#had a dream i got eaten by a mushroom

[thehivemindever]

help i just had?? the weirdest span of like 5 dreams?? during a 45 minute period i was asleep. dont even remember them but they were weird as hell. im just absolutely fucking like. that hit me like a truck. im a changed man

[silvrash-797]

Glassbound

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Welcome back! I finally finished the next chapter, and it is a roller coaster!

Chapter 5: The Bottle

Hyrule woke slowly. He’d had the most amazing dream. There'd been moments of panic, but they were far outweighed by the comfort…water, sweet and cool, running down his parched throat…being able to move without pain…his brother, Four, holding him tight, safe and warm…

Warm.

He was actually warm!

Hyrule's eyes jerked open and he sat upright with a gasp. A white, feathery cape edged in blue fell from around his shoulders. He gathered it in shaking fingers, hardly daring to hope…

Tears pricked in his eyes as he caught movement in his peripheral vision. Four stood framed in the doorway, a soft smile on his face.

“Are you really here?” Hyrule asked, voice trembling. “I’m not dreaming?”

Four gently shook his head. “You’re not dreaming. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Hyrule buried his face in his hands, hiding the tears of relief that overflowed, but he could not hide the shaking that accompanied it.

Footsteps approached; strong arms wrapped him tightly in a hug, and Hyrule melted into the Smithy’s embrace. The touch grounded him. 

Four was here. 

He’d been found. 

It hadn’t been a dream. 

He allowed the emotions to run for a few more shaky breaths before taking a deeper one, gently pushing them down and away. They needed to make a plan.

Carefully, Hyrule sat up, still encircled lightly in the Smithy’s arms. “How long was I asleep?”

Four's head tilted as he deliberated. “Most of a day, I’d say,” he finally replied. “You must be starving.”

A distinct grumble accentuated Four’s words, and Hyrule flushed. 

Four chuckled. “C'mon,” he said, standing and helping Hyrule do the same. “It's nothing fancy, but I found some berries and nuts that should help. We’ve got plenty of water, too.”

Hyrule staggered but kept his feet as Four led him out of the room towards a veritable feast of foraged items. Four left his water skin then strode to the base of the stairs, keeping watch.

Hyrule selected a plump purple berry and broke the delicate skin between his teeth. Juice sweet as honey spilled into his mouth, and he sighed in bliss as the sugar fed his magic stores. 

He chose another fruit, more tart but still wonderfully sweet, to follow the first berry before picking up a handful of nuts and mushrooms. He inhaled their earthy aroma as he popped each one into his mouth, their woody crunch a perfect counter to the rich sweetness of the fruit. 

It certainly beat the bread and cheese the Boss had given him. Certainly beat what he could usually forage in his own Era.

He ate until he no longer felt hollow, saving some of the delicate, sweet wafer cakes for last. He could have eaten double the amount and still had some left over, but he didn’t know how long it had been since Four had eaten. 

Washing everything down with several long, sweet gulps of water, Hyrule finally left the food and picked his way to where Four was watching the stairs. 

Four's ears twitched as he approached. “How certain are you that they’ll take two days to come back?” the Smithy asked, turning around.

“I’m not,” Hyrule shrugged. “It’s just that they came the first time after I’d been alone two days, and two days later they came again. Since we can’t go more than three days without water, and they presumably want us alive…it lends itself to a pattern.”

“Do you feel strong enough we could leave early?” 

Hyrule probed at his internal magic store. It twinkled back at him, reassuring in its presence. “I have enough to turn into a fairy now, but I’d be pretty dizzy after.”

Four tilted his head, eyes jumping around the room as he thought. “Then, why don’t we go finish what we foraged, and make a quick turn around the keep. If we don’t see anyone, we can head out. What do you think?”

Hyrule didn’t have to think long. He desperately missed the sun. “Sounds good.”

Four insisted that Hyrule eat most of the food, though when Hyrule tried his best to mimic Time's “Disappointed Dad” face, he did take a handful of nuts and berries, along with half the remaining wafer cakes. The extra sugar and nutrients – coupled with his full day's rest – boosted his magic stores, enough that he’d be able to function as a fairy, though he still wouldn’t be able to use any of his other spells.

