#from being eaten alive as a child and then growing up in a stomach

[nightmarearian]

blood dripped from Poseidon's mouth, red.

red.

the day they overthrew Kronos, child-eater (stomach acid crawling around them, after maw of teeth grazing his small, child body), his golden ichor bled red.

god blood, degraded into a mortal's.

the day Typhon, father of monsters (as big as their father was, as big as the Titans with sharp claws and teeth) ripped out Zeus' tendons, his blood was red.

Poseidon, god of the tides, son of Kronos, looked up at the dark shape stood above him, his own golden trident in his hand, the teeth like prongs drenched in red.

Odysseus is a mortal. was a human.

sharp webbed ears spread out on the side of their head, scales grew around their neck and arms, shining like a coral reef, illuminated by their growing red eyes, that were shrunken to slits.

Odysseus' teeth glinted in the lightning, showing their unnaturally sharp point.

monster.

[mamamittens]

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 9)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Crew & Reader-insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: Yandere behavior, kidnapping (again), and vague descriptions of grievous injury (need I specify whom at this point?). Slight angst. If yandere content makes you uncomfortable, please do block 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as any variation of 'one piece yandere' that you feel is necessary. Do not tolerate this behavior in real life from anyone (especially backstabbing, definitely don't tolerate that and get medical assistance as soon as possible).

What you've all been waiting for (fearfully even) is here. The beginning of the end. The same story but... different now. For the better? We'll have to find out, won't we?

Word Count: 1,788

Apparently, Marco had promised Twin-Blade a party when he returned. And as you’ve seen several times by now—before discretely sneaking back to your room to avoid the shenanigans—Whitebeard Pirates don’t need an excuse to throw a party. Once the supplies were safely stored, Twin-Blade took center stage with a bundle in his arms.

You stared at it with something approaching horror, the pit of your stomach rotting from underneath you. You’ve felt a lot of different fruits before, brushing by them as you worked. But you’d never felt one like this. A little too alive and seemingly aware of your presence in a way you didn’t care for. Miraculously less than you cared for being on a pirate ship. It felt greedy like a spoiled child asking for more sweets with sticky fingers and sugar-stained lips. Like it would take and take and take everything you are if you weren’t careful.

Maybe devil fruits always felt this… intense? When it hadn’t been eaten yet? Just a bundle of raw power and potential.

Regardless, you didn’t like it.

Twin-Blade beamed, sneaking glances at you with his expression faltering.

“O-Oyaji! We were challenged on the way back by pirates. And guess what lovely prize they had?” Twin-Blade removed the fruit from the bag. Massive, even in his large hand, and purple with pointy spikes. The whole deck gasped in shock. Devil fruit users weren’t exactly rare on the Grand Line, but finding a fruit itself was a matter of sheer luck. Twin-Blade glanced at you again only to see your pinched expression. “What is it?”

You wrinkled your nose.

“…nothin’. Just feels… weird.” You shrugged, trying to push aside the sticky, reaching sensation of the devil fruit. Twin-Blade looked intrigued.

“Oh!?” He scrambled over to you, ignoring your flinch as the fruit got too close to you. “What do you feel? Can you tell what it does?”

So close to the fruit you noticed a new sensation. An almost magnetic pull. Not a compulsion to eat or touch it, but a literal draw. Like there was a rope around you gently tugging you closer. You shuddered, hating how it started to feel hard to breath near it.

“Dark. Grabbing. I-I don’t know. Feels weird. Please go away.” You huffed. Twin-Blade paused, looking at your face before frowning.

“Sorry. Got too excited. You don’t look so good, are you alright?” Twin-Blade moved the fruit away from your face and placed the back of his hand to your forehead. You swatted at him with a scowl.

“I’m fine! Stop that!” You hissed.

“Hey, Thatch, are you going to drink some of this booze or are you offering another mug to your loving brothers?” Ace declared, raising two mugs high as food was brought out from below deck to feed the rowdy crowd under the growing stars.

Twin-Blade jolted from his thoughts, immediately incensed.

“Oh, hell no! Gimme that!” Twin-Blade ran to claim his drink. You sighed with relief before quietly heading back below deck. A large hand lowered down in front of you. You looked up to see Whitebeard leaning over with a concerned expression.

“Are you alright, my child?” You huffed, attention torn between the Yonko and the devil fruit somewhere behind you.

“Yeah. Just headed to bed. Night.” You said with clipped words, veering around him hand, shuddering at the gentle pulse of the greedy devil fruit behind you.

Whitebeard’s eyes fixed on you as you walked below deck, dodging party goers and cooks bringing more food and booze up.

--*--

Thatch raised his mug up high with a cheerful laugh, accepting the teasing questions about his new prize. Ace kept glancing back every so often with a frown before drunken cried brought him back.

“What’s the matter, Ace?” Thatch asked, leaning against the younger man’s shoulder with a grin. Ace gave him a sideways glance.

“Nothing… I guess I’m just worried about them.” Ace tipped his head to the side, indicating the entrance to below deck. “They don’t really stay for parties but they seemed really eager to leave this time.” Thatch grimaced.

“Yeah. I think the devil fruit was messing with them.” Thatch huffed, irritated that his plan to drag you from your shell backfired so spectacularly. “What the hell does ‘dark’ and ‘grabbing’ even mean?”

Ace shrugged.

“Don’t look at me. They don’t usually talk about their devil fruit with anyone.” Ace explained. “But maybe you could ask? Couldn’t hurt at least. Maybe not with the fruit—”

“Zehahaha~! Got yourself quite the prize, eh commander?” Teach plopped down next to him suddenly with a cheerful grin and red face. He leaned over to ‘whisper’. “So… are ya going to eat it?”

Thatch sighed.

“…I don’t know. I don’t even know what it does. What if it’s really lame? I only get one shot, you know!” Thatch grumbled. “And your newest sibling seems more on edge than usual.”

Teach smacked his back hard with an uproarious laugh.

“ZEHAHAHA~! You’ll figure it out! Maybe they just need a bit to sort themselves out?” Teach suggested. Thatch smiled, feeling a little reassured at the possibility. Night had long since fallen and the party was still in full swing. They should be asleep by now.

“Ah~ I wish I could talk to them.” Thatch sighed wistfully.

“Well why don’t you?” Thatch looked at Teach in surprise.

“They’re probably asleep…?” Teach grinned.

“Well, it can’t hurt to check! And hey, I don’t think they ate anything, either!” Thatch bolted up.

“Ahck! What! I told them to eat while I was gone!” Thatch whined, his face hot as he swayed on his feet. Teach laughed at his misery, standing up to help steady him.

“Let’s make a food run and see if they’re still up, commander. Who knows, maybe they’ll be in a mood to talk after a bit of food?” Teach suggested reasonably.

Thatch, even a bit tipsy, could see no fault in the logic. Or possibly because he was tipsy? No matter, he was going to do the best damn food run of his life.

He needed to talk to you!

Thatch waved to Ace and, with Teach’s help, stumbled up to hopefully get food good enough to tempt you into speaking to him.

The whole time Teach was laughing and joking, teasing Thatch for getting so damn tipsy—which he honestly deserved, he underestimated the strength of the booze, which is a terribly rookie mistake to make as a Whitebeard Pirate.

“What’s the bag for?” Thatch frowned, rummaging in the fridge to make a quick snack. Teach chuckled, loading up the bag.

“What? Do you think you could carry food and walk in a straight line?” Teach asked.

“Ah. Good idea, Teach, eheh, I’d probably drop it on the floor and waste it all!” Thatch cackled, shaking his head as he grabbed a couple bottles of juice. He was probably grabbing too much food, but he wasn’t sure if Teach would be sticking around for the conversation and as a D, Teach ate a lot.

Teach gave Thatch a slightly odd smile, chuckling under his breath as he finished loading up the goodies.

By the time they made it to the hallway with your room, Thatch was now a lot more sober, aided by two whole glasses of water. He didn’t want to make a total ass of himself by being too tipsy to make any sense.

The door was, unexpectedly, locked. So Marco or someone else had already came by to check on you. Which meant you had to be asleep now. Thatch had a key, sure, but now he wasn’t so sure he should actually wake you up.

He paused in front of the door, looking at the key.

There was a soft, sharp sound behind him.

Like a knife hissing as it was pulled from a scabbard.

The hot, burning pain took his breath away and made his knees go weak.

He collapsed on the floor instantly, thinking hazily that he was having a stroke or something equally terrible.

He gasped, shuddering with agony as he was moved. Teach standing over him as he gently took something from his jacket.

Thatch couldn’t focus. His thoughts circling round and around again.

Teach was holding the devil fruit.

Teach had the key.

Teach had the devil fruit and the key.

He was stepping over Thatch into the room and Thatch found his heart racing under protest. Only capable of gasping weakly as his body refused to cooperate.

His eyes slid shut for only a moment. Briefly lifting up as Teach stepped over him again, locking the door and dropping the key on Thatch’s chest. A second bag slung over his shoulder.

“Zehahaha—nothing personal, commander.” Teach smiled sincerely before walking away.

What?

Thatch closed his eyes again and waited for the world to make sense.

It only grew colder, his erratic thoughts growing increasingly distant and unreal.

He thought there was danger, but where? He was a little cold, sure, but he was fine otherwise… right?

“THATCH!” Hot hands cradled his face, something like molten liquid dripping down his face.

Reluctantly, Thatch opened his eyes, the world growing soft and faint. Someone was crying over him. Probably because he was so damn handsome, heh. Tan skin and freckles all over. Silver eyes like a blade—he’s bleeding out, isn’t he? Seas, he’s not ready to die—overflowing with tears.

“MARCO! QUICK! SOMEONE GET MARCO!” The young man lightly smacked Thatch’s face. “H-Hang in there, Thatch! Y-You’re going to be fine! I promise!” He promised desperately.

But something was bothering Thatch. More than the chill in his bones and strong enough to pierce through the cotton in his head, numbing his tongue and fingers.

He didn’t know why, but your name was the last thing that left his lips.

Where did you go?

“THATCH!”

--*--

You shuddered awake hazily to the rocking of a boat. Your neck bruised and ropes wrapped around your body. The sea waves lapped away near your head.

You could see the rising sun on the horizon and a distant island when you turned your head. Something soft bracing your bruised neck from the wood of the row boat.

“…Mmm?” You hummed, head swaying as you laid back down.

“Hmm, go back to sleep. We’ve got a ways yet before shore and between the two of us, I’m definitely the better rower. Don’t worry—" You closed your eyes reluctantly and began to drift off. “—I’ll get a decent boat to sail properly with, zehahaha!”

You fell back asleep with the distorted sense that something was wrong.

Dark shadows practically wrapped around your ankles as you fell into darkness again.

[hinatastinygiant]

1 | BLOOD TIES

Pairing: Giyu Tomioka x Fem!Reader

Sympathy for a Demon Masterlist

Please allow me to introduce myself

I'm a woman of wealth and taste.

I've been around for a long, long year

Stole many a man's soul and faith.

HEIAN PERIOD (1035)

Ever since you were born you lived with your big cousin, who is rather intimidating but also very admirable. You smile brightly as he puts his arm around you, guiding you through the bustling streets toward a grand festival that you've never seen before. Your stomach rumbles at the sight of the crowd around you. You're so nervous and oh-so excited.

Your cousin chuckles and pats your head gently as he watches your eyes grow wide, saying, "Go on, don't be shy."

"I don't know where to start," you shake your head.

With a sigh, he leads you deeper into the festival, pointing out the acrobats performing incredible feats, jugglers tossing flaming torches, and magicians captivating the crowds with their tricks. The sound of laughter and cheers lights a fire in your stomach.

"How about now?" he grins down at you, his bright red eyes glowing in the night sky.

"The magicians," you grin devilishly. "They won't even notice 'til it's too late."

With that, your cousin watches as you literally disappear beside him. He waves you off and waits only a few moments until the cheers from the crowd turn into blood-curdling screams. He smiles wide as people rush past him in a feeble attempt to leave. But by the time you're done, he's the only one left still alive.

"So?" he asks once the sound of flesh being torn apart dies off.

"Oh," you hum, disappointed that you forgot to save a couple humans for him. "I'm sorry, Muzan, I didn't realize you wanted any..."

"That's quite alright," he nods as he places his arm around your shoulders again. "Did you have a good birthday, little one?" he then asks.

You nod enthusiastically, a wide smile on your face. "Yes, cousin Muzan, I had the best time ever! Thank you!"

Muzan ruffles your hair affectionately. "Good. Remember, you're meant for greatness. One day, the world will bow before you, and you'll be the one leading grand festivals like this."

His words ignite a spark of ambition within you, and you nod, determined to make him proud. 

As you both head home, your stomach completely stuffed, your heart is full of gratitude and wonder for the unforgettable day you spent with your cousin at the festival. It was, after all, the first time he'd let you pig out on more than just his leftovers back at home.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

MEIJI PERIOD

Approximately seven hundred years later you find yourself in a time where you hardly recognize your cousin. First of all, he's a lot more powerful now than when you were little. He also has a human wife and child which surprised the hell out of you when you secretly heard someone talking to him about it. But you let it go, writing it off as he's so busy leading all the other demons it probably slipped his mind to talk to you about it.

One night, out on a feast of a small town not too far away from where Muzan's mansion is, you find yourself beginning to devour the remains of a magician when something suddenly stops you. Immediately, you're brought back to the time you were first allowed by your cousin to eat in public. And with a smile, you decide to pick up the magician instead of finishing him off yourself.

After what felt like a year's walk, you drop the half-eaten body in a dimly lit room of Muzan's grand mansion, right before his feet as a twisted smile grows on your face. The sight of his shocked expression brings satisfaction as you proudly claim, "I was too full from the rest of the town and I thought you might enjoy the rest."

Muzan lets out a chuckle, but his amusement quickly turns into irritation as he scolds you for your behavior. "You are disgusting," he remarks, his tone cold and stern. "Eating until you pig out like a child. You are a demon, not some mindless beast. Show some restraint."

Thinking that you're cousin is only joking, you retort, "Why should I? This isn't your human house. What difference does it make in how I behave?"

The room falls into a tense silence, and with a gulp, you seize the moment to change the conversation and ask, "Oh, by the way, how is your wife, Muzan?" 

Though you don't mean him any harm, his hand suddenly meets your cheek in a swift and forceful slap, sending a stinging sensation across your skin. "Do not speak of such things here," he hisses, his eyes narrowing in warning. "You are my kin, but you are still nothing more than a lowly demon. Show some respect and be more civil in your speech."

You nod silently, a mixture of anger, jealousy, and resentment growing within you. Ever since the news of Muzan having a human family reached your ears, nothing had ever felt the same. "Of course, cousin Muzan. I apologize for my behavior," you then bow your head slightly and say.

Muzan eyes you warily but seems to accept your submission. "See that you don't repeat this mistake again," he warns before turning his attention elsewhere, dismissing you for the moment.

As you exit the room, you can't shake the feeling of unease and the burning curiosity about what else he isn't telling you, what else is going on in the world that you don't know about. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

TAISHO PERIOD

Carrying what Muzan's kitchen staff calls "Ephemeral Delight," a platter of human delicacies, you walk into the meeting room. The platter holds an array of small finger foods made from tender human flesh, infused with rare spices and herbs, which you explain once Muzan nods, allowing you to speak. The presentation is artful, a masterpiece as you told the chef, showcasing how truly beautiful the human form is in a hauntingly mesmerizing way.

You then place the platter in the middle of the room where Muzan is seated, trying your best to meet his gaze, but he continuously avoids looking at you directly. He dismisses the platter with a disdainful flick of his hand, stating that it is not to his liking and instructs you to take it back to the kitchen and fix it.

"What?!" you protest, frustration mounting within you. But, you quickly bite your tongue to keep your emotions in check. You feel a mix of anger and humiliation, knowing that Muzan's constant rejection cuts deep. You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure as you pick up the platter and head back to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, one of the other servants notices your distressed expression and asks what's wrong. You clench your jaw, feeling the weight of your frustrations. "It's Muzan," you mutter, your voice tinged with bitterness. "He's never satisfied with anything anyone ever does for him!"

"W-Well, what happened dear? Did he not like it?" the chef asks, taking a step closer to you.

You slam the platter down onto the counter, unable to bear the thought of returning to Muzan's presence ever again. Without looking back, you storm out of the kitchen, your words sharp as you tell the other servants, "You figure it out!"

As you hastily leave the mansion, you know that your outburst was mean-spirited, and a wave of guilt washes over you. You never wanted to lash out at others, especially those who are just trying to do their job. But the pent-up anger and resentment have taken their toll on your emotions.

Running as fast as you can, you flee the mansion and head toward the closest town. Your heart races with each step, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Once you reach the town, the overwhelming emotions inside you find an outlet. You go on a rampage, releasing your fury on anyone in your path. The townspeople scream in terror as you mercilessly strike them down.

However, just as you're about to kill one of the last survivors, a boy steps forward, bravely putting his hands out and telling you to kill him first. Your world freezes for a moment as you lock eyes with him. There's something in his dark blue eyes that touches a nerve you thought long buried – fear, determination, and something else you can't quite place.

For the first time ever while on a hunt, you hesitate, unsure of what to do. The boy stands his ground, not running from you, even though you're a demon. Conflicted emotions surge within you, and in that moment, you see a glimpse of your former self, the lost child who once sought connection and understanding.

In the turmoil of emotions, you make the choice to run away. You turn and flee from the boy, from the town, and from the chaos you've caused. You run until your legs give out, and you find yourself in the shelter of a dense forest.

Exhausted, you slump against a tree, hugging your knees to your chest. The weight of your actions and the screams of the people you've killed echo in your mind. You hate the monster that you've become, and tears stream down your face as you cry for the lives you've taken and the pain you've caused.

In this moment, you come to a realization. The only one you want to kill now is Muzan. The one who has tormented you, manipulated you, and kept you in darkness all these centuries. He is the source of your pain, and the burning desire for revenge ignites within you.

As your emotions overwhelm you, you succumb to the exhaustion and darkness that surrounds you. You pass out, cradled by the cold embrace of the forest, with a newfound resolve to confront Muzan and bring an end to his reign of terror.

Sympathy for a Demon Masterlist

[mamabearwonders]

NFS. This is for my yearbook lovers. Emporia High School in Emporia, Kansas. Senior class of 1932. Found in my town destined for the trash in a thrift store.💎Story about defeating racism, a cute Christmas story about dogs (ADORABLE doggie guest list)☃️🐕.

Look at that handwriting! WOW! 🖋️

UPDATE🌠~ I may be able to reunite the yearbook with the family! I couldn't find anything on Google about her. And her face in a diamond shaped portrait like the cover (just connected that). I thought that the address she had written in was the high school address. It's not! That would be 110 years old today at the youngest. She could still be alive. And I'm not sure if her family still lives in the original house, but it would be wonderful to try to connect the family. It's like time travel! Being able to see your relative over 100 years ago and what they were like.

If the art deco style cover, the time gone by elegant handwriting and signatures isn't a treat itself- I found out some fascinating progressive history! Has nothing to do with the yearbook, but with what the owner of the yearbook (Beth) was experiencing at this time. I got a little swept away in the history.

91 years ago in the Dust Bowl era, a man named William Allen White (pictured with his wife) was running for governor. He owned the newspaper agency in town. His #1 goal was to get rid of the KKK. His daughter Mary (wait til you hear about her)! went to one of their public meetings and got ahold of his dog. When she released him, he went directly to his owner revealing who he was behind the mask. So he was outed in front of everyone.

Both dad and daughter frequented Stringtown. This was the section where African American people lived in that time where they befriended folks.

