, thumb rising to push against your engorged clit; hand continuing to hold you steady by the throat. Hajime enjoyed the way your pretty broken moans escaped your throat, voice vibrating against his palm. He curled his fingers once more, watching the way you jumped, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Can’t believe I’m fucking you dumb just from my fingers..” The words came out in an astonished coo, cock twitching under the confinements of his sweats and pants. Oh he couldn’t wait.. wait to see the way you fell apart as he split you open with his length.

But he needed to be patient. Needed to warm you up properly before completely ruining you.

So the pace of his fingers quickened, sounds of your messy pussy surrounding the room; acting as background noise for the high-pitched moans that escaped you. Your hips met each thrust, gripping his wrist to ground yourself. Your thighs squeezed his forearm, head knocking back as you came all over his hand. The man’s fingers soon slowed to a complete stop, withdrawing them from your wetness.

You barely registered him sticking his fingers into his mouth, sucking your mess off them. Once they were clean he leaned forward, kissing you softly— allowing you to taste yourself. So dirty..

Your lips moved slow, his thumb tracing your throat as a soft praise pushed from his lips. Soon enough you felt his hips rise, pressing his clothed cock against your wetness, grinding slowly. Even if you were still sensitive from just a few moments ago, you wanted, no, needed him desperately. So much so it nearly physically hurt.

Hajime rose, switching your positions to slowly lay you out on the bed, pushing you up higher. You whined as he body left you for a second, the sound quickly dying down when you noticed him unclothing. First was his shirt, revealing his sculpted torso and that damned happy trail. The man smirked at you as he tossed his shirt to the side, reaching for his bottoms next. Pushing them down, you watched as his length was revealed. To have it right infront of you rather then on a screen, well.. your phone didn’t do him justice at all.

“‘S not gonna fit.” You mused softly, eyes snapping back to his face, nervous. Hajime almost felt prideful from your words if it wasn’t for your tone of voice. He leaned close, pressing a kiss to your chin. “I’ll make it fit.” He mumbled, pushing close against you, grabbing his cock with one hand while the other grasped your thigh. Rubbing the tip across your slit, he smoothed your juices down his shaft, biting the inside of his cheek. Slowly, he pushed inside you, watching the way your eyebrows twitched, how your legs began to close.

A pained sigh escaped you, Hajime smoothing his hand up and down your heated skin. “Taking me so well, baby.. Just relax.” He spoke softly, hissing when he felt your walls clench from the praise. Soon enough his hips stilled the moment he pushed all the way inside, grasping the underside of your thighs— eyes closed. It took everything not to fuck you into the bed right then and there, feeling the way you carefully moved to adjust yourself; but each clench caused his resolve to wither away more and more.

Moments passed before Hajime opened his eyes, glancing down at you and searching for any sign of pain. When he realized there was none, he experimentally pulled his hips back so only his tip was inside, pushing back in— watching in delight at the way your mouth fell open in a ring O.

Nothing else held the martial artist, soft ruts quickly changing into slams. His cock bullied it’s way inside you, filling you completely. Your legs shook in his hold, gripping the fabric underneath you as broken moans escaped you. Hajime was knocking the wind out of you; pushing your legs up higher so that your knees were touching your chest. The stretch was uncomfortable for a moment, something you would surely feel in the morning— but you didn’t care. The pleasure this man was giving you overshadowed it all.

Your walls clenched him with each drag of his hips, his dark eyes captivated by the way you hugged him so tightly. “Wanted me so fucking bad, didn’t you, princess?“ Hajime hissed, grinning as he watched your eyes attempt to focus on him. The man chuckled softly to himself, leaning over you, trapping you under his body. “Oh, you don’t have to answer sweetheart— I already know the truth.”

The man was drilling into you at this point, tip kissing your g-spot as shameless cries escaped you. Tears treaded down your warm cheeks, grasping his arms for stability. Your breaths were hurried, stomach clenching as you felt yourself get closer and closer. “H—haji.. Fuck, I’m so close!”

He relished under the nickname, slamming you into the bed as he planted hot kisses against your skin. “Go on, then. Make a mess on my cock, sweet girl.” With his permission you came, gushing around him; arousal dripping down his length to the floor. You trembled from the feeling, gasping once you realized he hadn’t stopped moving. So sensitive you were, crying out to him as you reached to grip his arm.

“I—I cant, Haji—!”

“You can..“ The man corrected, angling his hips to push deeper inside you. “Waited so long to fuck you like this, to watch you go dumb on my cock— ‘M not stopping until I repay you for those three weeks.”

And he wasn’t lying either. It was almost felt like hours passed with him putting you into different positions, driving you deeper and deeper into the bed to the point it began to creak. By now you could barely speak, could barely form a sound other then a jumbled babble of his name and a soft gasp.

In the midst of it all you were suddenly pushed against the wall, thighs wrapped around his form as he shoved himself into you; a spark of pain washing over you each time he brushed your cervix— pain that melted away rather quickly.

From the way his hips stuttered you knew he was close, his face pushed into your neck as he gripped your skin harshly. Skin on skin contact filled the room, desperate sounds of pleasure following until Hajime swore; spilling into you. The warmth alone pushed you over the edge, cumming for the upteenth time that night— walls milking his cock.

The man’s hips finally came to a halt, breathing heavily as he simply held you there up against the wall. After a few moments he walked backwards, sitting on the bed; the two of you groaning in sensitivity. He pulled your hot body against his own, cradling your lower back with his fingers tracing the dimples there.

The room was silent as the two of you caught your breath, simply enjoying holding the other.

Soon enough the man pulled back, continuing to smooth his hands across your skin. “You’ll probably have to call in sick tomorrow.” Hajime murmured, grinning at the soft chuckle that escaped you.

“Yeah.. you’re probably right.”