As they ascended the steps from the cellar – for the final time, Hylia, please! – Hyrule's heart pounded a staccato rhythm in his chest. They passed the place they’d been ambushed yesterday; when nobody blocked the stairs the rhythm eased slightly. Finally, they made it out of the cellar and into the main keep. 

Dazzling sunlight burst through the tall glass windows, assaulting Hyrule's dark-adjusted eyes. He welcomed the pleasant burn, squinting through the glare until his vision settled and he could take in the beautiful green forest surrounding the keep.

His heart ached to be out there already, but they had to be certain it was safe.

“You couldn’t just stay put and behave, could ya?”

Ice tore through Hyrule's veins at the sound. He whirled and froze as the Boss stalked up to the pair of Heroes, growling. 

The giant man drew a dagger from his belt and gripped it tightly in his right hand. “We finally find the Captain, give him our message, and come back to take you quietly, but you had to make this difficult.”

The Boss made a motion that Hyrule recognized. It was the one Warriors used when he wanted them to surround an enemy camp; Hyrule’s breath caught in his throat as the two tall soldiers emerged from the shadows to flank them.

“We weren’t gonna hurt ya too bad, but all that’s off the table now.” 

“RUN!” Four shouted, grabbing Hyrule's hand and ducking between the Boss and the soldier on his left. The Boss made a clumsy swipe with his dagger, the tip just catching Hyrule's left shoulder.

Adrenaline dulled any pain from the cut, and Hyrule welcomed it as they sprinted away from the soldiers. Four led them on a convoluted path through the keep, trying to lose the three men. They ended up in an abandoned kitchen, judging by the pots and bowls scattered around the room.

Hyrule slid to the floor under a countertop, panting. He winced as he clutched at the cut in his shoulder. He almost used his Life spell to heal the wound, but remembered he was saving his magic for Fairy instead. 

He hissed a gentle curse, then let his head hit the wall behind him with a satisfying thud.

Four had been hovering just inside the door, listening for following footsteps. He sighed, then joined Hyrule on the floor. “I think we lost them, for now. Let’s take a look at that, Rulie.” He helped Hyrule take off both tunics to get a better look at the wound. 

Hyrule carefully shifted to see it better. It was long and wide, but not too deep; a potion would heal it easily, if they had one. Blood seeped from the surface, winding a thin thread down his bicep.

Distantly, Hyrule watched Four dig through his pack, pulling out empty bottles and a handful of items before he extracted a nearly empty roll of clean bandages. Next came the water skin, swiftly unstoppered and poured over a clean piece of gauze. Hyrule flinched as Four gently cleaned the blood from his arm.

“Sorry,” Four murmured as he efficiently wrapped and tied off the last of the bandages. “That should hold it for now.”

Hyrule shifted his arm, still feeling the cut, but pleased with Four's work. The bandages were too bulky for his brown undertunic, so he replaced just the green, sleeveless overtunic, handing the brown to Four to keep in his pack for now. 

Four was nearly done repacking his bag when they both froze, hearing voices echoing down the hall. Hyrule's heart took off, unwilling to face his captors again. “We need to shrink, now,” he insisted, standing. “Do you have a portal nearby?”

“There’s always a Minish portal in a kitchen.” Four's eyes darted around before settling on an overturned pot in the far corner of the room. “There!”

As Four dashed towards the pot, Hyrule muttered the words of the Fairy spell. A beautiful golden light enveloped him as his surroundings expanded. Delicate gossamer wings grew from his shoulders and back, and he gave them an experimental flap before launching himself into the air. 

He flitted to the pot Four was just tumbling out of, chiming gently as Four brushed off his tunic. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Four chittered back, multi-colored tail waving languidly. The language he used wasn’t Fae, and it wasn’t Hylian, but Hyrule understood it well enough. “The exit from those portals always looks worse than it really is.”

“Good. I can hear those soldiers coming closer, we need to go.”

Four nodded, then turned to scamper along the wall. Hoping he knew where he was going, Hyrule hovered after him.

They wove through several hallways, staying low and near the walls. After a while, they lost the echoing voices, which loosened the knot of anxiety in Hyrule's belly. He landed near Four to rest his wings when the Smithy stopped to contemplate an intersection.