His daughter was as wild as the prairie winds. I hope I can do her memory some justice. At 16, her dad called her a "Peter Pan". She didn't want to grow up. She didn't like to wear dresses (preferred khakis), didn't want to settle down with one boy and was known for riding around town waving to everyone. Black or white, old or young, man or woman. She was never really religious, but she knew the church was an agency of help for a lot of people so she joined just to help the homeless and her favorite was the big Thanksgiving feast.

the 1920s, William received a letter from a young black man, Floyd Lucas, who wanted to attend college in the town to stay close to family, but the college denied him his dream of being a doctor because they feared he would cause other students to leave.

So William wrote a letter on Floyd's behalf telling them to enroll him. And he became the first person of color to attend college in the town ever.

In 1933, George - er - Sandy White (his 15 year old Scottish Terrier) was throwing a Christmas party. He even decked out a tiny Christmas tree just for his little dog with bologna on the branches. "Refreshments were served at 11:45 and completely eaten in 27 seconds".

Invited guests were Snowball and Chigger Lindsay, WuWu Thudim, Pal Triplett, Tex Dando, Jack Williams, Pepper Just, Bingo Hirschler, Mack Hughes, Mick Swap, Snappy Lowther, Ricky Lambert, and Gerald Newman Sprague. Jack Williams, whose master was 15-year-old Rex Williams, was the best decorated dog at the party. He had a wide pink ribbon tied around his stomach with a bow knotted over his back.

Mary's life ended tragically young at 16 (picture #2). Her last day on Earth was filled with happiness. She had been working really hard on a paper and wanted to get some fresh air. I believe she dealt with sickness when she was a child and I think she still had some complications as a teenager and so riding helped her feel free. And her dad joked in the obituary that she would have laughed that she met her end this way because horses would always fall in her lap and love to be petted by her, but then she tragically fell off a horse and fractured her skull in a terrible accident.

Her community and her family remember her as a rambunctious teenager that just did not want to settle down. She was tired of being a perspective mayor's daughter and just wanted to be like any other teenager and her own person like teens of today. She had a thirst for justice in the world. I wonder what her life could have been like if she had lived past being 16.

At her funeral, they played Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata and ended with Tchaikovsky's pathetic Symphony (yep that's the actual name)! She loved to listen to it on the phonograph in certain moods and then it ended with the Lord's Prayer by her friends who were also her pallbearers.

Her dad says, "She brought home riotous stories of her adventures. She loved to rollick; persiflage was her natural expression at home. Her humor was a continual bubble of joy. She seemed to think in hyperbole and metaphor. She was mischievous without malice, as full of faults as an old shoe. No angel was Mary White, but an easy girl to live with for she never nursed a grouch five minutes in her life."

Then said about this when the funeral ended. "A rift in the clouds in a gray day threw a shaft of sunlight upon her coffin as her nervous, energetic little body sank to its last sleep. But the soul of her, the glowing, gorgeous, fervent soul of her, surely was flaming in eager joy upon some other dawn."

What a fascinating town! I would never have known anything about Kansas without that yearbook. Now I'm going to be on the hunt for more yearbooks and antiques from this era from Emporia, Kansas! I wonder what the lives of these seniors were like and if perhaps they knew the family.

Sources ~

https://www.emporia.edu/libraries-archives/special-collections-archives/access/special-collections/black-emporia-interpretations-and-connections-collection/black-emporia-stringtown/

https://www.kshs.org/kansapedia/mary-white-obituary/10159

[esoteric-mantra-stuff]

Iulius and Augustus (A Starry Night Story)

Here's a cute little story inspired by a dumb thing my friend said. It's a two parter so hopefully I'll have the second part up soon.

CW: Mentions of child abduction and some of the events from AoIS

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

You poke at the sizzling meat, careful lest it burns on your skillet. The smell of cooked lamb wafts up to your sensitive nose, and your stomach rumbles accordingly. Were it up to you, you would have eaten the meat as you found it, but your little companion does not have enough wolf in his blood to digest raw meat (something you unfortunately discovered after he got sick and you didn’t know what to do). The boy stares at you as you cook. Hungry little eyes follow your hands as you turn each cut of meat over. He’s cautious of you, but at least he will accept any food you offer him. You can’t blame him for his mistrust.

After all, you are his abductor.

What stories did his mother tell about you? What did her children know of the father that stalked them in the night? Of the monster who would rip their family apart, were it necessary to bring the Age of Stars into existence? Maybe she kept you a secret, a family embarrassment her children would only be able to wonder about. You would be okay with that, perhaps, being forgotten by her. Despite being a traitor, her pups need her, and you….

You….

It’s frustrating. You know the hatred isn’t there anymore, yet your mind will not let you conjure the thought of forgiveness. The statements: ‘She took the Fingerslayer Blade in a misguided attempt to protect you.’ and ‘She loved you.’ are both logical, as veridical as ‘one equals one.’ they’re impossible to deny. You want so badly to let the pieces fall into place, but the curse of your very being stops them from doing so. What’s more, the moment Lady Ranni asked you to bring the boy to her, to use him as a tool to kill the Two Fingers, you folded like a wet sheet of paper. You wanted to protest, plead with her to leave them alone, but what did you say instead? “It shall be done, my lady.” without hesitation. What a pathetic creature you are, less than a worm, less than the scum of the earth, you-

“It’s burning.” A tiny hushed voice breaks you out of your spiraling. You stop yourself from swearing before taking the slightly charred meat out of the fire and into a wooden plate. “Sorry….” you mutter as you pass the boy his share (the less burnt one). Aster accepts your offering, taking small and careful bites with his little muzzle. You’re glad he’s eating, at least. For the first few days after you took him from his mother’s camp, he would not stop crying, to the point that he would not eat. You felt awful about that. A young pup of about 5 or 6 years old is growing and needs nutrients. Worse still was knowing that you couldn’t console him other than by reassuring him that he would return to his family safe and sound. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t turn back. Lady Ranni would never allow it. Now the boy is calm, more curious about you than afraid. You can’t decide if that’s for better or worse. You don’t bother restraining him, as he does not attempt to run away. If only the Lands Between were safer for a young pup, maybe you would be okay with letting him escape to find his mother, then deal with Ranni’s ire at your incompetence. Her words would be easier to deal with than the gnawing guilt currently eating you alive. She’s always been the type to use the Silent Treatment, anyway, that or attempting murder.

You chew the burnt mutton, grimacing at the bitter taste in your mouth. The boy looks at you, or rather, he looks at your open jaw whenever you take a bite out of the meat. His tail wags curiously at the sight of your fangs. Aster’s teeth are relatively tiny, a mouth full of little needles that would probably cause more pain than injury. You would know as he bit your finger the other day, and the scream you let out would have given anyone a reason to be concerned. If his’ are needles, yours are knives. Big enough to tear away at flesh and bone alike.

As a general rule, you avoid biting during fights. It’s not honorable, and you’d rather avoid being compared to a wild animal, but to a little pup, it must be exciting to get an idea of how big and dangerous one’s mouth can get. A smile tugs at your lip, and you make a show of biting down on your meal, the burnt flavor now slightly dulled. Aster laughs a carefree giggle that makes your tail wag, though your guilt still weighs on your shoulders. Maybe you can pretend to be Father and Son for just a moment. After this is over, you won’t see him again. You can’t, not after what you did. Your frown fades into a smile as Aster attempts to shove as much of the mutton into his mouth, his little fangs unable to tear so much meat away. It’s adorable, though you hesitate to say it out loud. You hope that Aster forgets all the tears he shed on the way here as he grows older. You hope he continues to laugh like this forever, even if you don’t get to see it. 

—-----------------

Aster does not speak much, mostly walking by your side in silence. You had offered to carry him on your shoulders, though he refused. His tumbling steps made you feel nervous about his well-being, but he never slowed down or fell like you thought he might. Now and again, you would catch him grabbing onto your cloak for stability, so you offered to hold his hand if he needed it instead. He was wary, of course, but he did take you up on your offer after some deliberation. His fingers are so tiny, a little mirror image of your rougher padded digits. It’s adorable.

You eventually reach the Three Sisters after doing your best to avoid the Fingercreepers lurking in Caria Manor. Adula greets you as you arrive, bowing her head in respect. Aster hides behind you, peeking at the dragon with some trepidation. “It’s okay, she’s a friend.” You reassure the boy, but he just hides under your cloak. A sigh escapes your lips as you dismiss Adula with a hand motion. The dragon doesn’t stop to ponder the small furry creature hiding behind you, and she takes off into the skies, kicking up dust and grass in her wake. You peek under your cloak and behind you at the pup currently hugging your tail. “Don’t worry, Aster, she’s gone.” You say, offering your hand to the boy. Aster ignores you, staring up at Ranni’s Rise, clearly uncomfortable with the derelict tower. “... scary.” he says, hiding behind your leg. You tilt your head as you look at the building over. Now that you think about it, Ranni’s Rise does have a rather ominous look to it. Perhaps you’ve simply grown accustomed to it, or maybe it’s just that everything related to your lady seems to have its imperfections scrubbed away in your eyes. Perhaps it is you who is strange for not feeling apprehensive.

Aster clutches your leg, and his face presses against your thigh. You can almost feel him trembling through the plate and the leather of your boot. “Aster….” you nudge him gently, but he does not release your leg; if anything, his grip tightens. If Seluvis were alive, perhaps he would jeer (or cackle) at the idea that a child could so quickly and effectively immobilize you. “Aster? Are you okay?” you nudge him again to no avail. Well, this is a problem. What to do? Grabbing Aster and forcing him to enter with you would likely be the most straightforward answer, but something about that just leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Children don’t deserve to get treated like misbehaving animals, and being afraid isn’t something they should be punished for. Coercion might work, but you can’t think of anything Aster might like. If only you knew him better. You try to remember how your mother might have helped you if you were scared. She was always the better parent, not that the competition was ever stiff. Radagon was not dad of the year material, even on his good days. (The irony of history seemingly repeating itself is not lost on you.) There was this one time you were afraid of swimming, and your mother said… hmmm. Okay, that could work.

As calmly as you can, you put your fingers over Aster’s, petting the fur on the back in a soothing motion. You try to keep your voice as calm as you can. “Aster… I understand you’re afraid of going inside. It’s maybe not the most welcoming place, but… I assure you that nothing bad will happen… I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.” You say, feeling Aster’s grip on your leg weakens just a little. You gently pry him away from your leg, and he lets you. His faded lavender eyes look slightly red. He’s been crying. You kneel in front of him, wiping away what remains of his tears with your thumb. “Ni allwn fod yn ddewr os nad ydym byth yn ofni.” You say, repeating the words your mother once said, only to be met with a tilted head and a little frown… Shit. You’re such an idiot! Of course, he wouldn’t know any Liurnian. You feel your cheeks slightly redden at your mistake. You’re about to explain what it means when Aster pipes up. “... Dw i'n dy garu ti?” It catches you off guard, and you sputter for a moment. The boy merely stares at you, an equal mix of concern and amusement in his eyes. “Y-you… how did you…?” You manage to say, the marbles in your skull still rattling around. Aster looks down, and a sad look crosses his eyes. “Mum says it sometimes… it sounds like what you just said.” His little ears fall back, and he wrings his hands together. Thinking of his mother must have worried him. “... she said it with a smile but smelled like tears… I don’t get it, and she wouldn’t explain.” He falls silent.

Even when crouched down to Aster’s level, he looks up at you, his tiny body still dwarfed by your massive one. To think she would not only remember what little Liurnian you taught her but would choose to tell her children she loves them using your tongue. That’s… Well, that’s something. “To be honest, I don’t understand it either….” You admit, ruffling the fur on Aster’s head, causing him to let out a little giggle. “But it means your mother loves you very much… and I’ll make sure you see her again soon.” Aster smiles; it’s a cute and dorky grin. You smile, pushing the thoughts of his mother and her strangeness into the back of your mind. It doesn’t matter anymore to you, does it? Why do you care that she remembered? You’ll never see her again, not that she’d want to see your sorry mug. Stop thinking about impossibilities and concentrate on your mission. Your tail is a traitor that wags when you think about her, and you would do well to chop the bloody thing off.

—----------------------

Ranni was not particularly glad to see you. She hadn’t been happy to see you for a long time, though today she was particularly unhappy with your presence. You don’t understand what you did to earn her disdain. You chose to stay loyal to her, didn’t you? Shouldn’t she be happy that you would honor your oath to her above everything? Even though you wanted to be a father, the Age of Stars needed to come. Ranni knows this, yet your relationship with her has not been the same since that day the Fingerslayer Blade slipped out of her grasp. You don’t understand her; maybe you never understood her. Still, loyal hound (or lap dog perhaps) that you are, you stay by her side.

You will take Aster to the Moonlight Plateau tomorrow morning. He should be able to slay the Two Fingers keeping Ranni bound to this land. Once it was over, you would return Aster to his family. Then… Well, then you’ll have to find something else to do. Maybe, if you’re lucky, Aster’s mother might be kind enough to chop your head clean off your shoulders. It would certainly make things easier. For now, you get to spend the night here at the tower. Aster was still a little scared but followed you into your chambers. His little fingers wrap around your index as you show the boy where he will be staying.

“Are you comfortable, Aster?” You say as you tuck the boy in your bed. Crouched by his side. He looks so small compared to it. A tiny fluffy head poked behind a sea of sheets and blankets. Aster yawns (complete with a familiar whine at the end) before responding. “Uh-huh….” You run a thumb over the fur of his head. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me then. Goodnight.” You stand up and would have made your way to the stairs if not for the hesitant look on Aster’s face, clutching at the sheets and looking at you and away like he wants to ask something. It would seem there is something wrong. “Aster? Did you want something else?” If he wants a glass of water or a snack before bed, there’s probably something around here he can eat. Or maybe he’s concerned about sleeping in a stranger’s bedroom for the night, though now that you think about it, has he ever been in a bedroom before? You didn’t think to ask, but maybe he hasn’t. Is that what has him uneasy?

Aster cuts off your runaway train of thought. “... are you really my dad?” He asks in an almost embarrassed tone that makes you feel increasingly silly. You kneel back by his side of the bed, trying to keep your tone calm and comforting even though your face feels a little hot. “I… I am, yes.” You say. It’s not worth explaining to a child that even though you’re his father biologically, you do not get to call yourself that after what you did. “Is that all you wanted to know?” Aster shakes his head, his little fingers still clutching the sheets. He’s steeling himself to say what he wants, like a warrior before a duel, to the point that it’s starting to make you uneasy.

“... Why….” The boy finally says. “... Why don’t you and Mum talk anymore?” The tone is not accusatory but stings you almost like it is. It’s only natural a kid would be curious, but honestly, you were hoping to avoid it for as long as you could. Aster sees your ears crumple, or maybe how your eyes dart away and pushes on, knowing he will get his answers. “Mum told me you fought, but… Why… Why can’t you make up? Aren’t people supposed to say sorry after they fight?” Aster looks… almost betrayed. As though the knowledge that adults are more complex is baffling to him, like the fact that the world is messy and full of irreconcilable differences is too wide for his little mind to comprehend. You don’t know how to respond to his question, as frankly, that’s not something a child his age would be ready to understand.

When you fought, it was because you felt she had betrayed your and your lady’s trust. She took the Fingerslayer Blade and potentially tried to turn you into a traitor, or so you thought. As the years passed and you gave it more thought, you concluded that maybe your Tarnished lover had a reason to think as she did. Lady Ranni, for as much as your mind would never allow you to see her in a bad light, had no intention of saving you once the Two Fingers took hold of your mind. Realizing how little it meant to her stung, but the years since the Fingerslayer Blade was stolen made it clear the sister you thought you knew was long dead, buried under an icy glare and heart. You’d still give your life to her, and the Tarnished was wrong for trying to force your hand, but you wonder if maybe you’d feel otherwise if the curse of your very being was lifted. It scares you as much as it entices you, the dark thoughts of betrayal that every cell in your body seems to reject, yet they persist in your mind. Besides, it must not have been easy seeing you try to destroy yourself. if it was you in her shoes, you’d definitely….

…

Yes. You would have done the same for her… you can admit as much to yourself. You turn to Aster’s little inquisitive eyes. He's been silent, but you felt him picking at your expression with his eyes, trying to unearth the details of the story from your facial movements alone. “... Adults sometimes forget that they need to say sorry. When someone hurts you, it can be easy to forget the other person might have been hurt too….” You explain calmly and reassuringly. “She did something that upset me, and I wasn’t ready to forgive her for it then… I… I then said some things that….” Hurt her beyond what you could do with a sword or fang? Threw her love for you in the mud and dug your heel in? Projectile vomited the worst combination of words you could think of for the sole purpose of causing her emotional pain? Go on, pick your poison. “... that I won’t repeat, but they upset her back… a lot….” Coward. “Then… we went our separate ways and never saw each other again. She would have her cubs in peace, never having to bring up the past or think about me again.” Except for the part where you threatened to hunt her down and told her to give her children up for adoption. Let’s leave that part out for the 6-year-old, shall we? “... It’s okay to not forgive people sometimes, Aster… not when they’re… bad guys… like me.” Silence falls in the room as you finish your muttering, inconsistent explanation. It’s better this way. She has a new life and little pups that depend on her while you’re a bloody mess. You do not deserve any of it, especially not after abducting a child.

Aster stares at you, not shocked or upset. He has that doe-eyed puppy-dog look to him where you’re not sure if a single word you just said was processed in his mind. Rude. You dropped some pretty heavy stuff back there, did he not think much of it? “Aster? Is something wrong?” You ask the boy. He looks away, staring at your desk and the items on top. “But… Mum thinks about you all the time….” He looks back in what you know understand is a look of confusion. “She always says she wants us to meet you one day, and that our dad is super strong and brave….” She… she said that? W-Why… Why would she say that?! Aster goes back to fiddling with the hem of the sheets, looking down at them like they were the most interesting thing in the room. “Umm… please don’t tell her, but the other day I heard her talking to herself and she said she wished you were there to help out… So, uh… That means you’re wrong about my Mum not wanting to see you!” He finishes, staring at you with a little accusatory glare. You’re still reeling, lost on how to respond. So despite all the awful things you threatened to do, she still thinks of you like the noble knight you pretend to be. Then again, it was always just a weak excuse, wasn’t it? The real problem here is, and has always been, you.

You finally manage to push out a single: “... huh.” After a tense moment of silence, earning yourself the tiniest slap on your muzzle. “Ow! Sorry, I was just… surprised.” You say, rubbing the sore spot on your muzzle. “If… if that’s true then I guess… I don’t have any excuse….” She doesn’t have the Fingerslayer Blade anymore. Your reason for hunting her down is over too. Still… Can it really be so simple? Surely you can’t just waltz back to her and sort things out. Wars have been fought over less and yet… “Are you scared?” Aster’s voice returns you to reality, his face tilted in concern. “Are you afraid… of mum?” He asks in a most sincere way that makes you feel pathetic. You look down at your hands, so large comparatively, and yet it’s like you’re the kid in this situation. “... I am… maybe.” You admit, not bearing to look at those eyes. You can’t stand the thought of lying to him right now. Faded lavender that reflects your insecurities like a mirror. You don’t jump (it’s more of a jolt) when the boy’s hand touches the fur in the back of yours, rubbing at the fur in a circular motion. “... if you’re scared… we can go to her together. I’m not good at a lot of things, but I can do this.” You smile. It creeps up from deep within you, a smile of genuine happiness, something you don’t think you have felt for a long time. Are you gonna say no, after a vote of confidence like that? You look back at the boy, who smiles back at you, simple and dorky. “Well… alright.” You say. “When we’re done with this, your mother and I can have a chat.” You hear the little thumping noise of Aster’s tail, trapped under the sheets. It’s worth a shot, at least. “Mind you, I can’t promise it’ll go well. She won’t be happy that I took you without permission.” You remind him, though it hardly dampens his enthusiasm. “Oh, but I’m having so much fun!” The boy says, ignoring the criminality of what you did. Maybe when he gets older he will understand.

After that you put Aster to bed again. The pup was reluctant about going to sleep, but his ever increasing yawns made it clear it was past his bedtime. You turned off the lights, snuffing out each candle, letting the room go dark save for the faint glow of glintstone from the crystals that grew everywhere. “G’night, dad.” Aster said as you stood up and were about to leave. You could’ve said something else, something that still kept the pretense of distance about your bond, but instead you said the one thing that could seal your fate. “Goodnight… son.” From then on you were doomed. Absolutely screwed. Completely and perpetually. Don’t let your wagging tail fool you.

[benjaminalphabet]

sometimes i don’t even think i’m a real person.

just a backpack full of body parts,

a lost and found for human organs.

i am miscellaneous and disorganized,

i am piled on top of myself like unassembled furniture.

my body is a thrift store,

full of once loved items ready to be repurposed,

just hoping to be used again.

just hoping for a second chance.

doubt grows from me through my hair follicles.

i am convinced everyone will leave me eventually.

but there is nothing to cry about because i have never given anyone a reason to stay.

there is still blood under my fingernails from all the fist fights i’ve been in.

i don’t remember how many i won or lost,

i don’t remember walking away from the alter,

i don’t remember how i got here.

there’s a pill bottle in my hand reminding me that i am still begging to be loved.

there are ink stains on my fingertips reminding me that i am still hiding from it, too.

i am cowering in the corner like a terrified child.

if i pull the covers over my head the demons won’t know i’m here with them.

if i keep my eyes closed i won’t wake up in hell.

if i keep my eyes closed i won’t wake up at all.

i could die here all alone.

i could give up and walk away.

i thought it would hurt less if nobody else knew how bad it hurt.

my heart, a knife.

i am the one holding the blade, but it is not steady in my shaking hands.

i am terrified of all the people i could hurt with this weapon.

i am terrified of all the ways it could be used against me.

i am not sure what to do with it,

most days i walk quietly and just try not to disturb it.

most mornings i pull my body out of bed the way a tired ox pulls a too heavy wagon up a long, steep hill.

i feel all of my muscles cry, i ignore them with tears in my eyes.

i do what i have to to survive.

most days i am not surviving very well but i can at least keep my organs from failing.

sometimes i look in the mirror and bile fills my mouth.

sometimes i can taste the vomit before it even comes up.

sometimes i feel my stomach twisting inside of me like it’s trying to wring itself out.

i am empty, and i try to stay that way.

if there’s nothing inside,

there’s nothing to hate.

if there’s nothing to keep,

control is easy to maintain.

i am terrified of losing control like i am terrified of nuclear winter.

my body and brain are barren landscapes,

everything they had to give has already been taken from them.

sometimes i think i see the sun rising,

but i never stay outside for long enough to know for sure.

i’m terrified that it might blind me.

winter is bitter, but it is all i know.

and there is some comfort in doing what you’ve always done.

sometimes i feel the brush of fingertips against my skin and suddenly i am someone new.

the moments never last for long, so i have to hold them while i have them.

at night i push the denial away from me like a half eaten dinner plate,

my brain feels like a very full stomach.

i am uncomfortable and exhausted.

my heart takes up too much space in my chest, and it pushes hard on my ribcage when it beats.

i have forty minutes to sleep and i dream about being held.

i wake up cold and tempted to answer the phone the next time it rings.

but i don’t. i never do.

i’m not sure when it ends, if it ever does.

i’m not sure what it means or what it’s worth.

most days, i am the last person left alive in the entire universe and all the cosmos are watching me.

i am not sure what they expect of me.

i am not sure what mission i am meant to accomplish.

i am not sure what i am supposed to learn from this, if anything.

sometimes i’m nihilistic.

sometimes i wake up crying and begging a very old god to forgive me.

sometimes i clutch amethysts and pretend i feel them healing me.

i’m not sure if anyone is listening anymore.

i’m not sure if i’m lonely or isolated.

content or reserved.

sometimes it all feels the same.

12.6.22 // and i lost way more than just you when i left

[thelonelyme]

♤𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬♤

.

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞: ディズニー ツイステッドワンダーランド[Twisted Wonderland]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐨/𝐢: Malleus Draconia, Silver (Vanrouge), Lilia Vanrouge, mc.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: Malleus reacts to mc's awakening from silver's kiss. [mc x Yandere Malleus Draconia]

𝐀𝐕𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐄: FEM READER, This is the second part of "Spoiled", so if you haven't already read that, make sure you do. Yandere content, scenes of explicit torture, threats, physical and psychological violence, misogyny, explicit scenes of murder.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @banjovamp ;)

"And tell me... How would it be possible? Tell me... Tell me if it's possible when what I've been doing for the last ten years was just trying to break that spell. Tell me, Tell me, TELL ME." His fingertips had turned white from how much pressure he was putting on your hand.

He most probably broke it already, but at this point, even a single grimace, a scream of pain, an involuntary reflex- anything would be fine.

By now you seemed more dead than alive, your skin had begun to cool down your arms, gathering the necessary heat in your chest and stomach. You hadn't eaten for years, decades, but you didn't age. Your fingers were completely frozen, if somehow you would come back, surely there would be a lot of problems in rehabilitating them; your lips once so sweet and rosy, so kissable and lovable, were now colored a pale blue, not so obvious but still quite visible.

Malleus could no longer look at that pitiful sight.

A woman as charming, beautiful, fantastic and tameable as you, reduced to a thread of death by none other than your self-proclaimed husband, the one who, by ruining your life, has filled his.

In an eternal limbo with no way out, if not by an impossible means. He should have been the one you should have loved, otherwise this would never have happened; if you hadn't turned against him nothing would have ever happened, if only you weren't so stubborn, ungrateful, ignorant and stupid, nothing would have ever happened. In fact, you would both be sitting in the gloomy castle garden as you snuggle up to watch your adorable son play with Lilia and annoy Sebek as he gently rubbed your swollen stomach of his love for him.

"Malleus, I know what you are going through, I know what an immense pain it feels to realize that all the efforts made are only in vain, I have been through it. But the only thing I can advise at the moment is not to obsess over the matter even more; you are spending more time with her than you should with your child! He is growing up with no one, and you more than anyone else should know what it feels like. You are bringing an entire kingdom to destruction as yourself, now you spend more time in this room, without letting anyone in. As much as I hate to say it, you absolutely have to take your life back in your hand and that of your people as well as that of your children, they are still small, but they are beginning to no longer believe the lies we are telling them. I am not speaking to you as an army commander, I am not speaking to you as an honored knight, but I am speaking to you as a father, make the right choice, now, your majesty, goodnight. " With this, the elder fae left the room, being followed by the two knights in the corridors of the castle to put to sleep the two kids.

To let go.

He could never let you go, your bond should have been forever, but then, why are you separated by this invisible wall?

"The spell can never be broken except by the kiss of true love."

If it wasn't him, who? Who would ever be that peasant who would have lured you into his trap? There would be thousands of possibilities, one more terrifying than the other for the dragon king.

But from that thought an idea was born, one that, however convoluted it might sound, would be able to solve both problems.

Finding a new calm, the fae cured your shattered hand bones with a twist of his wrist, then brought his face close to your sleeping one, making the two hot breaths collide with each other, and lovingly whispered that they could finally reunite once and for all.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next day, the monarch of Briar Valley made sure he knew who it was that had captured his soulmate's heart. As much as his draconic instincts were screaming and wriggling inside of him, he resisted the temptation to slit those filthy people who were now taking turns kissing your hand.

He consoled himself knowing that he would then take care of the punishments himself that, despite having sent the order himself, that useless dust of society would have to pay for even thinking of looking at HIS lovely wife.

Unfortunately this could only have happened with the inhabitants of his kingdom, after all he would not even want to have to deal with useless and boring battles against other countries in the world of him.

He called for the occasion all his former schoolmates, from the now successful businessman Azul Ashengrotto to the now athlete Jack Howl, to figure out who that person was to take revenge.

No one will ever be able to take his wife from him, or they will be eliminated like those useless creatures that they are.

Peasants, nobles, dukes, even duchesses participated in the very unusual event. But none of them had been able to wake you from the cursed sleep.

Finally losing that thin thread of patience that was left to him, he ordered that all the people who had even dared to touch you before, were trapped in the castle, while he headed into your rooms with your body softly asleep and modeled on his strong arms. As hot as the situation was, Malleus could do nothing but soften at the tender sight of you and your children sleeping together.

Even if for just one moment, he thought that this was not the result of a spell, but that it was the result of an eternal love between him and you.

"Don't worry, my love, everything will work out soon, so we can be real family again" He said softly whispering in your ear, aware that you couldn't hear him, and tenderly kissing first your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, and finally your cheeks, before leaving the guard of your room to one of his most trusted knights.

When the young monarch was gone, young Silver entered the room.

He knew you hated him, and he hated himself too: he hated himself for never trying to stop this, he hated himself for not having stopped his master in time, and he hated himself for ignoring everything.

After all, even if ignorance is bliss, it will always lead to an inner emptiness and regret for not having known before.

"Sorry ___, sorry, please forgive me-please, please.." Silver sobbed faintly, slumping along your figure, staining the palm of your hand firmly in his hands with silver tears.

You would never have deserved all of this pain.

You never did anything. He'd rather be burned alive a thousand times over than let you go to your fate.

"Sorry.." He brought his face close to yours: his cheeks were red and wet from crying, while he sobbed slightly at every memory of your requests for help. He didn't want to do it.

He kissed you.

"You are forgiven"

"W-w-what? What ever- How?"

"I forgive you" You said hoarsely, not having used your voice for years. But for Silver, those simple words would have been heaven on earth.

As if by magic, the doors to the room swung open. Malleus entered. He knew something was wrong. He knew that brat was dealing with his wife. All those glances, even if helpful, all those words you thought he could never hear.. A fae couldn't be less if he didn't have senses amplified than a humble human.

"YOU BASTARD!" Malleus lunged at the man, biting his throat. Silver screamed. At that moment he couldn't care less of you, he finally had between his fangs the filthy traitor who had got in the way. You screamed in terror as the delicate skin on Silver's neck began to peel off his neck. If no one were to intervene instantly, he would be dead.

But neither Lilia nor Sebek did anything.

With one last yank, Malleus tore a large piece of flesh from the now dead human. Blood was everywhere and still flowing from the huge gash in his neck.

Nobody cared, as long as it wasn't too long, he could easily bring himself back to life with an ancient ritual, which, fortunately, Malleus didn't know.

"I advise you to go and change, you wished you could be in a more pleasant condition to atone for your betrayal."

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

[catxsnow]

HAPPINESS B.W.

Request: Will you do a Bruce Wayne x reader where the reader gets hurt because of his life and he just like super sorry and regretful? If you wanna change the bat boy that'll be okay.

Warning: mentions of blood and injury, fluff, angst 

A/N: hello good day one and all, my writing inspiration has plummeted even more but I hope everyone enjoys this. 

Word count: 1.9k 

Bruce never wanted you to be part of his life for this reason. He didn't want an innocent civilian to get caught up in his life as Batman. Someone who couldn't take care of themselves like he or his kids could. He didn't want you to be trapped in the crossfire of his battles and be the one to suffer the consequences.

You knew the risks of being with him. One night he may never make it home because of his fights. Or maybe that one of his sons or daughter would fall again, and this time never return. You knew that maybe, you would somehow be the one to get the bullet instead of someone that would have known how to dodge it.

Maybe if Bruce would have been faster, or if he ignored his pride and asked for help everything would have turned out fine. Maybe if he sacrificed himself, you would have ended up safe. Instead, you laid in a hospital bed. Cast around your arm, brace on your neck. Cuts and bruises laced your skin from the accident.

Except it wasn't an accident. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time and there was nothing that Bruce could have done to help, no matter how much he beat himself up over it. He was saving the lives of others - you would never shame him for that.

Being Batman was something you had to learn to deal with, but his need to save lives was something you could never chastise. You had your fights over it, the crying and screaming matches that seemed to go on for hours. Your pleads to get him to stop when things were going too far.

The times a young Jason Todd would come into your room with red eyes because he heard you and Bruce fights. An older Jason coming to you for comfort after hearing yet another argument with your husband. Tim crawling into your bed with you as Bruce headed out for a night on his own after yelling at you.

Dick, the child you never got a hand in raising, but being there for you because he knew Bruce's antics more than anyone. All his kids adored you, and they all knew what it was like to be on the other end of Bruce's stubborn Wrath.

Bruce was worth it. He was worth every tear, every kiss, every second. Every moment you spent with him, whether it be love or hate, you wouldn't change it for anything. Even if his love was the reason that you were in that bed.

"It's not your fault, Bruce," Dick stood behind the chair in which his adopted father sat. He came back to Gotham the moment that he heard about what happened. Damian had told him scene by scene what occurred - nothing of which Bruce could have stopped. Maybe not even if he was Superman.

Unfortunately, Dick knew all too well that Bruce would feel guilty for this. He was more protective of you than anyone else in this entire world. He would go to any length to keep you safe.

Bruce held your hand in his. The faint pulse was the only thing keeping him sane in that moment. His hair was tousled, likely from the stress he had been under these past few hours. It wasn't often Dick saw him like this. Then again, it wasn't often Bruce ever let anything happen to you.

"I knew a day like this would come and yet I still agreed to let them into my life," Bruce's voice was hoarse - nearly as much as it was when he was under the cowl. The only difference, was now he wasn't hiding behind a mask, he was forced to face the reality of what could happen to those he loved because of his life.

"Growing up, I never thought I'd see the day that you'd fall in love," Dick sat down in the chair across from Bruce. He refused to take his eyes off you, even with his son showing himself. "And then you met (Y/N). I remember them coming over to the mansion for the first time. I wasn't living there anymore but you wanted me to come to meet them.

"I've never seen you laugh, genuinely laugh, so much in one night. I could tell, from that night that they were different than the other woman you brought home. You cared about them from the start, Bruce. (Y/N) wasn't just some other person that you seduced to uphold your playboy act. They knew what they were getting into with you. You can't just force everyone away because you're scared of potential outcomes - that's part of life. Even for Batman."

"They wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me," Bruce tried to argue. Always the glutton for punishment, even when the hand didn't need to be delivered to him.

"And they might have ended up far worse if it hadn't been for you," Dick spoke, his voice steady. He too hated seeing you like this - but if Bruce wasn't going to be the stable one then he had to take that burden. "If there's one thing in this world that people like us struggle to get... it's happiness. You found yours in (Y/N). Don't lose that because of one accident."

><

"Father."

It had been days since you had been admitted into the hospital. Yesterday morning you woke up sore, but alive. Bruce was yet to leave your side. Stubble littered his face from going days without shaving. A look that you weren't able to truly appreciate from being asleep half the time.

By this time the next day, you would be allowed to leave, but that didn't make your husband any less worried about your well being. Bruce still blamed himself for what happened, even after you had told him it wasn't his fault in the slightest. You could see the guilt on his face, just as he wore every time something went wrong with you involved.

"I brought you food," Damian held a bag of take-out in his hand. If he knew his father well enough, he'd know that he hadn't eaten anything all day. It was confirmed when he heard the loud growl of Bruce's stomach the moment that he got a whiff of the food in the room. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry," Bruce waved off his son. It was clear he was in need of something to eat, though he was too stubborn to take care of himself while you were in need. Even if it was just watching over you while you slept. Damian shoved the bag directly in front of his face until he reluctantly accepted.

"You need a shower," Damian's nose curled up. He stood looking down at his father. As worried as he had been, he also was acting immaturely. Refusing to take care of himself, constantly under surveillance while you were in good hands as it was. "(Y/N) will be perfectly safe with me. Go home. Get some sleep. We'll be here in the morning and ready to go home."

"I'm fine."

"You're not." Damian eyes the food until Bruce took a bite. It wasn't often that he was worried about his father, but it had been days since he had properly looked out for himself. It was clear how far his love for you went after seeing him like this. Or more so, his guilt for letting this happen. "Do you not trust me to take care of them?"

Bruce's jaw tightened. Truth was, he didn't trust anyone with you. Not even himself. Not even Clark. Damian took his silence as an answer. Of course not. Bruce couldn't trust him for a night out alone on patrol, how was he supposed to trust him with his partner?

"It's my fault they're here, Damian," Bruce sighed. "I've never been so scared before."

This was the first time that Damian had ever seen his father so truly vulnerable. Never in his life did Bruce admit that he was scared, yet here he was completely unscathed and terrified. Dick was right, he found complete and utter happiness in you, and the thought of losing you hurt more than anything else.

He wasn't just scared. He was horrified. Nothing in this world put more fear into him than seeing you suffer, or worse.

"It's not your fault, Father," Damian assured, just as his older brother had. "You always taught me to be brave, to face what scared me most. There's nothing wrong with feeling scared sometimes. It reminds us that we're human, that we're allowed to feel things. (Y/N) loves you, this won't change anything."

><

"Bruce would you stop hovering over me, I'm fine!"

You thought getting back to the manor would mean Bruce would finally be off your back about your injuries. It couldn't be more of the opposite. He was constantly trailing behind you, ready to give you aid whenever you needed it. Honestly, you weren't even that sore.

The brace on your neck was gone before you even left the hospital. Your dark bruises were lighter in color and the cuts that required stitches were healing just fine. The only noticeable injury was the cast on your arm, and you could still function just fine without it. Bruce was just being his overly-protective self.

"If I would have known that all I needed to do to get this much attention from you was to get myself hurt, I would have done it a long time ago," You tried to joke. He remained stoic about your comment, your health was no joking matter. You placed your palm on his cheek, the warmth of his skin being soaked up by your own.

"Seriously, hun, I feel perfectly fine. I'm just thankful for you being there." He didn't look convinced. There was nothing worse than failing you, and he had done exactly that.

"Except I wasn't there," he muttered. Bruce tilted his head in shame. He wasn't there to save you fast enough, he should have been. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I'm so sorry that my life put yours at risk."

"Bruce, my love," your fingers caught under his chin. He reluctantly met your eyes. Shame filled his entire body, he was supposed to be able to save the world, and yet he couldn't save the one closest to him. "I will never blame you for anything like this. I need you to know that. No matter what happens to me, It will never be your fault."

"I love you," Bruce's lip trembled. You were quick to bring him into a kiss. After everything that he's done, the last thing that he deserved was guilt. "I can't live without you. You're my happiness, my everything. I was, I was so scared. I can't live without you, (Y/N)."

"And you'll never have to."

Taglist:

 @pricetagofficial​ @mora-miserium​  @babymango-writes​  @redrobin-yumm​  @simp-is-what-i-am​  @catsofsmoke​  @subtleappreciation​  @officiallydarkgeek​ @spiitfiires​  @pinkdiamond1016​  @childish-kiwi​  @givetimdrakeacoffee​  @gunnedrobin​   @local-fandom-trashcan  @bikoncon​  @foenixphire​

[stephreynaart]

Gravity Falls - “Waiting”

Pop-Pop AU

Stan sits in a hospital waiting room, thinking about his life and the people he loves.

- - - -

This is kinda old, but I realized I never posted it on tumblr. Hope ya like it!

Lots of fluff, the only ships are Soos and Melody.