“Ey, lookit ‘ere!” A raucous voice shouted out. Hyrule released a startled chime and whirled around, hand grasping for a nonexistent weapon. “I found me a genu-ine fairy!”

The two tall soldiers advanced from further down the hallway, arguing loudly. “Naw, ya can't've. It ain’t in a pot!”

“No, but lookee, Toralt!” the first speaker gestured towards Hyrule broadly. He tried to dim his glow, but it was too late. “It’s a light fairy, wearin' the Hero's clothes! Mebbe someone let it go!”

“What's that mouse it’s with?” the other soldier – Toralt, apparently, which made the first Vitch – asked.

“This isn’t good,” Four whispered to Hyrule, bristling. “Get ready to run for it.”

“Does it matter?!” Vitch was giddy with his apparent discovery. “Gimme your bug net an' that bottle you found in the kitchen! We’ll catch ‘em both and bring ‘em to Rulow! Mebbe they can help us find those Hero brats.”

Toralt leered down at the miniscule pair. “Ya gonna be nice little beasties an' hold still for us?”

“Not on your life!” Four chattered angrily in that odd language.

Hyrule chimed his agreement, then shot off the ground at the same moment Four scampered away from the soldiers. The two men yelped and gave chase.

Hyrule tried every maneuver he could think of, heart hammering as each swipe of the bug net came closer and closer. His energy was waning; he had to get away now, or he wouldn’t last much longer.

The net passed by him again, so close that the displaced air sent him tumbling for a moment. 

That was all it took.

The return pass enveloped his body in poorly woven mesh, fouling his wings and ensnaring his arms and legs. Hyrule gasped and struggled but only succeeded in tangling himself further. A desperate peal of bells left him as his wings crumpled and tore in the unforgiving net.

A massive hand closed around the mouth of the net, sealing his exit and shifting the mesh enough that his trapped right arm was pulled dangerously far behind his back. Before he could get enough leverage to shift the pressure, the joint of his shoulder popped, and tore; a discordant jangle erupted from the depths of his soul as the pain washed over him. 

Blinking black spots from his vision, Hyrule tried to focus on his surroundings through the pain in his arm, but the world whirled dizzily as Vitch jogged over to his companion who, once Hyrule could see clearly, had managed to capture a struggling Four in one fist.

“Get that bottle open, Vitch. This’n bites like a devil!”

Through the haze of mesh and pain, Hyrule watched Four hiss and struggle as the bottle – bulbous and familiar, they must have left one in the kitchen on accident – drew closer. Toralt shoved the little Minish inside, and Four immediately tried scaling the glass to escape, only to be shaken back to the bottom.

The net shifted, and Hyrule screamed a string of bells as his injured arm was jostled. Vitch moved his hand, opening the net, but Hyrule had no hope of escape. Not with his wings crumpled and torn and his shoulder dislocated. 

He could only hope the man would be gentle.

“Gotcha good, didn’t I?” Vitch sneered down at him, all giddiness gone. “Serves ya right, fer tryna get away so long. Don’t you fairies want ta help people?”

Hyrule chimed weakly in response, but he was fading fast. 

The strong, callused hand of the soldier grasped him firmly around his middle; Hyrule shrieked as his ribs protested the pressure. Bumbling fingers extracted his limbs and wings, and merciful darkness briefly stole his consciousness.

When Hyrule roused, the soldier was holding him by the back of his tunic and upper wings, pinning him firmly in place. The man pulled a dagger from his belt and held it threateningly against Hyrule's stomach. “Ya better start behavin'. Better be worth the work it took to catch ya.”

A spasm of pain rolled through Hyrule and he shivered, the movement causing the tip of the dagger to pierce the skin above his right hip. 

Hyrule could only manage a pathetic tinkling of bells in response.

Vitch scoffed and tossed Hyrule into the bottle with Four. His head hit the rim of the bottle so hard he saw stars; immediately he felt warm blood begin to trickle down his face.

“HYRULE!” Four exclaimed, still in that non-Hylian language. “Stay with me, Link!”

Hyrule could only lay slumped against the wall of the bottle, blood streaming down his face, as the cork was shoved home.