AO3 LINK

- - - -

It had a square aspect ratio. Ink pen and watercolor on white heat pressed cotton paper in a bland white frame. One single blue flower in a red vase with what looks like a yellowish shadow. One shadow going left, the other going right. The lack of confidence and inexperience was obvious, the lines were unfocused and jagged, the color plainly filled the shapes and gave no other visual interest to the image.

Below the frame was a small white card that read “Painting donated by Jessica Blaise from Gravity Falls Elementary School”

Stan scanned the painting at least 20 times while sitting in that chair. The too rough and too soft at the same time chair that had similar copies populating the almost white room he sat in. The wallpaper bouncing off light pinks and blues with tiny ducklings as a makeshift wainscoting was starting to irritate the old man. It was too bright, and the consistent buzz of the fluorescent lights seemed so loud. Stan adjusted himself in his chair, switching his crossed legs to a wider spread and leaned his head against the wall.

The only other stimulus in the room were a few posters promoting proper hand washing techniques, the play area with a small table and chairs with large blocks, crayons and that weird “game” with the metal wiring and wooden beads that’s in every waiting room Stan’s ever sat in. He played with the toys to give himself something to do after he read all the magazines. The novelty wore off fast.

The television mounted on the wall was airing some cooking channel with no sound and no subtitles. Looking at food when you haven’t eaten in a few hours was practically torture, so Stan had been averting his eyes.

There were other paintings on the wall, one was less of a painting, but instead a print of a painting. He doubted that the artist got any compensation from it, if they were still alive. The other was a charcoal drawing done by a student from the community college a town away. Another square, but the entire image was black, the brightest thing on the page was an intruding infant hand coming from the left with the arm fading into the dark background. The fingers seemingly mid-twitch and grabbing at something. The lighting was dynamic and interesting. Stan swore it was a drawing of a penis the first time he glanced at it, which resulted in his brother’s laughter. Stanley smiled at the memory, it was only a few hours ago, but he relishes any time he can make Stanford laugh.

Stan’s eyes darted at the door in the far corner when it opened suddenly. He eased back into his chair when the nurse crossed the room to talk with the receptionist. He couldn’t hear the conversation very well, but could tell they were just gossiping and making jokes. Nothing that was of his interest. So he looked back to the elementary school child’s painting and analyzed it again. His eyes were dry and he was tired. He wished he could sleep, the chair wasn’t comfortable enough and when he did managed to sleep, his neck was sore when he woke up. He was only lucky Ford let him use his shoulder as a pillow for a while. He looked to his left and noted the book his brother placed in the seat. It seemed thick and in what looked like Hebrew. Stan wasn’t very surprised Ford was fluent in the language they were acquainted with as children. Their grandparents on their father’s side were the last to be fully fluent in Hebrew. It was like his brother to be curious of their heritage, but Stan only remembered a few phrases and words he learned from holidays and special event when he had to recite anything in Temple.

Stan crossed his arms and glanced at the clock on the wall and let out an exasperated sigh. It had only been 10 minutes since he last checked the time. He wanted to be at home, be in his soft warm bed and getting ready to eat pancakes at this time in the morning.

He and Ford were on the porch of The Mystery Shack when Soos rushed them off to the hospital the yesterday afternoon. What he originally thought would be a couple of hours of waiting turned into almost twelve. Apparently labour can last a long time.

Stan wished he could be a witness for Soos and Melody like he was when Dipper and Mabel were born, but Melody wanted her privacy, which Stan could respect, but Soos wanted him there…..so he and Ford waited in this bright, annoyingly pastel waiting room, twiddling his thumbs awaiting the arrival of the new member of the mystery family. He was glad he was in at least comfortable clothes, some gray sweatpants and a sweater Mabel knitted for him that read “godfather”.

He was never clear on what the title entailed, but it was mentioned a few times by Soos’ grandmother and the kids insisted that Soos was intending to ask him. He hadn’t, but he didn’t protest Stan wearing the sweater. Whatever job godfathers had, he was willing to play the part if Soos were to ask him.

Stan looked at the double doors a few feet away that lead out of the waiting room and into the halls. His brother left to find something for them to eat, but was taking his sweet time. The turkey being basted on the television was no help in aiding his growling stomach.

He distracted himself by returning his thoughts to Soos and Melody. Just down the hall they were experiencing the strange and beautiful phenomenon that was witnessing the arrival of a brand new person. Stan remembered the feeling so clearly. His entire life he’s felt the presence of human beings. It’s inherent in most people to feel when someone is in the room with you, the other soul sharing the same space as you. Imagine being in a room with a set amount of people and someone else comes in, but imagine they came in without using a doorway. Just appearing seemingly out of thin air. Suddenly another person is with you, and they’re brand new to the world, a life full of potential and power. Yes, today is indeed a happy day, but no amount of positive thinking would ease Stan’s nerves. His foot began to bounce and his hands unconsciously began to fiddle with each other. He didn’t want to think anything would go wrong with Soos’ baby, but anything can happen and life is so fragile, especially at the start of it.

He recalled his nephew’s nervousness the day Dipper and Mabel were born. His hands were shaking and he was constantly checking on his wife and asking the doctors loads of questions. He didn’t fully understand the twins’ father’s behavior until the end of that day.

Mabel’s birth was swift and easy. Her mother only needed to push one and a half times before she was here. It was as if she was eager to meet everyone waiting for her. She cried like most babies do, but Stan could’ve sworn they were tears of joy. While Mabel was greeted with, “hello, beautiful”, “hi, sweetie” and “she’s perfect”, Her brother’s introduction to world started with, “what’s wrong?”, “wait, let me hold him”, and “he’s not moving”. Dipper was rushed out of the room before his mother got a chance to look at him. Stan managed to catch a glimpse of the horrifyingly blue tint on his great nephew’s tiny face. The memory still gave him chills. He remembered how much he wanted to hold Mabel, who began to fuss and cry, obviously missing her brother. He was terrified at the prospect of another incomplete set of twins in their family. After the longest 30 minute of his life, Stan’s great-nephew returned with a bright pink face, wailing with all the power his little lungs could produce. Once the twins were reunited in their mother’s arms, they settled down almost instantly. The doctors told their parents Dipper was significantly lighter in weight than his sister, but both were very strong and healthy. Every so often Stan thinks about Dipper and how much he has impacted his life. His thoughts lead to darker places and he questions if Ford would be here if Dipper wasn’t there to find the third journal. He shook his head as a cold shiver went up his spine.

Stan did his best to distract himself from revisiting the scare that Dipper caused him 16 years ago.

16 years…..17 in August

Stan blinked. The squishy, bright faces that stayed with him that first summer had changed significantly. They stayed in contact all year round and visited every summer since they were 12. But every in-person meeting was always a shock. Dipper was developing the square jaw Stan, both his brothers and nephew shared. He started to regularly wear glasses their second summer with the Stans. Poor kid will grow up looking like Filbrick like the rest of the Pines men. He reminded Stan of Ford at that age.

And Mabel…..

Stan will never get over how much she looks like his mother. It didn’t strike him until Soos and Melody’s wedding and she put her hair in a bun. She’s calmed her hyperactivity down a bit, but not by a lot, she still brightens his day with her wit and creativity. They’ve both matured physically, but not much has changed personality wise and they still acted like big children when they’re around each other. Stan loved them very much, and wished he could see them more often. He wondered what the future held for all of them. Would they still visit town after going to college? Would they move here? Or somewhere else?

He’s had several conversations with them to see how they’re managing the prospect of separating. They’re much better at communicating than he and Ford were and they seem actually excited to have some independence. It made Stan nervous, but he was sure their close relationship wouldn’t suffer.

Wendy chose to be elsewhere for the next few years. She and her friends booked a plane ticket and plan to backpack and hitchhike around Europe and the UK. Stan hopes they stay safe and watch out for each other. Lotta weirdos in Amsterdam. She was set to leave in the coming days, Wendy wanted to wait until today arrived so she could meet Soos and Melody’s kid before going away for who knows how long.

A tap on the shoulder woke Stan from his deep thoughts. His brother arrived with some warm sub sandwiches and coffee.

“Any word yet?, he asked Stan

“Nothin’ yet”, Stan felt helpless not having any clue how Soos and Melody were doing.

Stanford took his seat next to Stanley and they both silently enjoyed their late breakfast. Since arriving they’ve witnessed families reuniting and going past the door in the far corner to meet their children, grandchildren or siblings. Stan looked at the clock again. How has it only been another 5 minutes? He sighed, leaned back and finished the rest of his sub. One hand holding the sandwich, the other went back to gripping the arm rest, then a six fingered hand went down to rest on top of it. Stan let go of the armrest and tangled his fingers between Ford’s and held onto it with a, hopefully not too tight, grip. It was like an anchor to reality, much better at easing his anxieties than any words could. Over the past 4 years, Stan and Ford’s bond grew stronger. Stan still feared one day he would wake up and find himself still in that basement surrounded by broken machinery and languages he didn’t understand. He hasn’t yet, and was enjoying the time he had left with his twin. Stan took a moment to look at his brother again, Ford made eye contact and smiled then continued to read his book. Hands still intertwined

Stans thoughts went back to Soos…

It amazed Stan how much he had grown and it still baffled him that Soos idolized him as much as he does. Before Soos, Stan had no one. His brother was….gone, the rest of the family didn’t talk to him much outside of the holidays and special occasion. There hadn’t been any sense of consistency in Stan’s life for years, decades even, until he hired the chubby little kid he barely glanced at one random Saturday. Soos always arrived to work early, sometimes with breakfast for both of them. Stan didn’t know how much he needed a reliable companion until he had it and he enjoyed the 10 years he had with that kid… or man he should say. Here he was…a few rooms away, becoming a father.

Stan used to daydream a lot about the prospect of having kids when he was younger. He’s was always good with them when he had the chance to babysit his nephew, then later Dipper and Mabel when they were toddlers. He loved having kids in his house that first summer. He loved the energy and the sense of adventure the twins brought. They gave him a sense of purpose and belonging he hadn’t felt in years. He wished he was brave enough to have his own children. Not that he was ever with anyone long enough to want to have kids with him. He supposed it was for the best that he didn’t subject a child to homelessness or an unhappy marriage. He was also terrified at the idea. His dad used to say having kids ruined his life. He wondered who his father was before his older brother was born. Did they really ruin his life? Stan often wondered if he would be like his own dad if he has children of his own. Would he change and become that annoyed parent that resenting his children?

He thought about Soos again

That was probably the closest to parenthood he ever experienced. The first time he felt like one was when Soos asked him for homework help after closing. He initially told Soos no, he wasn’t exactly smart and didn’t think he would be any help. It apparently upset the kid, so Stan sighed and gave it a try. It was fairly simple middle school math, he didn’t remember everything, but helped Soos do more than half of it. Soos thanked him and went home happy. Stan felt weirdly proud, he was glad he made a small difference and managed to teach Soos something he didn’t even know he knew.

The second time was when Soos was a teenager. His grandmother wasn’t able to teach Soos to drive, since she had forgotten how and her late husband used to do the driving, she mostly walked everywhere. Soos offered to work for free so Stan could teach him. Stan loved driving and found teaching Soos cathartic. He was a fast and eager learner, he only bumped Stan’s car once while trying to figure out parallel parking. Little did Soos know that he was getting paid for his normal work hours. Stan just put it away long enough to help buy the kid some old used truck in the junkyard for getting his license. They fixed the truck up and in only a few weeks it was ready to be on the road. Soos has taken good care of it and it’s still his ride to this day

Stan was very proud of Soos. He taught the kid some basic self defense and managed to be a decent influence in his life. Soos at least has his priorities straight.

Stan was even glad to see that Soos was willing to question him. When the portal was reaching the final countdown, he didn’t hesitate to protect the kids from him when he thought Stan was dangerous. He didn’t know, none of them did, so he didn’t blame Soos for distrusting him. He hoped he never had to betray him again. They both had crappy dads, and Stan knew how Soos saw him. Stan was never really sure if he reciprocated those feelings. It felt natural to act the part, but to put a label as important as “dad” on Stan was daunting. Soos definitely deserves better than what he was given, Stan wasn’t sure if he was it.

Stan looked up at the familiar voices running towards him from the double doors.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” Mabel waved to them

The two teenagers and Wendy walked in holding a balloon and various toys. They took some seats across from the Stans and asked how everyone was doing and if the baby arrived yet.

“Not yet, hopefully soon” Ford answered

Stan relaxed and silently enjoyed his family’s company. He laid his head back and leaned slightly on Ford to rest for a minute. His eyes shut as he listened to the kids joke around and talk amongst themselves. He squeezed Ford’s hand one more time before drifting off.

He knew he should’ve tried sleeping earlier, he wasn’t out for more than 15 minutes when Soos came into the waiting room. Stan’s eyes shot open and he was on his feet faster than he did when he was being chased by angry costumers as a door to door salesman. Soos’ red eyes sagged and he seemed exhausted, but carried a proud, wide smile across his face. He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

“It’s a boy”, he squeaked, “mom and baby are okay”

Dipper and Mabel were first to start the hugs, and the room filled with cheers of congratulations and love. Stan felt light as a feather giving Soos a hug and joking about child labor.

“Can we see him?”, Mabel bounced with anticipation

“Yeah, dudes!”, Soos gestured everyone past the corner door and into the suite. “But only for a little while, Melody has to sleep”

The room was small, dimly lit and warm. The Pines crew collectively lowered their voices as Melody came into view on the bedding holding a bundle of blankets decorated with small yellow ducklings. She was leaned back on a large pillow, covered in blankets and toted a soft smile on her face. Soos stroked her hair and picked up his little son to show to the Pines’. The younger twins got a look at him first,

Mabel squealed and cooed at the tiny infant. Then Wendy, who said hi to the baby and told Soos she’d make sure to send him gifts while she was away

“What’s his name?”, Mabel asked Melody

“I named him after my dad”, Melody replied, “Jacob”. She smiled sadly at the memory of the father she lost the year before.

Soos approached the Stans, Ford smiled and complimented the couple on a having such beautiful little boy, but shot Soos a look, who silently replied with another one. Something was up.

Finally Stan got a look at baby Jacob. “Wow” Stan smiled, patting Soos’ arm. “He looks exactly like you”

Soos laughed, “really? I think he looks like Melody”, there was a short silence before Soos spoke up again.

“Do you want to hold him, Mr Pines?”

Stan looked at Soos and smiled, “heh, sure”. He held his arms out. Soos lowered his arms to pass the baby to Stan, who scrunched his face up and started to fuss. Stan took the infant and managed to hold him with one arm. He bounced and shushed little Jacob until he calmed down. “Heya kid”, He’s held babies dozens of times, but something felt different about this one. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Stan felt an almost magnetic pull towards him. Jacob settled comfortably against Stan and continued his rest. Stan softly beamed at the tiny person in his arms.

“Hey, Stan?”

Stan lifted an eyebrow and looked at Soos, who was fidgeting with his hands and nervously smiling.

“Uh..”, he paused, taking in the sight of Stan holding his child. “You know about my dad”, Soos looked at Ford again, who shrugged and nodded. Stan studied Ford’s face, who’s eyes strayed away as he hid a small smile. Soos got his attention again.

“You uh…he wasn’t…”, Soos choked up, his voice strained a bit, “I met you when I was probably the loneliest I ever was in my entire life”. Stan pictured the little boy he hired on the spot, he didn’t remember him until Soos showed up at his door step the next day ready to work. He didn’t know how much that quick, thoughtless decision would change his life.

Soos perked up and walked across the room to a table and picked up the piece of paper sitting on it. Soos glanced at it, then at Stan and smiled, gaining some emotional strength it seemed.

“You mean a lot me”, Soos, “you were there when I really needed it, you gave me a job, taught me just about everything I know. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that”

Stan got a bit nervous, Was this him asking to be the godfather?Everyone was silent and curiously watching. Soos held his hand out and handed the paper to Stan. He adjusted his arm to properly hold Jacob in his arm and took it. Stan flipped the page and noticed it was the baby’s birth certificate. Stan eyes bounced off the page and read the various information: birthdate, weight, parents, but he froze when he read the full name. Stan’s wide eyes questioningly studied Soos’ face.

“Are you…”, Stan felt his own throat tightening, crap. Come on, not in front of everyone “really?”, he asked. Soos gave a genuine nod and sniffed.

“I uh” Soos cleared his throat, “I was wondering, since Jacob doesn’t have one…if you wanted to be…. his grandpa?

There it was

Stan felt dizzy and took a small step back before remembering who was in his hands and regained his balance. Ford came to his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Stan decide not to look at his brother and chose to stare forward, then his eyes went back to Soos, who look deflated. Oh man. Stan was terrified, he didn’t want to say no and hurt Soos, but if he said yes….he wasn’t sure what made him so nervous. The entire concept sounded so alien to him, like he didn’t deserve the title. He always considered Soos, Melody and their son a part of his family. But to bare a title like “grandpa”, had to mean he had children that that children. That he was already a parent without his knowledge. It all felt so natural to want to lean into this and become part of this family like Soos wanted.

He heard something make a noise from beneath himself. Stan looked down at little Jacob, who was mid yawn. The baby’s mouth grew wide opens and inhaled, scrunching up his face and suddenly shut. Suddenly two tiny eyes opened for just a few seconds, enough time for Stan to make eye contact before Jacob shut them and got comfortable again

Everything was different now.

Stan didn’t notice how quiet the room had gotten nor the tears forming in his eyes. Stunned by beauty and overcome with pride and a sense of purpose. The pride he felt teaching Soos math, how to drive and attending his graduation all combined just looking at the perfect being in his arms. If he said yes, he would want everything that came with it. Stan lifted the birth certificate up to read the name again.

Jacob Stanley Ramirez

“Y-Yes”, he heard a shaken voice say, almost not realizing it was his own “of course”. He looked at Soos, tears in his eyes and a bright smile on his face. He still wasn’t sure if he deserved this, but Stan wanted it. He wanted it all. Why not indulge just this once? He gave the certificate to Ford and used his now free hand to pull Soos into a hug. Gently sandwiching his…..grandson in between him……and his son.

[obscureoperations]

martin, but high on painkillers after he got a major injury during his job? his s/o visiting him? like this for example: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0x9lPk1pZzI&ab_channel=edvardsoalictic

it'd be so cute! ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you make your way down the hospital corridor. Just like in the middle of a nightmare, the ones where running felt like wading through jelly. The faces of random passersby and personnel were starting to whirl together in a grainy blur. Where on earth was room 236?!

Not even six hours ago, you received the worst phone call of your life. Apparently Martin had gotten injured on the job and was being rushed off to surgery. Everything went silent, and you pretty much filtered out the rest of what the nurse was saying. The oddest sense of dread settled at the pit of your stomach as images of the two of you flashed through your mind.

The beginning of your relationship had been tumultuous..to say the least. He was still in the midst of battling his sickness. The weight of his secret, the need to sneak around to avoid his cousin--all the deep seeded trauma. You were just so greatful to get him out of that place for starters, let alone marry him. Things were going so well.

Within a few weeks of moving into your new apartment, Martin landed himself a job at a meat packing plant. A bit rugged, but he had a knack for tools. The moment you received the phone call you were silently praying that he didn't manage to lop his hand off. From the sounds of it, he slipped on a bit of condensation on the floor and one of the blades that he was carrying sliced into the femoral artery.

It was just a small tear, and he hadn’t lost nearly as much blood as would have been expected. They were simply whisking him off to repair the tear, and give him a transfusion.Even then, the idea that it cold have been so much worse-- you could have lost him. All negative thoughts were dispelled from your mind the moment you stepped into the room. 

Martin sits upright on the bed, as the nurse gently attempts to feed him a cracker. Twisting his head left and right, his movements were slowed. A clear sign of his sedated state..

How ironic

“Y/n.. I want y/n!.. these crackers are gross!”

He coughs just a bit and the nurse rushed him some water.

“I want and ice cream sandwich!”

He sounded so much like a petulant child you had to bite down on the insides of your cheeks.You clear your throat before stepping into the room.

“Are you y/n?” the distressed nurse immediately asks.

“Yes.”

She was instantly relieved. 

“Have at him.. and please ensure that he finishes the rest of these. We dont want his blood sugar dropping any lower.”

She shoves the packet of half eaten crackers in your hand before hastily exiting the room. All that was left was you and Martin, still babeling inchoherrantly from the hospital bed. With a sigh, you move to join him. It was just so nice to see his face. A playful smile spreads across his face from the drugs.You actually wanted to kiss him silly.

You move to stand at his side at the bed, your fingers instantly weave through his hair. Martin jolts alive, immediately leading into the familiar touch. Large brown eyes move over your features as another broad smile spreads across his lips.

“P-pretty..”

You resist the urge to kiss his forehead.

“S-so pretty.. you look just like y/n..”

You run your fingers through your hair out of habit. Briefly glancing down at your actual wardrobe. It never ceased to blow your mind when he spoke about you in such a way. His compliments always caused you to blush, they had since the very beginning.

“Who’s y/n?” you ask with a laugh.

“Wife...she’s my wife.” His smile grows broader despite his eyes fluttering shut. He begins to absentmindedly nip at the cracker.

“You have a wife?”

“Yes! I- I love her so much.. sh-es”

A bit of cracker spills down the side of his mouth, which you quickly dab up with the corner of the napkin. He was so cute. Absolutely precious as he struggles to chew the rest of the contents in his mouth. 

You reach for the glass of water, gently adjusting the straw to meet his lips.

“Here lovely, drink this...”

Delayed reactions. He manages to ingest a few decent sized sips before spitting out the straw. Giggling to himself, and covering his face with his hands. 

“Lovely...she likes to call me that.”

In the midst of his fit of giggles, you finally push the glasses  further down your nose. You didn't wear them all the time, only to drive.It was so rare that Martin got to witness you on your commute. The loss of blood, trauma, and the gas, it wan no wonder why he didn’t recognize you.

Still in the midst of a giggle fit, you lean in, pressing your lips to his forehead.

He seems to stall momentarily, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand in disgust.

“I already told you lady.. I’m married!”

You struggle to suppress your grin as he anxiously reaches for the distress button. Patting at the sides of his legs to reach the remote,frantically glancing over his shoulder. This was too much, you didn't want him to freak out. With a sigh, you remove your glasses, and head tie, letting your hair fall to your shoulders.

“Martin.. Baby, it’s me.”

The sound of his name immediately gains his attention, he looks at you like you've grown a second head. You can see the wheels spinning in his brain as he skimms you over. A startled gasp before a huge smile spreads across his lips. “Y/n?”

“Yes!”

You couldn’t wait to get him home. You lean down and his arms fling around you instantly, peppering your cheeks with sloppy kisses.

“A-are we gonna go home soon..the food is awful..” 

“Soon, Martin. You’ll see!”

[souichioneshots]

Untitled Binzo x Reader Fic

SO uhhhh.... Binzo thinks about the reasons why he hates Y/N so much? IDK you guys are kinda like frenemies ???

This is the stupidest thing ive ever written...

Might make an NSFW continuation of this if anyone shows any interest tho lollll

Enjoy?????

Binzo could remember the day you two first met like it was yesterday.

He had been awoken by the sound of his father and uncle arguing in a nearby room. Although he could barely make out what they were saying, he could tell by the way he was screaming, his father had done something unbelievably stupid again.

As the door to his room slid open, Binzo quickly moved to ‘greet’ the sudden visitor, his chains holding him back just before he was able to reach the door. A smile spread across Binzo's face as he saw his father react in a panicked motion, jumping back to avoid his son's vicious attacks. However, Binzo's laughter was put to a stop when he saw a small figure move behind the older man.

Moving a bit to the side, Souichi revealed a girl, a little under Binzo’s age, who had been hiding behind him the entire time. She gripped onto the back of the false-gentleman’s suit jacket, obviously hesitant to enter the room.

Binzo's eyes widened in surprise as his father insisted, almost pushing her into the room forcefully. His eyes looked the girl up and down, trying to figure out why his father had brought her here, let alone why he decided it would be a good idea to bring her into the same room as him.

Her clothes were almost as tattered as his own. She had no shoes on her feet, but the socks that she wore were stained black with dirt and mud. From what he could see with the little lighting in his room, the exposed skin of her arms and legs were covered in scratches and bite marks. Her cold eyes stared at the pale boy as she walked in cautiously, immediately following the older man to the other side of the room. Binzo could remember how she ran her fingers through his father's greased-up hair as he placed the chains around her ankles. They exchanged a look that his mind could not understand at the time.

Getting up from the dirty floor, Souichi stated that the girl’s name was Y/N. A name so foreign to Binzo that he was sure it was made up.

As soon as his father finally left, Binzo tried to attack you. But, that was when he found out the truth. You were a monster just like him. An abomination that someone must have tried to get rid of, only for his own idiotic father to pick up and bring home like a kitten off the street. You bared your fangs at him as you backed away into the corner, trying to avoid his sudden yet expected attack. Binzo watched as you stayed low on the floor, staring at him with angered eyes.

He should have been happy to finally meet someone like him, but he wasn’t.

Binzo hated you.

You were an idiot. You could barely keep a hold on your victims, and on nights when you couldn’t secure a meal like him, you resorted to trying to catch and eat the bugs that crawled around the room. You were also idiotic enough to try to steal from him. Whenever he would get ahold of someone, you would try to get close and steal a small piece for yourself. Sometimes Binzo would be too busy to realize, but when he did, he would reach out as far as he could and use his long-sharp nails to scratch you away, leaving you to become a crying-hungry mess.

You also had a habit of not responding whenever he spoke to you. However, this was completely his fault. After you finally became comfortable enough to talk to him, he started to tease you, claiming that your voice was annoying and, using a piece of broken glass, threatening to cut out your pretty pink tongue to eat as a snack. From that day on, you didn’t utter a single word to him.

However, as time went by, Binzo started to find your presence to be slightly humorous. Specifically, whenever you tried to feed.

Binzo would always laugh whenever you dug your fangs too deep into someone’s neck and ended up getting completely doused in their blood when you pulled away. He thought it was a waste of a good drink, but worth it to see you freak out as you tried to stop the fast-paced bleeding.

Your hair also grew at an unnaturally fast rate as well. It was disgusting, but fun to pull on whenever he wanted to get your attention. It was also especially fun to watch your victims pull on your hair, stunning you for a moment, and getting a couple slaps and punches in as they tried to get away. But, Binzo wouldn’t allow that, stopping them at the last minute and dragging them back in your direction. However, you would always be too embarrassed and cry, refusing the meal he was kind enough to go after for you.

You were ungrateful. Idiotic. An amateur. Everything he hated bundled up into a small ball that dwelled in the corner of his room.

But on top of all that, the thing he hated the most was how you weren’t here now.

“Where’s Y/N!! Where is she!!” Binzo exclaimed to his physically and mentally exhausted aunt. She just stayed quiet, ignoring the child’s vicious words and actions. If she knew, she would have told him by now, but she didn’t.

Binzo looked around his dark messy room as he tried to think of what might have happened to you. It had been 2 nights since he last saw you.

If you had been moved to another room, he would be able to smell it. But you weren’t. You weren’t anywhere in the house in fact.

Could his father have decided that it was too much for him to support 2 cannibalistic children, and off’d you in the woods while he was sleeping? No way. He was the one who brought you here in the first place, he should have known what he was getting himself into.

Maybe you ran away, not wanting to be held captive and enslaved to work at a lunatic’s haunted house. That would explain why his father was also not around either. Maybe he had gone out in search of his most popular attraction.

No matter the reason, you weren’t here now, and Binzo hated you for that.

As the raven-haired boy finally started to calm down, he laid down in his cage, his eyes fluttered shut, unable to keep their focus on the door of his room anymore.

However, he was suddenly awoken by a loud scream.

It was his aunt. She had left the room, leaving him alone while he was asleep. Her voice was loud, but not angry. It sounded almost cheerful. An emotion he hadn’t heard from her in the longest time.

Binzo jumped to his feet as the door to his room slid open. There stood his father, alone from what he could see, cigar burning away in his mouth as he smiled. Binzo tightly gripped the bars of his cage, a feeling of rage boiled inside him like nothing he had ever felt before.

However, that emotion quickly washed away when he saw a familiar face appear from behind his father.

There you stood. Alive and in one piece.

Just like the first time you two had met, Souichi forced you into the room. Binzo’s eyes looked you up and down as you cautiously walked in. Gripping the hem of the older man's suit jacket, you stared back at the pale boy.

Your hair had been cut, shorter than before. You were also wearing a kimono similar to his aunt. You looked almost like a doll. It was weird how he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

Binzo watched as his father put the chains around your ankles again, your hand running through his greasy hair. You two exchanged that look he couldn’t understand again.

Binzo barely listened as his father warned him not to fuck up your clothes. As Souichi finally left the room, Binzo put his hands on the lock of his cage and, using his nails, undid it.

Crawling out of the cage, he stood onto his feet and he looked at you. Although he was still only in his early teens, he was starting to grow extremely tall, a gene he inherited from his mother no doubt.

Binzo felt his heart start to race as you looked up at him, your eyes sparkled as they reflected the small amount of light that leaked in the room. It was almost like you were giving him the same look you and his father would often exchange.

Without a word, he forcefully shoved you to the ground. “Stop looking at me!” He exclaimed.

You probably thought he was jealous that his father actually let you go out, got you nice clothes, and even treated you like you were an actual human being. But that was far from the truth. He didn't really mean to push you so hard, but his emotions had gotten the better of him.

Binzo yelled out in pain as you kicked him for pushing you so hard. Just before you could kick him again, he moved to straddle you.

Putting his weight onto your stomach, he held your wrists on both sides of your head. You growled as he brought his face close to your neck and took a deep breath. It had been so long since he smelled your scent. However, this time it was different.

“You smell delicious.” He said in a hungry voice, drool dripping from his lips as he showed you his fanged teeth. You squirmed under him, knowing that he didn’t mean that as a compliment. “I thought my dad killed you. But now I see that he just dolled you up so I can do it myself. Kishishishi!” Twisting your head to the side, you dug your fangs into his arm.

“OW! You bitch!” Binzo screamed as he pulled his arm away from you. His long fingernails left a scratch across your face as he slapped you hard.  

Baring your fangs once more, you pushed him off of you and rushed to get away. However, your chains didn't let you get far.

Binzo grabbed your legs just before you could go any further. His nails dug into the thick fabric that made up your kimono, tearing it a bit as he pulled you closer to him. Flipping you onto your back, he put himself on top of you.

You squirmed in a panic as the boy wrapped his arms and legs around you, restraining you from getting away. Not having eaten anything in a while, you soon became unable to continue fighting with the monstrous boy.

Binzo’s heartbeat slowed down as you started to relax, his body unconsciously trying to mimic the pace at which you breathed. You whined as he tightened his grip on you a bit more, making sure that you wouldn’t try to slip away from him again.

Pressing his head into your hair, he breathed in the new scents that covered your body. The smell of the brand new kimono you wore mixed with the fruity shampoo you had used made him doubt that you were really the same creature he had shared a room with 2 nights ago.

“Where did you go…?” He asked, his words slightly muffled by your hair.

Your body tensed as he dug his nails deeper into the fabric of your clothes, trying to force a reply out of you, but ultimately receiving nothing back.

He hated that you wouldn’t talk to him…

[anaiswriterr]

The Dragon Kings Queen

Pairing: Dragon King!Bakugou x Queen!Reader

Rating: M

Warning: This is part four, I’d like to point out be aware: 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝗼𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐠𝗼𝐫𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐭𝐜. Please don’t read if you are not comfortable with it, and if you’re under the age of 18+ I will give a warning when it becomes NSFW but at the moment it’s SFW.

<masterlist>

Synopsis: ➪ When the word marriage crossed your mind, you believed you’d marry someone you loved. Not this brute of a King. So here you are standing at the end on an alter, pushing away the urge to run and fight. Possibly start a new life, instead of being dragged into a loveless marriage. But for the sake of your people.. They say he’s not what rumors make him out to be, but how can you believe that when his eyes burn into yours; just as fiery as before. How could you, ever love someone as barbaric as him…

- chapter four: gifted dagger -

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You clutch hard onto an old bladed dagger, it digs into your palm and slices a long line against the soft skin. Droplets of blood pools onto the gravel below you, heaving you throw the weapon into a tree bark. You groan out in frustration when it doesn't latch onto the wood, "I can't do this!"

"Don't say that, it's your first day. Try again," Kirishima urges, bending down to grab the dagger off the ground, handing it back to you placing the blade down into your palm; you seethe in pain. Swallowing down the yelp that threatened to escape passed your lips, Kirishima notices your stained palms before snatching the dagger back from your grasp.

"We'll pick this back up later, don't want you getting an infection."

Perhaps he was right, the blade was only slightly rusted - it's been over an hour with the blade constantly digging into your skin; if you didn't cover it up soon then an infection was possible. You shrug, "An infection compared to getting eaten by a bear, or an ogre is nothing in my eyes; so don't worry about me. We can continue," You reach out to grab the dagger out from his hands, but he hides the blade into his holster. Nodding his head side to side, "No can do, my job is to make sure you are safe 24/7 and if that means making you go to the infirmary then so be it."

You arch a brow wiping away the sweat beads off your forehead from the hot dewy morning, "Is that a request?"

"Your Highness, will all due respect, it's an order."

"Fine, but I quite frankly would like to survive so if we could continue this on later-"

"Of course," he smiles, "Now, go fix your hand. I was told Bakugou would like to speak to you-"

"That will not be necessary since I will not be speaking to him." You pour a cup of water over your palm, attempting to clean off the dirt. After yesterday's events you have vowed to not utter a single word to him, he's clearly a hard head who never had anyone stand up to him. As his "wife" what better then to punish his actions then using the silent treatment towards the temperamental brat. Kirishima scratches the back of his head sheepishly, fiddling with his weapon. "Well you know Your Highness-"

"Y/N will do just fine. Please no formalities between us two."

"Right. Um well, you know. Bakugou is a hard kinda guy to work with, it was hard for even I to get to be as close as I am with him. He hates silence, he might ask for it. But radio silence might not be the best answer between the two of you.. considering you two are on thin ice right now."

You arch a brow in question, wiping the sheen layer of sweat off your brow bone. "What do I do then, Kirishima. How do I win over a beast who doesn't attempt at all?"

***

To say you utterly hated Katsuki Bakugou was an understatement.

For one night he managed to put on a mask that nearly caught you in a rope of curiosity for the man - maybe he was just misunderstood. Like hell, his mother had the same fighting and burning spirit one of a dragon meanwhile his father was more calm, well rounded, wise like a dragon. So why was Bakugou the mean one of the bunch.

'You can't fix everyone, Y/N.'

Well that sentence surely did not age well, you wince as the healer places an alcohol soaked cotton ball onto your wound. Biting your lip back in pain it takes up all your strength to not pull back and away from the old man.

"I'll be right back, my Queen it seems like you may need some herbs from the garden and recently I've run out. Don't worry it'll only take me five minutes." The healer reassures you, you nod in return pressing the cotton ball into the cut, cleaning the area in the meantime.

"That's alright, take your time." You smile.

The stinging pain slowly subsided when you finally became accustomed to the clear liquid, to handle a dagger will be much harder now. You are determined to prevail, just a small bump in the road nothing quite serious. A knock on the infirmaries white door retracts you from your thoughts, eyes wondering towards the window that overviewed the garden shows it's not the healer.

"Come in."

Short blonde hair with ruby red eyes strut in, Mitsuki, your mother in law smiles down at you. "Hello dear, I heard you were in here.. I wanted to speak to you. Are you okay?"

You can feel your heart nearly drop, your mother in law was as sweet as a ripe strawberry in season but the aura she carried screamed and resembled Katsuki. You nod, greeting her with a formal cheek kiss, "Oh I'm fine just a tiny cut is all. What would be the problem?" You wave off her worry.

"Oh no dear, there is no problem. I'm glad it's just a cut, I was worried it was far worse. I just wanted to spend time with my daughter in law - I wanted you to know that though this may be a hard time, I went through this. You will be just fine. I also... heard your and Katsuki's fight last night.. I didn't mean to intrude I was just on the way to find Melody when I stumbled upon you two, how are you feeling?"

Oh dear. She knew, did anyone else know? Of course people know the two of you were practically testing who can yell the loudest - this is embarrassing. He really did manage to get a rise from you.

You stare down at your palm, this was the first time anyone here has actually asked whether or not you were fine.

"I-I'm okay, he's just hard to get to."

The bed of the infirmary dips slightly beside you as Mitsuki's takes a seat beside you, "Yes, he can be a handful most days. Katsuki doesn't exactly know how to be... nice? It's probably my fault, I was constantly pushing him as a child. You know, he turned out to be a fine warrior; a fine commander." You nod listening to his mother, "I guess the two of you are no longer on speaking terms. I get it, I moved from a neighboring kingdom to here. It was hard to get his father to open up," Mitsuki sighs.

"But the two of you fell in love."

"You are very right, but like all love. It took time."

A silence falls between the two of you, she was the only person who you could remotely relate to right about now. She was the only one who could even fathom how scared you are, you were served with a silver platter all your life nearly always spoon fed and suddenly thrown into a tribe you knew nothing about. "How did you do it?"

Mitsuki arches a brow, "What do you mean?"

"H-How do I survive in that forest? What do I have to expect even after? How did you do it?"

The former queen sighs, eyeing your injury. "Well, from my kingdom we had similar principles I already had the basic knowledge of outdoor survival. To keep it short," She grabs your free hand in comfort. "I'm sure they haven't bothered telling you the objectives, the point system.. the tribal ceremony for those who make it out of alive. You must come out with a Goblin heart, no exceptions. Afterwards believe it or not you are placed on a pedestal at midnight the day you arrive back where you must eat the entire muscle, uncooked. The blood is told it'll bring great fortune and fertility. The process.. was nevertheless grueling I felt like a caged animal with all the drums and cheering. Y/N you must not, and I repeat my not throw up during the feasting."

You nod intently, stomach curling at the thought of a eat raw heart. But tribal traditions and regulations must be met, your heart pounded. It seemed like no matter where you turned there was always a set back, a catch. You survive the forest and now you must feast in front of the entire kingdom?

"Stay high, on top of the trees are the best option. Don't make a fire at night - I know, it'll be tempting. It'll grow cold as night falls, but the most dangerous creatures come out then and are attracted to light. You'll be dead before you even know it." Mitsuki lectures with a stern gaze, tightening her grip around the palm of your uninjured hand. "Find running water, a stream, lake, river. Whatever, it's freshwater. You'll catch your fish there, berries and nuts are also located near there. If you'd like to start a fire I suggest start when the sun rises, the creatures of the forest will retreat since they are nocturnal."

You store this information into your head, such valuable keys of survival. You are determined to return breathing, to return alive.

"Goblins are tricksters - never trust a single word that utters from their mouths. It's poisonous. They are most active during the day, but during sunlight stay low and stay quiet, follow the wind and it'll guide you. That is all I can say, I wish I could say more. Personally, I attempted to change this law for years. It never seemed fair, I pray I see you again Y/N."