[aylacavebear]

The Traveler - Chapter 16 - Wonderland Pt. 3

You're from a specific dimension, Solaris Eclipse. It was a dimension of magic. When your kind, the Eldrathiren, turned fifteen, your unique power would awaken within you. Most times, it was something small, levitation, teleportation, creation, elemental manipulation, and things like that. Once in a while, a fifteen-year-old would just disappear, and those were called Travelers. None of them had ever returned. Your parents had told you stories about them, and you hoped that wouldn't happen to you.

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!

Word Count: 4488

Pairing Eventually Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You & Sam Winchester x OC Reader/You

Warnings: Angst - pretty sure that's it - just some tense situations. A/N: Don't think there's anything else in this one. It's fairly relaxed.

A/N: This dimension was suggested by @snowayumi, and I absolutely LOVED how it came out. I hope you all love it as well.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 16 - Wonderland Pt. 3

The Hatter helped you return to your normal size with the mushroom pieces from Absolem. It was a little trickier than with the cake, which you had eaten first. With what was left, you only got to half your normal height. The only downside to the mushroom piece was that it made you sleepy, or perhaps it had been the tea. You weren’t entirely sure.

Although you yawned several times, trying to force yourself to stay awake, the Dormouse took pity on you, showing you inside their quaint little home. It looked just as weird as you’d figured it would, given how Wonderland seemed to be. Plus, it fit the style of the Hatter, with different hats adorning the place in the strangest of ways.

If it weren’t for being as sleepy as you were, you would have taken far longer to admire the madness within the home. Hats of every imaginable shape and size hung from the ceiling, nestled in corners, and balanced precariously on top of bookshelves. A tea set was in perpetual motion, floating from one side of the room to the other. You had barely laid down on the bed before the dreamworld of Wonderland pulled you from the waning night. Your dreams were filled with visions of the brothers that night, feeling an almost ache in your soul.

Over the next couple of days, the three of them shared so much with you about Wonderland. You learned of the Queen and her rather ruthless ruling of the world. Then there was a woman named Alice, and you noticed how they all seemed very fond of her. The Hatter told you fantastical tales of elusive creatures. Like tiny fuzzy mushrooms called Mome Raths, that only came out at night in the forest, illuminating the path and another creature that would come behind them, dusting the path away as if it were never there at all.

The Dormouse, perched on a stack of teacups, told you about a bird with a cage for its body, where it kept its young until they were old enough to be on their own. It was quite the protective creature, hiding in the treetops of the forest near the clearing. The Hare became quite animated when he told you of the creature that had shovels for faces, digging holes in search of shiny objects all throughout the forest.

You laughed so much, enjoying their stories of Wonderland and the oddities it held. The Chesire Cat had even joined The Hatter and others for tea a few times. Watching a cat drink tea was quite the site, as he seemed to levitate the cup occasionally versus using his paws. “A touch of magic and madness in every sip,” he’d say, his grin never fading.

The longer you stayed in this world, the more you thought you saw, just beyond what was there. Shadows would flicker at the corner of your vision, and whispers seemed to carry on the wind, always out of earshot. Then, they would be gone just as quickly as they appeared whenever you attempted to focus on them.

Near the end of almost a week, you felt a pull to press further into the madness that was Wonderland. The three of them made sure to give you lots of treats from the large variety that adorned the table. Then, The Hatter hugged you, his hat slightly askey as he did. “Remember, you’re always welcome here, dear Traveler,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He then handed you one of his scarves, the color of which matched your eyes, “For the road ahead,” he added with a wink.

You thanked him, then bid the three of them farewell, instead of going the way the Knave had gone, headed beyond the Hatter’s home. There were those odd signs that, of course, made no sense, but it was where you felt pulled to venture. Numerous times, you thought you saw things, but when you attempted to focus on them, they disappeared completely.

Curiouser and curiouser.

With it being daytime, you were able to see the forest in the light, what came through the canopy anyway. The trees were vibrant in color, with scattered flowers blooming along the forest floor. Ferns and short tufts of grasses dotted the sides of the path, along with mushrooms. The thorny vines had beautiful yellow blooms larger than your hand which was a stark contrast to the color of the tree it had wound itself around.