"Thank you. I hope to see you as well." You smile sadly at the blonde woman who carried a guilty expression, her hands finally let go of your free one. "I'm terribly sorry, Y/N. I have one last thing to gift you, It's not much. Katsuki was supposed to give it to you this morning but it appears the outskirts have called upon him once again." Mitsuki reaches out for a golden box to the left of her, the velvet embroiled box calls your attention.

"It's said to be a gift from the gods. The gods who birthed dragons, carried down by generations. All Dragon Queens have used this, a sacred weapon to help kill the beast and restore balance; Katsuki has made the executive decision that you get to receive this gift." Mitsuki's hand fiddles with the locks of the box, the top lid opens with a flick of her fingers.

A blade, shines in the light.

Cleaned and sharp, the Queen's dagger passed down from hundreds of years worth of battles.

Is gifted.. to you, by the king.

"I-I can not accept this. This gift, I do not deserve this. It's sacred-" You babble, waving your hands you gently push away the box bestowed to you between the spot that separated the both of you. Two queens of the Dragon Kingdom. "You can, and you will. I was gifted this dagger two months after both I and Masaru's wedding. Katsuki wanted you to have this sacred weapon now. He has chosen you, please take it."  

You nod in response, hands trembling as you reach out for the velvet box. The handle of the dagger stings in your possession, the bleeding in your right hand has finally stopped when you hold the blade with two hands. It was much more easier to carry, sharper, and even thinner - as light as a feather, fit for a Queen, fit for battle. It was your husband who bestowed this gift to you, "When you are out there, Y/N. Remember.. to fight like a dragon."

"And how must I manage to fight like a dragon? I don't even know how to throw a dagger properly - at a still object, may I add." You show her the deep cut in need of stiches on your palm, "Dragons, my dear, always find a way to win."

***

Your palm is tightly wrapped with herbs to protect the freshly new stitches, meeting Kirishima in the backwoods where training took place. You managed to learn how to build a fire, a makeshift knife if your original weapon were to ever be kicked away from you, how to catch a fish and how to determine which berries were poisonous and which were safe for consumption.

You wince at the feeling of sharp branches scratching against your bare legs, dressed with royal training gear you wondered if you could actually make it to the finish line. You take a bite of a berry, it's tart yet semi sweet flavor cleans your palette of fish. Kirishima watches from the side with a satisfied grin, nightfall was quickly approaching and since this morning you have requested no sort of rest. You drink away at your makeshift cup, the leaf holding only a handful of water you eagerly drink away at.

Kirishima looks up to the darkening sky, hews of purples, pinks, and blues paint the sky as stars begin to appear.

"I should probably get you back to the Palace," He says wiping his hand away from dirt he collected off the tree bark he leaned against - watching your crouched and exhausted figure warm your hands over the mini fire you created. You look up, "I suppose you're right," You reach over to the stream beside you cupping a handful of water and watering down the fire, stomping it out with wet breaches and leaves. Patting it into the ground to stop the embers from continuing to burn.

Kirishima fiddles with his swords and daggers, "You did great today, Y/N." He praises you, proud of how far you've come in just a day. It took him hours to catch a fish when he was just a child, when his parents were alive. You thank him, moving beside him as the two of you walk down the backwoods trail. Only sharing small talk and friendly conversation.

You hum at the story he told of both him and Bakugou, "Well.. how exactly did the two of you meet. You two seem so close to one another, not to mention.. Kirishima you're very loyal to him - his family. What's your story?" There's a visible hitch in his breath, his shoulders tense up as he stumbles upon his words. "I-I'm so sorry! If you don't want to talk-

Kirishima chuckles waving off your worries, "No, nobody has ever asked me. We were just.. brothers. I met him in the mountains, I was just eight years old and back then Dragon hunting use to be a huge problem. Hunters, Poachers - they would all terrorize Dragons who lived peacefully with no mercy murder entire hoards. My parents.. were hunted and killed along with the entire clan and neighboring tribes. I was running, miles away from my home for days. Crying, hungry, thirsty, I was to afraid to fly because they would see me."

You listen intently, nodding along to his words, saddened by his past. Feeling guilty for even asking, he continues.

"Bakugou, can be mean, a brute, barbaric, and even sometimes cruel. But I promise you he has a good heart; so easily he could've turned his back away from me in the mountains. Let the Goblins and Wolves feast on me, instead he took me in. Into the Royal campgrounds, his parents welcomed me in. Cleaned my wounds, gave me a hot meal, warm milk to combat the winter, fresh pair of boots and clothes, even a warm bed to sleep in. Bakugou didn't talk, didn't even introduce himself to me after a few days. However if he didn't take me in then I would've died alone in the cold. And for that I am loyal to them, hell he even let me hold onto his toy for a while." He chuckles.

A silence grows between the both of you, with only snapping branches beneath your boots. Its crunches sooths the silence until he spoke once more.

"I hope you know you're going to be okay, Y/N. I believe in you, and in three days time when you have to walk into that forest; I am convinced I will see you also walk out.

"Thank you Kirishima, I-I'm sorry for what happened to your family."

The redhead waves you off once more smiling to you as the castle gates approach, "It's okay, things happen for a reason. Now go clean up, Melody should have your bath ready. Sleep tight your Highness." He bows gesturing for you enter passed the gates. You press a small kiss to his cheek watching a dark red blush spread throughout his face, "Goodnight Kirishima."

Walking passed him and into the handmaidens arms, Kirishima watches you. A hand pressed hard onto his sizzling red hot cheek that burned out against his palm, smiling sheepishly, gushing over the lingering feeling of ghost lips that once pressed against his cheek. Turning away with his back foot, he hears two pairs of heavy boots stomping against the ground, royal guards heave - catching their breathes.

"What's wrong- where Bakugou?" Kirishima quickly asks eyeing the guards who ran all the way here from the stables in search for him. "Sir Kirishima, King Bakugou has requested your immediate arrival at the outskirts-"

"It's the eggs, sir!" The other interrupts, "The Dragon eggs, the four Gardina left behind."

***

"What's the problem? What happened with the eggs, I thought they were fine."

"Since Gardina's sudden death the eggs need warmth, there's talk from other kingdoms across the seas even, that people are thinking about stealing them, selling them for one million gems on the magical black market." Bakugou grimaces, his arms crossed over his chest. "It seems that we should pay a visit, remind them who we are."

Kirishima nods his head, moving along with his friend passed the campfire where soldiers sat. "What can I do to help?"

Bakugou moves the curtains of his tent, "After you train Y/N, the same day as the games I need you to take the eggs and hide them away as far as possible, I don't care where just away from  here. Hide them with the others in the mountains if you'd like - we can not afford them to go missing. Far too dangerous for anyone else." The blond commands, tiredness seeps through his voice as he rubs his eyes to combat the sleep he's been in desperate need for. "I'll give you the green light when to bring them back, I won't return to the Kingdom until the day of the games. Did my mother give Y/N the Royal Dagger?"

Nodding to himself Kirishima smiles, "Yes, she was given it this morning just before noon."

"How did she do?" Katsuki rubs the back of his neck, "Rocky as first, but the girl picks up fast. Will you be here to send her off?" Kirishima tilts his head crossing his arms, "I don't know if she wants me there."

"If you care about her coming back alive, you'll be there." ***

- 3 days later -

The carriage ride is slow, dangerously slow as you remember the long tight hug Melody gave you before your leave at the sunset, Former Queen Mitsuki sits in front of you, her hand clutches onto yours in comfort as you shake in fear in your seat. Kirishima is waiting outside the enchanted forest where it was the most safest - a crowd has formed of simple tribe and clan members outside their homes as they attempt to try and get a glimpse of you; their Queen.

You have yet to meet them, only knowing the castle walls and the workers who served.

You can feel your dagger inside it's brown leather hostler dig into your thigh; but it's fine. It's the only thing keeping you distracted from your pounding heart beat against your chest and the clamminess of your palms. The stitch's finally healed by a magic teller.

You don't even notice the purple hews of the setting sun turning pitch black with only the moon and stars to prove it's light on the passage way;  you breath deeply through your nose. Watching how you approached the enchanted forest quicker then you anticipated. Queen Mitsuki and King Masaru insisted you sleep, but you respectfully declined. How were you supposed to sleep when you were being forced into the most dangerous forest known to mankind. They could've just simply pushed you into a hungry Dragon's nest.

The carriage stops and the horses neigh signaling your arrival, a part of you wishes your mother had declined the offer of King Bakugou it would've been nice if he were to even apologize. But since you do not live in a fantasy world, you are reminded this is real life. And you are most certain no prince dressed in armor will come to your rescue and insists he runs off with you. You're stuck here.

You look back nervously at the former king and queen who both bite back their bottom lips, "I will see you in three days time. We both will."

The door to your side of the carriage is thrown open by Kirishima who holds his hand out to grip yours, "M'lady."

Hesitantly you let go of Mitsuki's hand, bidding the two goodbye and latch onto Kirishima's calloused rough ones. Your boots settle into the ground when you let go of his hand, eyes catching a pair of vermillion orbs, ones you haven't seen in three days. His necklaces of teeth he's collected over the years frightens you, will you have a necklace like that one day? "Are you ready, my Queen."

His eyes.

They say nothing at all, just a simple red gleam. He watches you approach the entrance of what seemingly looked like a one way ticket to death, is he going to say anything all? Probably not.

His malicious words still ring clear in your mind, "You wont be a Queen if you're dead."

Death is something you refuse to meet, at least not yet. You turn to face him, he has no emotion and the tears that threaten to spill are wiped away by your wrist. The only people here to witness the games are him, Kirishima, a few men from the counsels parliament, royal soldiers (who you suppose are only here to protect the king and stop you if you decide to run) and both Bakugou's parents who insisted on staying in the carriage. Bakugou's quiet glare is something most would be terrified of, but you refuse to be belittled and underestimated.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" You hear Kirishima ask, your eyes detach from the blonds. Nodding you wipe your clammy hand against the leather hunting skirt you were dressed in. "I'm fine, I'm ready."

You're scared. That's an understatement, "Time starts as soon as you enter, retrieve the Goblin heart and come back here the third day at sunset. If you are not here by then we will assume you have died." A counsel man announces, you hold back the urge to flip him off - he didn't know you. Nor did you know him, to throw your life away as if it were never meaningful to another was plain cruel but there was a thing you refused to do.

Give up.

"I'll see you later Y/N."

'I will not die'

You set out into the forest, without looking back, with the feeling of two vermillion eyes staring into your back.  

TAGLIST: @loxbbg @urmomsshousee​ @samkysnks @mikithekiki @aegeanblues @mykuronekome @lowkey-a-faerie-in-disguise​ @orange-aesthetic-yay @katsukibabe​ @vvanills @katiekat300​ @utterlyconfused-tm​ @learningasigo​ @bigkoalafications​ @bnhaficswriter​  @tspice283​ @simpforeveryone​ @crackhead1-800​ @poetryandhoetry01​ @bakasbitch18 @riceballsandanime​ @franko-pop​ @lostmarimoismyhubby​ @junniev8​ @thirsthourdemon​ @cowward​ @the2ndl​ @reaperintheroses​ @bakugousmrs​ @maemi324​ @beautifulparisiangirl​ @commandertorinshepard​ @bnhafan101 @meliapis​ @thecaoswitch @liviwivi1 @hikaru-mikazuki​ @angie-1306​ @theinfamoushotdog​ @minibobabottle​ @honeylemondragonemperor​ @iloveitblackbnha @yokesmam​ @annepamgkrth​ @the2ndl​ @sugarandsoft​

AUTHORS NOTE: Personally one of the worst fucking chapters I’ve produced, anyways yooo Bakugou kinda feels guilty Y/N is going through this but you know this is going to be a strength building exercise for her. The ceremony after is based off of GOT so iykyk. Anyways my eye has been shut for like three days it just keeps watering and so irritating to write with. Okay I’m done ranting, I hope you liked it. 

[lexosaurus]

Going Angst Week 2021: Family/Friends

Read: [1: Birth] [2: Instinct]

Continuation of the No One Knows AU plotline.

---

Everything had changed since the accident. The biological differences were obvious. He glowed, his hair inverted, his eyes turned green, he had ectoplasm running through his veins, he was cold, he didn’t need to breathe as much in human form—the list went on. 

But the psychological ones were easily more terrifying.

And nothing scared him more than the way his friends and family were treating him as of late.

He knew that deep down he would never be able to match the way he acted when he was fully human. But that didn’t mean that his heart didn’t skip a beat every time someone shot him a worried glance, every time someone asked if he was alright, every time he caught himself doing something wrong. 

He wasn’t human anymore. He wasn’t even sure what he was now, and Vlad seemed to have too much fun emotionally torturing him to give him a straight answer.

“You up for a movie tonight?” Tucker asked, leaning across Danny’s desk. 

“Hell yeah,” Sam said. “My house?”

“Oh, you know me too well. What do you think, dude?”

Danny realized that both teens were looking to him for an answer.

He wanted to stay home. Hanging out with either of them meant there was a chance they would see him slip up, and he couldn’t have that.

“Sure.” He hoped his voice didn’t sound too pained.

“Perfect!” Tucker clasped a hand down on his shoulder.

Danny tried not to duck away.

“So we’ll go to Sam’s after dinner. I can bring snacks. Anything you want in particular?”

The thought of eating anything was nauseating. “No. I’m fine.”

“Alright, I’ll just bring the usual then.”

But Danny should have known that something was up. After all, it had been a while since they’d done a movie night. And lately, Sam and Tucker had been acting...oddly. 

Well, that was nothing new. Danny thought that as time went on, they’d forgive him for being a bit jumpier than usual and everything would go back to normal. 

Except, of course, it didn’t.

The past few weeks had been especially hard. It seemed like they constantly had something to say, but never did. The worried glances had only increased, and the silent conversations seemed to only grow.

Danny had been trying his best to act normal, act human, but it seemed like the more he tried, the worse they’d get.

So of course, in between the first movie and second, the elephant in the room finally stomped all over Danny’s metaphorical floor.

“Hey, Danny.” Sam glanced over at Tucker. A moment passed between the two before Sam nodded and turned back to Danny. “We really need to talk to you.”

Dread pooled in his stomach. He knew exactly where this was going. “I can start the next movie if you want?”

“No, Danny. Listen, can you just sit down for a second?”

His ghostly instincts were begging him to run, but his human side forced him to sit down.

“Listen, we know that...well, Jazz told us about the lab accident.”

Danny could have sworn his heart stopped beating.

“She said it was pretty serious? And she was surprised that you hadn’t told us?” Sam fidgeted with her black rings. “We didn’t say anything to you because we wanted you to be the ones to confide in us.”

“That and we didn’t want you to get upset that we were talking to Jazz about you,” Tucker interjected.

“Right, and Jazz only told us because she was worried. And honestly? We’re really worried too.”

Any oxygen left in Danny’s body was sucked out of his throat like a vacuum.

They’d found out. They knew the truth, they knew he was a freak of nature half ghost and they were going to out him, they were going to tell his parents, they’d tell the school counselor, and Danny would have no one and he’d have to run away to become Vlad’s apprentice and he’d change, he’d be corrupted, he wouldn’t make it out alive.

“I’m just wondering why you didn’t say anything?” Sam asked, her violent eyes brimming with concern.

“I…” Danny’s mouth felt like it was lined with cotton. He tried to swallow, but it was like swallowing sand. “I didn’t want you to worry is all.”

“Yeah, and we get that,” Tucker said carefully. “But, I mean, we’re your best friends. And dude, you’ve been...well…”

At Tucker’s helpless glance, Sam took over. “You just have been acting really off lately.”

“Sorry.”

“No!” Sam nearly leapt out of her seat. “Danny, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. I mean, hell, if I nearly died in a lab accident I’d be acting off too. It just, you know, it explains a lot. It must have been really terrifying.”

Danny didn’t trust himself to say anything. 

How much of his personality had shifted because of Phantom, and how much had shifted because of the accident? Were his ghostly instincts really creeping up that much into his human form? 

Would he ever be the same again?

Did they know?

“Is there anything you wanna talk about?”

“We’re all ears, dude.”

He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t say a word. Not without outing himself as Phantom, and that was bound to backfire on him in the worst way possible.

Oh god, he was acting too suspicious. He needed to save this.

“I’m good.”

There was a beat of silence.

Sam leaned forward. “Danny...I don’t mean to sound like Jazz, but bottling stuff up isn’t—”

“I’m fine!” Danny snapped. “I didn’t say anything and I’m sorry, but you know it’s not every day like you’re nearly electrocuted to death in your parents’ ghost portal.”

“Is that what happened?” Sam’s eyes grew wide. “Oh my god, Danny.”

“Holy shit,” Tucker agreed.

Danny threw his arms out. “Ta da! I survived, I’m fine. Nothing to talk about.”

“Danny, I—”

“No.” His tone was final. “Drop it, seriously.”

Another beat of silence passed, and then Sam finally sighed. “Fine, but I’m telling you as your friend that if you ever need anything, we’re here for you.”

He wished he could have trusted those words. But he knew they were nothing more than a farce.

It would have been cruel to hold onto false hope.

Still, he tried to smile. “Thanks.”

Even though he knew he hadn’t fooled anyone.

---

Maddie’s POV

Maddie watched her son from across the kitchen table, just as she’d done every night for the past several weeks. Quietly, as inconspicuous as possible, always watching.

Ever since the lab accident, he’d been….different. Jack hadn’t noticed, but to Maddie the changes were far too obvious. The dropped spoons, the flash of green behind his eyes, his limbs losing visibility without him even noticing, their ecto-inventions that always seemed to go off around him.

One day, she even saw him walk through his bedroom door.

At first, she thought it was just a simple case of possession. But there were telltale signs of possession, one’s that Jack, for all his enthusiasm, always failed to take into account.

Sure, Danny’s eyes flashed green every so often, but most of the time they were blue. Human blue.

And then there was his personality. In cases of possession, the ghost would be completely controlling the body. But in Danny’s case, he was still very obviously Danny. Still the sweet boy she always knew him to be, but he was just...different. Jumpier. Scared.

Like he knew he was living a lie.

And then, just a few weeks after Danny’s run in with the portal, a new ghost appeared. 

Of course, Maddie didn’t make the connection at first. The ghost was obviously new, and didn’t seem to have a grasp on its powers. Its fighting was laughable, its ectoblasts nearly always missed, and it seemed to constantly forget about its core powers.

Not to mention, its hair was white. Danny had black hair.

But then the ghost gave itself a name: Danny Phantom. And that was when Maddie decided to take a second look at it.

It was Danny’s height and build, its voice sounded similar to Danny’s, it seemed to know all of Danny’s classmates, it used a Fenton thermos, it wore a hazmat suit that looked eerily similar to the ones in their basement closet—not to mention that Danny’s hazmat suit had gone missing recently.

On its own, one small correlation didn’t mean anything. But when the little similarities kept piling up, then Maddie had to draw some sort of conclusion.

Just what was the conclusion though?

The Danny across the table had gone to school like any other human child, he’d eaten his meals like anyone else, he’d hung out with his human friends, he talked with his human family. On paper, he seemed normal.

Human.

But his grades were in a downwards spiral, Jazz had expressed concern about him and his friends, he’d been breaking curfew, and there were times when she’d peak into his room at night to find him gone.

He could have been just experiencing trauma from the accident. Maybe he was rebelling. There were so many explanations for his behavior that didn’t involve ghosts.

But then he’d do something ghostly or a weapon would beep around him or Phantom would fly nearby, and her red flags would be raised once again.

Maddie learned long ago to trust her red flags.

The Danny across the table took a bite of his salad, and his face immediately scrunched up.