The air was filled with the scent of wildflowers and a hint of something sweet and unidentifiable. There were what you wanted to call a bird, but it had no wings. It was by far the oddest thing you’d seen, or at least, that’s what you told yourself. The odd creature had a pair of large, round eyeglasses as its body, with two small bird legs protruding from the bottom. The glasses had a nose bridge that resembled a bird’s beak, which made you look at it curiously.

There were several of them perched on branches, watching you from above, seeming just as curious about you as you were them. However, they didn’t get closer, so neither did you. This time, as you walked further into the forest, you didn’t have a destination in mind. You knew you didn’t want to go toward the Queen’s castle, so you avoided any path with that direction.

As the day wore on, illusionary things drifted in and out of view between the trunks of different trees. You remembered how you were warned to stay on the path, but your curiosity was beginning to get the better of you. The shadows also almost seemed to move on their own in the distance. 

I really should stay on the path.

It was something you kept trying to remind yourself of. Your ears twitched with the sound of whispers that you couldn’t quite make out. You attempted to focus on how no two trees were ever the same shade in color, as the forest had been vast and almost neverending. It only lasted so long, though, seeing a door standing on its own, nearly fifty feet into the forest. 

You would look over at it, trying to make out the details from a distance, but would eventually give up and continue along the path, turning down different directions when it would fork. In true Wonderland fashion, the door would appear again, the same distance away, almost as if it were following you. You were watching your surroundings less and less, and the door more and more. Finally, when your curiosity finally won out, you stopped walking forward and toward the very edge of the path, staring at the door.

Momentarily, you remembered back to the warning your parents had given you, so long ago. Don’t leave the village, especially on the day your powers were to awaken. Then there had been the warning from the creatures of this world you’d already spoken to. The one that kept your curiosity on the door was what Absolem had said: The path will reveal itself to you, as it always does in Wonderland.

The door seemed to be following you, and your resolve to stay on the path was quickly waning. It looked completely out of place, nestled amid the myriad of colored trees and tufts of grass, yet it also seemed as if it belonged there. Your eyes drifted down to the edge of the path, which your shoes were only an inch from, then back up at the door.

Damnit.

You took a deep breath and stepped off the path. The grass below your shoes felt soft the further you walked. You turned around halfway to the door and let your head hang low when you saw how the forest had completely changed. The path was gone, replaced by dense trees and undergrowth.

Looks like I’m either going to get myself into a lot of trouble or perhaps find a way out of this.

Turning back to face the door, you pressed on. The closer you got, the more details you could make out. It was an elegant, ornate structure, its base nestled into the earth below it as if it truly did belong there. The door itself was made of dark, polished wood, its surface intricately carved with patterns of roses and vines. The doorframe was equally elaborate, wrought from iron and twisted into shapes that mirrored the carvings on the door. Thorny vines wrapped around the frame, blooming with vivid white roses that seemed almost too vibrant to be real. The handle was an antique brass knob shaped like a rosebud, cool to the touch and slightly tarnished with age. 

You walked all the way around it, but both sides looked exactly the same. The white roses reminded you of the one who had helped you in the garden when your journey here had begun. A smile tugged at your lips while your ears twitched with the sounds of the forest. Whatever was on the other side of this door, it felt as though it was calling to you.

You took a deep breath and let it out with a new determination as you reached out, gripping the doorknob. Your heart pounded a little harder, knowing nothing was what it seemed in Wonderland. Upon turning the knob, it silently slid open, revealing an entirely different landscape on the other side. Hedges of vibrant green adorned both sides of a cobblestone path. The sky above was a soft blue, clear, and without clouds. There was also a sweet, beckoning scent of roses that wafted through the open door. Lamp posts dotted either side of the cobblestone path with lanterns that seemed as though they were floating just below where they’d be clipped in place.

Cautiously, you stepped through the door, only taking a few steps before looking behind you. With a sigh, you saw the door was gone, leaving a dead end in its place with another hedge. 

Looks like I’m committed to this now.

Turning back to face the path ahead, you moved forward, taking in the scents, and realizing there were no sounds. Not even of bugs. So far, you hadn’t seen the flowers that were giving off that sweet scent of roses, but the further you walked, the stronger it got. You took several turns before you came to a fork, leading in three different directions. The hedges were far too tall to see over, and due to the thorns that adorned them, there was no way to climb them either. That was when you finally noticed a contrasting color against the green of one of the hedges. A red rose?