Maddie felt sick.

He swallowed, and Maddie could see his eyes watering. “Is there something wrong with the lettuce, Mom?” 

She feigned innocence. “Hmm?”

“I don’t know,” he prodded a carrot on his plate. “Something just seems off.”

“Tastes fine to me,” Maddie said. “I just bought this lettuce today. Jazz, is yours okay?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Maddie suppressed a grin. She could always count on her “facts and research only” daughter.

“It could be the dressing? I used a new brand tonight. It’s healthier than the other stuff.” 

That, or it was the small amount of blood blossoms she’d blended into the vinaigrette. 

“Maybe.”

But it couldn’t end here. She needed to know. She was a scientist, she had to see the experiment through.

“Eat the rest of your salad, honey. I’ll buy the other brand tomorrow, okay?”

Danny carefully put another forkful of salad into his mouth. He gave a small wince, but swallowed. 

“Good boy,” she said. “I have fudge in the fridge for when you’re done.”

“Oh, fudge?” Jack exclaimed. He shoveled the rest of his salad into his mouth. With a mouth full of food, he said, “Thanks, Mads! You’re the best!”

“You’re welcome sweetie!”

Jazz made a face. “Gross, Dad.”

Jack laughed and bantered back at his daughter, but Maddie had already tuned out of the conversation. Her only focus was on Danny, whose face was now just too flushed to be healthy. Still, he forced himself to eat.

There was just no question. No doubt about it.

No matter how Maddie looked at it, this was proof enough.

Danny Fenton wasn’t human. The portal hadn’t nearly killed him, it probably did kill him. And now here he was, pretending to still be a part of the family while using Phantom to distract them from the fact that he was a ghost.

It was a truly elaborate ploy. And if Maddie was anyone else, his plans probably would have worked.

But she was Maddie Fenton. She had a PhD in ectobiology. She’d been researching ghosts for twenty years.

Dinner ended, and the children went upstairs to do homework. Although, if Maddie looked, she was sure Danny wouldn’t actually be in his room. And if she went outside, like she’d done in nights past, there was no doubt she’d see Phantom soaring through the skies.

But she knew. She knew. She knew.

She slipped a white business card out of her jacket pocket, grabbed her cell off the counter, went into her bedroom, and dialed the number. 

It rang once, then twice, then stopped. A deep voice sounded from the other line. “Maddie Fenton? I figured I’d be hearing back from you. Have you made your decision?” 

“Yes.” Her voice was mechanical, as if she’d only called about a malfunctioning weapon. “I have. I agree to the partnership.”

“Excellent. And the terms are to your liking?”

“Yes.”

“Understood. We’ll be in touch tomorrow to sign the official contract. Will your husband be involved in this, or are you working alone?”

Maddie closed her eyes. “The contract will be for my name only.”

“All right, then. We’ll talk tomorrow. You won’t regret this.” 

“I know.”

---

<previous / next>

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of 

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.4k

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, thank you! 

My pleasure.

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

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

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

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

I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens Thursday on two occasions. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to regret that. 

Pinky promise?

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What...What are these?”

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

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

Then it all clicks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just...it’s like…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it fucking worked.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am, I can’t hold—”

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

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

“Do I make myself clear?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” 

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

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

“Mm-mm. What?” 

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

He feels her heartbeat trip. 

“And you know what I do to brats?” 

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

“I fuck them until they break.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

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

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

“I...I want you to spank me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours.” 

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

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

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

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

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

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

“You drool in your sleep.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Truly. His dad was hotter.” 

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

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

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

“Couldn’t be me, either.”   

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

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

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

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s definitely something.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How chivalrous.”

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

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

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

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

“You’re a dick, you really are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.” 

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

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

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

“Wow. I feel used.” 

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

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

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

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

“We could UberEats some iHop.” 

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re so dumb.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, like you’re any better?” 

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uber for Y/N?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh...my God.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The irony of it all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like Hamilton?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You are vile.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry, I’m serious—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[roger-that-cap]

all the flowers will bloom

summary: you would have never tried to leave your mother if you knew that bringing that pomegranate tree back to life was your ticket to the underworld. or, maybe you would have, because it turned out that hades was quite the opposite of the evil goddess that you had been drilled to know.

warnings: nothing much!! some fluff, some bonding, near death experience, dog petting

word count: 3.2k

this is part three!

It was late at night, and the only way you knew was because it was utterly silent. The dead didn’t sleep, but the night was their quiet time. It was their time to reflect and be alone, and it was almost sacred to them. You knew that no one would be around to watch you in the garden, whether you failed or succeeded. 

You woke up one morning starving. Your stomach was rumbling in a way it never had before, and you groaned at the feeling. Had you really not eaten anything the whole time? 

You rolled out of your bed and opened the door to your room, walking blindly down the hall and trying to find something, anything. The urge to eat was strong, and it was calling you. You vaguely remembered Natasha telling you about a kitchen, and how the humans who used to cook in their past lives took residency there and cooked for everyone who wanted to eat, even though feeding wasn’t necessary to the dead.  

You weren’t dead just yet. 

Your feet were taking you somewhere, past souls who couldn’t care less about your presence and then past others who stared at you like you were from a famous myth. Either way, none of them spoke to you, and you didn’t speak to either of them. You were just hungry. 

“Are you looking to eat something, darling?” A voice crooned, head peeking out of some double doors. 

  “Yes.” You cleared your throat. “I know it’s early, but, are these the kitchens?” 

 “They are,” the woman said, and you noticed how her form was slightly more wispy than all of the others you had seen. “We haven’t started yet, but we have some things left over from yesterday, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please.” 

“Come in, child.” And so you did. Your steps took you further while something in the back of your mind was urging you to go the other way. Your stomach called for the exact opposite, and it won. Your steps got faster despite the bells going off in your head, and then you were standing over a table of pastries. 

  “Wow, these look beautiful,” you murmured, eyes catching on multiple different dishes. The bells got louder, but you ignored them as you finally reached for the one on the far right. You smiled at the woman, who was watching you with hawk eyes, poorly hidden anticipation on her face as she waited for you to eat. “Thank you for allowing me to have one, miss.” 

  “Wait, don’t let her eat that, she’s not dead!” 

The pastry was slapped from your hand just as it was about to go into your open mouth. You gasped as you were turned by your shoulders to meet an unfamiliar face, yet another woman. She was more solid than the other one behind you, who you discovered had faded away at the sight of the new arrival. 

 The woman had brown hair and light green eyes, bordering on blue. She was breathing heavily, like she ran miles just to get to her spot. Her eyes were wild and worried all the same as she shook you twice. “Why the hell were you about to eat that?” 

“What?” 

“You’re alive, what are you doing?” You matched her worry, hands shaking and eyes wide as you stared at her in silence. “Do you not want to go home?” 

A strong presence seeped into the room slowly at first, and then it was suffocating everything and everyone else. And just like that, the woman who saved you stepped back from and faced the doors, doing the same as everyone else and kneeling with her head bowed. You looked towards the door and saw Natasha walking in, her aura dark as she commanded the room without any effort.

“What’s going on here?” 

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then the woman closest to you was speaking, head still hung low in respect. “A nymph tried to feed her, Your Majesty.” 

You watched Natasha stiffen, and then her eyes turned to you. She stalked forward quickly, steps so intimidating that you almost retreated. “Open your mouth.” 

  Your fear melted into confusion. “What?” 

Natasha’s eyes were ablaze as she gripped your chin, her initial hold harsh and even edging towards desperate, but in the quickest of seconds she loosened her hold on your slacked jaw. “Did she eat any?” 

“I got to her before she could put it in her mouth, Your Grace.” Natasha’s eyes lingered on you, blank and observing everything about your face at the moment before taking a step back, but if anything, the intensity only doubled. 

  “You are never to eat a thing here, do you understand?” Her voice was hard, harder than you had ever heard it. When you failed to answer, she narrowed her eyes even further at you. “What you did could have killed you, Persephone. Don’t eat down here, ever.” 

You opened your mouth and almost shut it because of the smoldering look she was giving you. Yiu grappled for words for a second, slightly embarrassed that all you could get out was a pitiful, whiney statement. “B-but, I was hungry.” 

Her expression of seriousness cracked just a little. “I forgot that you would be. I apologize.” There was a gasp from over in the kitchens, and you retreated into yourself after knowing that everyone else was listening. They were gasping because she apologized. “But if you ever get hungry, come to me, and I’ll fix it. Never eat anything here.” 

You were still shaken by how angry she seemed, and by the way the skin on your hand still slightly stung with the force of the woman’s slap. But you were still curious. “Why?” 

“If you eat something here, you’re consenting to be a full time resident.” You sucked in a breath. “If you were dead, it wouldn’t matter. But you need to go see that horrible mother of yours, and eating won’t let you do that.” 

  Your heart was racing. You could have been trapped there, in the Underworld. For longer than you were even supposed to be. You looked down at the woman and how quick she was to recognize what was wrong with you eating, and then you realized that it was a known fact. That meant only one thing. 

 “That lady was trying to set me up!” You gasped informally, and Natasha gritted her teeth.

  “And she will be dealt with.” She turned to look at the woman who saved you. “Thank you, Maria. You will be rewarded for your behavior.” 

  “It was my pleasure, Your Grace.” She stood up and bowed again before walking away. 

Everyone else cleared out while you and Natasha looked at each other, eyes seemingly gravitating towards each other’s. “When you’re hungry, come to me.” She repeated, and you frowned. 

  “How can you fix it if I can’t eat?”

“The same way I fix the feeling of death every morning,” Natasha sighed. “It’s mostly all in your head. The hunger, the darkness, they’re side effects of being here. I just take it out for you.” 

You took a slight second to marvel at the idea of her being able to do something like that. “So you can make me feel full?” 

There was something that flashed behind her eyes, passing too quickly for you to identify. Her gorgeous mouth attracted your attention as her lips pulled up slightly, just enough for you to notice. “If I tried hard enough, I could make you feel nearly anything.” 

Why did her words feel like she meant something entirely different than what it was supposed to? 

§§

The earth was dry. Not a thing was growing, and everything that managed to slip by and grow died within days. Demeter was on a rampage, angry beyond belief. Nothing good ever happened when a god was angry. 

“The humans are suffering,” Steve pointed out to her, aware that he needed to say his piece gently, or risk Demeter losing her temper again at the expense of mankind. 

“I don’t care,” the goddess hissed, even though it wasn’t necessarily true. “I will let them all starve if my daughter isn’t found and brought back to me.”

“What do you want me to do, Demeter?” He asked, shifting on his throne and giving her a mildly annoyed look. “I don’t have her, and I don’t know anyone who is stupid enough to take her.” 

“I want you to call Hecate.” She ground out, and Steve gave her a disappointed look. “She looks up to you. You’re the only one who can bring her out of hiding, and she’s the only one with the magic that can track down my Persephone.”

He looked down on her from his throne, and she picked her chin up as he gave her an even more disapproving look. “It’s not right to pull Wanda back into this, and you know it.”

“It’s been ages since the fight against the Titans. They’re all dead or locked away, now. She’s fine.” If it was anyone else at stake, anyone other than her Persephone, maybe Demeter would have agreed with Steve. Wanda was traumatized after the wars with the Titans, and everyone knew that after what she had done, she deserved to live however she wanted in peace. But she could rest after Persephone was found. “Call her.”

“I can’t just-”

“You are the king of us all, there’s not a goddamn thing that you can’t do! You’re going to call Hecate here right now, or I will let every single human down there rot and wither away, do you understand me? Not a soul will be alive to offer you anything, and then they’ll all take a trip to see that bitch of the Underworld.”

Steve watched her with an unamused glare, equally annoyed with her as he was wary. “Demeter, calm down.” 

She looked like she was getting fired up all over again, but she scoffed and shook her head, taking a second to find the right words through her fury. “Fine. For now, I’ll be calm. But you have to swear to me that whoever has taken Persephone, I get to destroy them. Without question.” 

Steve’s words came quick, but he meant them. “I promise.” 

“Good.” She straightened out the crown of flowers that had tilted on her head, and then crossed her arms. “Call Hecate.”

                                          ****

The days passed by the same. Every morning, you would wake up and feel like you were inches from death, and then Hades— Natasha—would come in and put her strangely warm hands on your throat and chest, and then you could breathe again. You would be escorted by her to the second level, where you would exert yourself so much that your knees trembled only to get no results. She would put her hand right on your stomach and make the hunger in your stomach reduce to nothing, and sometimes she would even eradicate the pain in your knees from kneeling through the day. And then, hours later, you would trudge back to your room and cry. It was the same old song every day. 

You missed your mother. You missed the way that the outside world could bring you freedom, even though you were trapped by your mother’s hold. You missed the nymphs, and even their worrying. You missed dipping your toes into the ponds and swimming and singing without a care in the world. Now, you were fighting for the nearly impossible to happen, working your hardest to see your own world again. 

  “You’re going to die before you fix it if you keep going like this.” 

  You had mixed feelings about Natasha. The rational part of your brain knew that she didn’t want you there either, and that she would rather not have you in her space and presence. You had touched something that didn’t belong to you, and now you were paying for it. But the part of your mind that made you want to scream and cry was angry and almost constantly blaming her. 

The rational part of your mind won. “I don’t know how else to do it.” 

“What do you do when you’re above ground?” She asked, taking a few steps closer to the place where you were kneeling down, knees in the dirt and dress pulled up so that it wouldn’t have two big brown spots on it. “Because I know this isn’t it.” 

    She was right. You were pushing yourself, and your mind wasn’t in the same spot as it would have been if you were in your natural habitat. Usually, you could just look at a spot in the ground and it would grow. In particularly harsh lands, you would touch the soul, but it never got harder than that. This felt nearly impossible. 

  “How would you know?” 

“I know all about you creator gods and your gifts,” she said, her tone almost bored. “It comes easy to you. Creating life is your safe space, isn’t it?” You didn’t need to answer. “There’s no way that something that you were born for makes you react like you’re reacting now.” 

  “Well, you want me to grow an entire garden in a world where nothing lives,” you said, running a hand over your face as you tried your hardest not to cry. “And whether or not I see everyone again is based on that. So forgive me if I’m not being efficient.” She was silent after that, so you turned and out your hands in the dirt again, breathing in and out. 

 “Have you heard of that one idea by that one human?” You had almost forgotten that she was still there, speaking too vaguely for you to even try to understand. “You can’t produce anything good if you don’t feel good. I think the same may apply for the gods.” 

  Your fingers dig deeper into the dirt as you cast a look at her over your shoulder, a small and sarcastic smile on your face. “There are many ways this conversation could go, would you mind elaborating?” 

There were a few heart beats worth of silence. “Would you like to see Cerberus now, Persephone?”

“It’s Y/N,” you corrected immediately even though your heart jumped, and you had to work to keep your frown going. “What makes you think that seeing your dog would make me happy?” 

  “I never said happy,” the older goddess corrected, and then she sighed. “But it could be a start.” 

  “You can’t be serious,” you said, taking your hand from the dirt and turning around to stand, giving Natasha an incredulous look, even though you meant it to be more curious. “Why do you care?” 

 “I told you, I don’t want you here for any longer than necessary. I don’t need the Mother of Corn Stalks attempting to wage war on me.” She turned around and took a step forward, and you knew that she was walking to the elevator and expected you to follow. 

  You did. 

You watched the doors open and watched her form as she let herself in first, and then looked at you expectantly. “And, besides, I hate to watch flowers wilt. That’s the whole reason you’re even here, you know.” 

She hated to watch flowers die? That seemed uncharacteristic of the woman that your mother had warned you about, but you were quickly learning that most of the things your mother had told you about her just weren’t true. No person who liked death and destruction didn’t like to watch death and destruction. Your mother was wrong about her, and you thought about that the entire way to the elevator. 

You waited in the elevator, not sparing a look at the Queen of the Dead for fear that she would already be looking at you. You didn’t want to admit it, but she intimidated you. 

You were on the opposite sides of your own large spectrum. She was in charge of everything dead, the very part of life that you worked tirelessly against. If it wasn’t the air of death and decay that surrounded her, it was the look in her eyes. Half haunted, half… alive. Hades hid so much with her eyes that it was impossible for you to ignore and dig into, just like you used to dig in dirt. And you discovered that the woman truly felt as much as anyone above, maybe even as much as the humans. And that terrified you. It terrified you that the woman that your mother demonized actually had emotions in her heart, had a weakness and a strength. 

Hades became so much more than a story far too quickly for you to grasp. 

  “Cerberus,” she started, and her commanding voice nearly made you jump out of your own godly skin. She continued with barely any pause. “He’s a good dog. He’s just… he will be very overwhelming to see at first.” 

You assumed so. He was the creature that guarded the entrance of the Underworld, which meant that he must have been more horrifying than anything that walked the greens of the earths. You knew he was as dark as midnight and that he had three heads simply from the stories that everyone was told when they were young enough to listen. 

  Natasha strutted out of the elevator, red hair swaying in the wind with her sure steps. You were steps behind, still wincing at the feeling of unfamiliar stone on your bare feet instead of tickling grass. She took you to an iron door, one that looked heavy and sounded even more heavy when she pulled it open after having a handful of keys appear in her hands. She unlocked the door with two of them, and then other locks that you hadn’t even seen turned. 

  “Why did I agree to this, again?” You breathed out as she led you in without a word, and then you were nearly screaming. 

  The creature was huge. He was so tall that he straight up took your breath out of your chest, and your hands shook. He had three heads, indeed, all three with dark red eyes that stirred like storms. Though there were three heads and they were all three scary, you couldn’t take your eyes off of the middle head. He had bared his teeth automatically at the sight of visitors, and he showed off his killer incisors to make it painfully obvious that he was the most vicious of the three. You tried not to take a step back or startle either of them in the silent room. 

  “Stand down,” Natasha commanded, and just like that, all three of the heads were subdued, and the conjoined body laid down on the floor, the middle head resting on the front paws. “You’re going to let my visitor see you.” 

You nodded warily,your wide eyes fixated on the huge thing and your hands shook. “Oh, I’ve seen him, I’ll be alright from here.” 

And you were. For a few weighted moments, you just stared at the thing but looked so out of the ordinary egg that for a moment, you doubted that something like him could be a thing. You watched the thing for minutes, analyzing movements and mannerisms. 

  “Is he alive?” 

The question came from nowhere, and surprisingly, from behind you. You jumped and turned your head to see Natasha leaning on the wall of the very generous cage. Her slender arms were crossed as her eyes were questioning as she waited for your answer, like she had all the time in the world and no intention of repeating herself. 

   “Cerberus?” You squeaked out, and then cleared your throat quietly. No. That was your immediate response, or what you wanted it to be. But before you could say anything, you second guessed yourself. “I… I don’t know.” 

  Natasha’s arm extended as she gestured towards her well known guardian animal. “Feel.” 

  He felt… different. He felt gray, right in between the white light of life and the plain darkness of death. At first glance, he seemed to be floating right in between, placidly and without a care. But, when you dug harder, you realized that he was actually much more in the white than he was in the dark. 

  He was more alive than dead.  

“He’s… alive.” 

“And if he’s alive after hundreds and thousands of years, then anything you can plant can stay that way.” She leaned off of the wall, and you swallowed when she turned her gaze towards you, and like she and her pet were on the same page, all four pairs of eyes in the room were set on you, waiting patiently for your gift to bless their home. “Don’t you agree?”

****

i hope you guys liked this one!! we’re getting into stuff now, so that’s exciting. it came early because i’m kind of in a mood, and i wanted to get a little bit of feedback today! this is gonna be so much fun to write going from here even though i’m already having a blast, and i think you guys might have fun reading it! if you guys liked it, please remember to like and reblog 💕💕💕

taglist:

@teenwonder @saamwilscn @messuhp @username23345 @dontmindmejustreading @bitchuwish @blackxwidowsxwife @anxiousgoldengirl @russianredassassin @dailyavengering @blackluthxr @coxmicbabygirl @alytavzla @deathofmissjackson @1-800-gaygentsofshield @msmarvelsmain

sorry if i forgot to add anyone!!

[sombreboy]

Quality time⇢kth x jjk

⇢18+ ⇢pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ⇢genre: Smut, fluff, mxm, married couple ⇢word count: 3.7k ⇢warnings: Profanity, fluff, smut, daddy kink, sub!jjk, dom!kth, dirtytalk, masturbation, anal, please its fiction use lube and be safe, creampie in da ass

A/N: Serves as a oneshot within the Love Maze series AU, however can also be read on it’s own. Co-written with my lovely @velvetwicebang​​ <3 Banner made by lovely @chimoona​ <3 Thank you xoxo

Jungkook & Taehyung absolutely loved and adored being fathers to little Taeyeon. There's no amount of riches in the entire universe that'd make them even consider trading their lives away. But... they'd be lying if they said they didn't need a break.

Ever since their little girl joined their family, both men have been busier than ever. With Jungkook being a very high demand tattoo artist, he spends the majority of his day putting art on people's skin. Sometimes he'd be able to bring the small one to work with him, but only when all he had to do was sketch-- and even then he'd get less than the ideal amount of work done. But he refused to let Taehyung take all the responsibility by himself. Luckily, Tae's job was not nearly as demanding. He could work on edits of his photos from his very couch with a baby in his lap without issues. Except for when the child was insatiable and wanted her other daddy. Adding to their exhaustion, when they both were actually home, all their energy went to keep Taeyeon happy, fed and clean. They love her so much, but... They've barely been able to show this love to one another.

With all this in mind, Jungkook had decided to plan a surprise for the night dedicated to his husband. From the amount of times he's been babysitting Joon and Jisoo's kids, they finally helped convince Kook to let them take Taeyeon for one night to let them breathe. Jungkook was very hesitant until he finally gave in; only with Taehyung in mind. He needed it.

Jungkook knew Tae would be waiting at home, as Koo had brought their baby with him to work to let the elder get some peaceful work done. After leaving his child at Joon's, he drove home feeling excited. On the way, he picked up some pizza. A simple luxury they've also rarely indulged in lately. Tonight was going to be simple, yet not. Jungkook felt his mouth salivate as he pulled up in the driveway, and it was not because of the pizza.

The exact moment Taehyung heard the familiar squeak of the doorknob, he dismissed his computer to the empty side of the couch. The elder was expecting to be greeted by Jungkook and Taeyeon— like always— but instead, he was met with a box of pizza in place of their baby.

“Kook, where’s Yeonie?” The little girl has been with them for months, it felt out of place not seeing her cute face after a long day of work, “Is she okay? Did something happen to her?” Tae’d been so busy thinking of the worst, that the rare box of pizza in Jungkook’s hold was momentarily forgotten. It was only when his husband had explained to him about the night’s plans that Taehyung visibly relaxed.

“Shit.. I’m so stressed out these days.” The elder sighed, finally looking into Kook’s soft eyes once he’d gotten a hold of himself, “You did this for us?” He looped his arms around Jungkook’s neck, “Baby, thank you. That’s so thoughtful of you..” Taehyung took the box of greasy pizza from his husband’s hand, careless as he sat it down on the coffee table. He plopped down onto the couch, forgetting about his ‘parent image’ for the moment. Tae brought a slice of pizza to his mouth, outwardly moaning at the forgotten flavor. He’s missed this, that’s for sure. “I missed pizza, thank you.” He was clueless as to what Jungkook’s motive was, “Want to watch TV? We still need to catch up on that show.”

"Sure, let's." Jungkook grabbed the remote as he plopped down next to Taehyung, turning the tv on to resume where they had previously attempted to finish half way through a show on Netflix. Kook reached for a greasy piece of the blissful garbage food of his own and quickly had it devoured, all while glancing over at his husband more than he was focusing on the movie. Without their child, it seemed like Taehyung really savored the moment to just be. It was like pieces of the old Taehyung seeped through the cracks of his father persona. Jungkook didn't really need nor want any more pizza, letting Tae eat most of it. The youngers appetite was for something else entirely.

As time passed, Kook allowed Taehyung to enjoy the relaxation of digesting and watching his show, but when deemed enough, Jungkook's patience ran low. Now that the elder got some time to breathe, it was Jungkook's turn to get what he's been yearning for.

"Daddy," Kook murmured coyly, knowing this specific word stirred something in his husband. He reached to caress Tae's cheek with his tattooed knuckles, a gentle way of asking the elder to look at him, "I have something else for you."

The elder found it exceptionally hard to digest his bite of pizza, so he sat the half-eaten piece down, now more intrigued by his husband’s daring words. It’s been so long; his needy cock was extra responsive compared to a few years back. It was obvious he’d been starved of sexual intimacy, every graze of Jungkook’s knuckles drove him mad with lust.

His inviting words were simply the strawberry on top. It was the extra boost the elder needed to finally attend to his own needs. And by the looks of it, his husband desperately needed it too. It was about time they looked after one another.. “Oh yeah?” Taehyung’s tongue swiped over his lips, “What is it?” Excitement was an understatement, and the growing bulge poking at his sweatpants proved that.

Jungkook had Taehyung exactly where he wanted him, aching with anticipation and excitement. It was endearing how easily affected the elder was-- but he couldn't blame him. Kook was just as needy after this long without any intimacy aside from kissing. ''You've been a bit tense lately,'' Kook's words were innocent as he leaned in to place one last sweet kiss on his lips. Now, he wanted anything but sweet, ''Let me take care of you.'' He murmured as his kisses traveled down Taehyung's sharp jaw, groaning into his tanned skin as one hand eagerly tugged at the button of his husband's pants to undo them and slide his long fingers underneath the waistband, ''Missed your big cock,'' Jungkook's words grew filthier, his hot breath moving to caress Taehyung's ear whilst his hand firmly gripped the hardening length, ''Did it miss me?''

Taehyung didn’t know when, but he threw his head back in a moan; the mere touch making him breathless. He’s been deprived of any kind of attention, and with Jungkook’s sneaky hand tightly holding on to his length, Tae felt like he could cum right then and there. The elder held himself back, though. Something told him they wouldn’t have time to themselves often, he wanted to make the moment last. “It missed you so much.. fuck. Wanna be inside my gorgeous husband..” The last part came out breathy, still heavily affected by the younger’s sudden need to take care of him. Hell, Taehyung wasn’t complaining in the slightest, “Bet it’s so tight too after all this time. Lemme get a feel, babe..”

"Anything you wish for," Jungkook cooed as he tugged the elders pants down to pull out his heavy length, grasping Taehyungs hand to place it on his own girth, "Touch yourself slowly." He ordered as he stood up to undo his own pants and pull them down with his underwear in one go, shamelessly exposing his already turgid cock. He pulled his shirt off too, making sure his husband could see everything, "You love seeing me like this?" Kook smile playfully as he grabbed his own length, making a show out of the way he rubbed circles on the wet mushroom head with his thumb. "Wanna help stretch me out with your cock, baby?"

“Mhm..” A strong gulp rippled in Taehyung’s throat, feeding off of his husband’s undivided attention as he stroked himself— slowly, like Jungkook had ordered. He didn’t want to upset the younger; Taehyung wanted to please, “Fuck, I wanna stretch you out like old times, fill you up with my cum..” An excited groan excited past Taehyung’s slightly parted lips. He couldn’t help it; he pumped himself faster. His brows knitted closer together, the wet sounds of his throbbing dick now more alive. “Baby sit on my cock, please.. wanna be in you again.” Taehyung didn’t care about how pathetic he sounded, if it’d get his point across, then he was pleased.

''Ah, how I've dreamed of hearing you say that.'' Jungkook whined as he firmly squeezed his cock, earning an aching throb from it. He felt his ass clench around nothing just from the mere thought of being stuffed full; the memory far from faded. He would never forget how good Taehyung feels, and he couldn't wait to refresh his memory further. Kook let himself go, his rock solid length wet and needy as he leaves it untouched and bobbing while straddling his husband. using his strong hands, he quickly makes work of taking Taehyung's shirt off to make it more fair in terms of nudity, ''Ah, my gorgeous husband... my sexy daddy.'' Jungkook purrs when he feels Tae's cock twitch against the skin of his ass, allowing his large tattooed palms to smooth over the elders soft stomach; less firm these days, a little plushier-- but no matter, it only made him sexier, and a perfect cuddle pillow. Kook's hands continued to travel upwards over Tae's still firm chest as he leaned forward to kiss him deeply, tongue finding it's way to slip into the elders mouth.

Taehyung’s wandering eyes throughout his husband’s face ceased their wandering, now fluttered shut whilst he drowned himself in the heated kiss; not failing to take notice of the bundle of unspoken emotions behind every brush of their tongues. His hands settled on Jungkook’s hips. They itched to pull him down— to give him a taste so he’d return the favor, but instead his warm palms ran along the curve of the younger’s ass, groping the rounded, firm skin. Tae pulled away from the kiss, rosy lips now a small trace of what’s to come, “Sit on daddy’s lap, baby boy. He also wants to take care of you..”

Taehyung roughly parted his husband’s flushed cheeks, flashing Jungkook’s pathetic little hole; just begging to be filled to the absolute brim.

Jungkook's eyes darkened with his growing need to feel Tae's cock stuff him full to the brim, a gasp pushed through his lips when he felt the elders rough, warm hands spread him open, his little hole clenching and unclenching around nothing--but not for long, ''Please, take care of me well..'' Jungkook's words were breathy, he'd spit in his hand before reaching back to wet Taehyung's cock, aligning the thick head with his needy entrance before slowly pushing himself down, far too eager to care about proper preparation-- it was worth it any future discomfort. A drawn out, breathy moan rumbled in Kook's throat at the stretch, eyes never wavering from his husband's expressions, observing and visually devouring every sign of pleasure in his face, ''I'm so tight for you, fuck...''

“O-oh..” Taehyung’s brows knitted closer together, and his eyes vaguely dimmed once Jungkook’s chamber of warmth fully settled in. His cock throbbed inside of his husband, trying to get accustomed to the tightness he once knew so well, but now lacked. “God, you’re so gorgeous..” Taehyung squeezed the younger’s ass, controlling the latter’s movements as he slowly rocked Jungkook’s hips into his own, holding eye contact throughout it all, “My fuckin’ husband, shit, I missed this.” He hissed out loud, drawn to every twist and tug of Jungkook’s face.

"We're g-gonna have to do this more often..." Jungkook's voice broke into a whine when he sunk deeper down on Tae's length, slowly but surely until he's fully stuffed, halting his movements to adjust to the stretch. He took a deep breath to relax his muscles, placing his hands on Taehyungs chest for leverage, "Can't go this long without feeling you again. It's too fucking good.." Kook's eyebrows furrow as they're drawn together, his expression a mix of the pleasure and faint pain. He gently started to grind his hips on his husband, moaning when he feels the bulbous tip brushing against his prostate, his own cock dribbling with beads of precum, "I missed this so much, god.. it feels amazing."

The elder peeked one eye open, his sealed lips twitching as if he was trying to conceal a smile, “Of course it feels amazing, it’s my cock.” A hint of the old Kim Taehyung peered through the cracks, and he had to admit.. it felt fuckin’ great to have zero responsibilities even if it was just for the time being. With his beautiful husband on his dick, Tae was reminded of their earlier; less demanding years. Suddenly, the ‘perfect father’ façade he’d built up in front of everyone else came plummeting down; he felt the most comfortable when faced by Jungkook.

“You good? I know it’s big.” A small smirk quickly shifted into an ‘o’ the moment his husband willingly rocked his hips faster against him, deteriorating Tae’s composure little by little, “Ah shit.. n-not too fast, don’t wanna cum in you yet..”

"I'm great." Jungkook's eyelids fluttered shut in bliss every time his small movements had Tae's cock prodding just the right spot, keeping his hips slow, simply rocking back and forth to still get himself used to the stretch his husbands blessed girth provided. Kook stopped for a moment, letting Taehyung truly feel the warmth embracing him tightly. His eyes opened once more before he leaned forward to cup his husbands face in his hands, stroking his thumbs on the soft skin of his cheeks, "I love you... please fuck me now." Jungkook begged, his doe eyes sparkling with need, "please, baby." Jungkook didn’t have to strain his voice when begging, or get down on his knees— Taehyung was already sold a while ago. He sensually traced the sharp outlines of his husband’s tattoos with his fingertips. And as if the responsive shivers from Jungkook’s painted canvas transmitted from the younger’s biceps to the rest of Taehyung’s body, the elder bit back an eager moan at the familiar sensation. “I’m gonna fuck you so fucking hard for all the other times I couldn’t..” With a feather-like touch, Tae’s bottom lip grazed upwards against the slope of the younger’s neck, gently sucking onto the latter’s unsteady Adam’s apple, “You’re gonna take all of it like a good boy, aren’t you?” His words came out as a low growl, and Taehyung’s hips teasingly grinded into Jungkook’s ass. “You’re gonna make daddy feel so fuckin’ good, there’s no doubt in my mind about it.” The elder pulled back from the other’s flushed skin, seemingly proud with his creation, “gorgeous.” The sweet moment didn’t last long, as Tae grew even needier from the way Kook’s walls closed in on him. He quickly flipped Jungkook over so his back laid on the couch, staring him down like a predator would his prey. Everything about the younger was so... addicting. Even after many years, Taehyung found himself throbbing from his husband’s expressions as he slowly thrusted into him, bending Jungkook’s legs down to his chest for better access, “F-fuck..” Tae bit down on his lip, the small scar on his forehead visible whenever he ran his fingers through his hair, wanting to see the younger clearly. “Want me to go faster?” He raised his brows, “beg then. I love it when you beg for me..”

''Yes,'' Jungkook's dark curls fell off his face to expose his glistening forehead, eyes blown out in the pure admiration and lust that swirled in his dark pools of brown, ''Please go faster, I need it so fucking bad... please." Kook cried out, his hands settling on Taehyung's lower arms in a tight grip to stay grounded, his ass clenching down harshly on his husband's thick girth. The initial pain from the stretch faded with every thrust, instead replaced with nothing but pleasure and feeling so full it makes his heart want to burst out if his rib cage, ''It feels so good, I want more, harder... Don't be gentle.'' His last words came out like a gasp when he felt his cock throb at a particularly angled thrust, pressing his head back against the couch with gritted teeth.

‘Harder’, ‘Faster’, ‘More’... Jungkook’s breathy moans in the shapes of incoherent phrases urged Taehyung to do just that. The man slammed into him— harder. “Wasn’t planning on being gentle, sweetheart,” The elder groaned at his increase of pace, faster like his husband wanted. Like how he wanted; Tae was only playing the superior part, he would’ve drilled into Jungkook minutes prior. But then again, it wouldn’t of been anywhere near as fun.. or thrilling. Taehyung fancied this best, he enjoyed hearing the younger plead for his utmost attention.

“T-tight... so tight.” More. Taehyung's hair dangled over his narrowed eyes, showing Kook no mercy whilst their sweaty skin continuously slapped against one another, the striking sound echoing throughout the empty house, “Tell daddy how you feel, baby..” The muscles in Taehyung’s chest clenched closer together, further showcasing the small tattoo layering his heart; one Jungkook had formerly etched onto his honey skin. Three daffodils; a smaller one in the middle.

"Feel so full, it's so good.." Jungkook's throaty words come out shaky every time Taehyung slams into him, causing his body to jolt upwards. With one hand, he reaches to smooth his palm over the pretty, small tattoo on Tae's chest, his heart swelling with the love he feels for his husband. After everything they've been through, ups and downs-- many downs, here they were still as head over heels for each other as they've always been; now with a family. Another thrust brought Kook back to the present, his blunt nails digging into Tae's arms as a loud cry in pleasure was forced out of the younger. Jungkook's hands travelled to run through his husbands hair, moving the sticky fringe away from his face, "you make me feel so good, so loved. I love your cock." Kook was greedy, and a glutton for being manhandled, and he wanted Tae to really fuck him dumb, like only he could. Both men have pent up stress, and what better way than to fuck it out. “I-I love you— fuck..” Taehyung’s brows furrowed in concentration, jaw slack as he moved his hands to each side of Jungkook’s head, still tightly engulfed by his husband’s radiating warmth. The elder hazily gazed down at Kook, putting a momentary pause to his hips’ rhythm before leaning down to press a sweet kiss onto his forehead, nose, cheek, chin— and lastly, lips. Taehyung knew he was supposed to be fucking him dumb, but he couldn’t help it. They rarely spent time alone, Tae felt guilty for not expressing his love more often.. Shit, he was being annoying. The movement of their lips turned less sweet, moving eagerly as it muffled their reactive moans when Taehyung began putting his hips to work once again, hitting Jungkook’s deepest places and rubbing against his prostate. Tae pulled out halfway only to ram into the younger, his movements slick from the sweat found all over their bodies. A low grunt followed after every sharp thrust; Taehyung felt like he’d lose his mind. He was deprived of sex, and now that he got it, he was far more sensitive. “‘M gonna cum soon baby boy, y-you close?”

Jungkook's haste nodding followed by short, clear chants of the word 'yes' served as his only reply as he was unable to form any coherent sentence. He was too far gone, too drunk on the pleasure he was experiencing with every loud snap of his husbands hips. The younger reached between their bodies with one hand to squeeze his aching length, too weak to ignore the almost painful need throbbing between his legs. He began to stroke himself in tandem with Taehyung's thrusts, doubling the speed to where his upcoming orgasm was building up, "I will--- slow down, just a bit..." Jungkook suddenly asks for the opposite, his free hand settled to cup Tae's cheek, the other still working his own cock, causing his insides to clench down harder on the elder, "I'm gonna cum so much, fuck... please fill me up."

Jungkook's warning only lasted for a mere minute before his whines grew higher, jerking himself off at a torturous pace until he finally reached his peak. A raspy moan-- almost a scream erupted from his throat at the intensity of it, letting go of his cock to let it pathetically gush hot ropes of his cum between their bodies, his insides spasming and gripping Taehyung like a vice grip, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Taehyung couldn’t handle his husband squeezing down on him with such force. It was as if Jungkook’s fleshy walls were pleading to be filled up with his cum, as if they’d missed squeezing every last drop out of his pulsating cock. Despite Jungkook reaching his climax, the elder still chased after his own. He was close, so close.. His hips snapped sloppily into Kook, losing the drive they once had. With every harsh slap of his balls against the younger’s ass, Taehyung felt himself gradually crumble down as he dug deeper into Jungkook’s clenched insides. “Gonna cum—“ Spurts of white shot into Kook, catching them both off guard, “shiiit, fuck yeah..” Taehyung threw his head back with a strained shout, tensing up as he disposed of his warm load into his husband. He pulled out to watch it dribble down out of his hole, only to push himself back in; not quite finished, “Fuuuck, it feels so good.. you feel so good..”

Once he was sure every last drop was snug deep inside of Jungkook, Tae withdrew for good. His slick tip came out with a ‘pop’, and a low whine slipped past his lips at the cool air that clashed against his wet length.

“That was amazing, I really needed that.” Taehyung leaned down to press a kiss onto Jungkook’s lips, unbothered by the pool of cum on the younger’s stomach, “I love you, you know that?”

© sombreboy 2020. Do not repost, edit or translate.