Gingerly reaching out, you gently touched the petals, finding them velvety soft against the skin of your fingers. You were almost hypnotized by the rose's beauty, the depth of its color, and the gentle scent that drifted from it. You pulled back and shook your head, looking down the three paths and choosing the one to your far left.

Where am I?

You were clearly still in Wonderland, you just weren’t entirely sure where at the moment. This was a place that hadn’t been described to you. You did, however, remember the words of the doorknob: Stay away from the red roses. If it was only the hypnotic scent, you could understand why, but the Hatter had also warned you of the Queen. The further along you went, the more roses you saw, identical to the first. Their scent was getting stronger, seeming to pull you along the path. When it finally got too strong, you slipped your bag off your shoulder, rummaged through it for a piece of cloth, and then used your claws to cut off two pieces, which you used to plug your nose with. It mostly worked, but some of the scent got through even that.

The path twisted and turned through the hedges adorned with red roses. The silence was almost palpable, broken only by your footsteps along the cobblestone path. At least you could walk softly, having learned how to properly balance your weight on your feet with each step, quieting the sound. You also began feeling as though you were being watched but couldn’t seem to locate where someone might be able to watch you from. 

Taking yet another turn, you began hearing footsteps, although they sounded far away. They reminded you of how the card soldier boots sounded when they approached the tea party that first night. Only now, they were loud against the cobblestone path.

I have to get out of here.

You were well aware that if they found you, it wasn’t going to end well. There was a chance you could fight them if you needed to, but without your spear, you would have to get close, and you weren’t sure how many of them there were. Then you wondered how a playing card could be damaged. 

Do they bleed like other creatures? Are they just playing cards that were animated and a spell would have to take them down? Could I knock one out if I hit it hard enough?

Those and so many more questions went through your mind as you continued along the path. It was a maze of hedges and roses, or a labyrinth of them. You came across several dead ends, having to double back and choose a different fork, or a different way entirely when the place seemed to have rearranged itself. One large downside to being stuck in this labyrinth of rose hedges was that the scent you had been following wouldn’t have been strong enough to pierce through the roses' scent. Then there was the cotton you had stuffed in your nostrils, dulling the smell as much as possible. This place seemed to be one to leave someone confused or end up lost. Perhaps even frozen in place, hypnotized by the scent of the roses.

You were in no mood to get stuck here, so you continued on. The sounds of the card soldier boots could still be heard, and your ears twitched with each echo. You tried to take paths that led you away from the sound, and for a while, it seemed to work. However, the sounds got increasingly closer after only a minute or so.

Then, out of the blue, there was silence again. You stopped and looked in all directions, your ears twitching in an attempt to find some semblance of sound, but none came. Swallowing hard, you turned another corner, only to see half a dozen red card soldiers standing there, blocking your way. You turned, wanting to run in the other direction, but what was behind you now made that impossible.

Another half a dozen card soldiers stood where there had been an empty path. You wondered if they were here to possibly kill you, but you quickly shook that off. You had no intentions of getting killed, determined to find a way back to Earth, to the brothers, to those that were your new family.

“I was wondering how long it would take before I found you,” a deep voice from behind you spoke, and you recognized it instantly: the Knave. “Aren’t you an odd thing?”

Your tail flicked in agitation as you turned to face him. “I just want to leave,” you began, but three of the card soldiers grabbed you faster than you could react, and the Knave just smiled—a wicked, evil smile.

“The Queen will want to see this one,” he instructed the soldiers before turning from you and waving his arm at the hedge that was now in front of him.

As it moved out of his way, your eyes widened. It had revealed a straight path toward a castle, and you instantly knew where you were. You were on the Queen’s grounds, and all you could guess was that this was some sort of contraption to capture intruders. You also wondered how none of them seemed to be affected by the scent of the roses but weren’t about to ask.

The card soldiers held you firmly, their grip unyielding as they marched you out of the labyrinth. The Knave led the way, his figure tall and imposing against the contrasting greenery of the hedges. The walk out of the labyrinth wasn’t long, and things seemed to instantly change on the other side. The sky had grown almost dark, like twilight, in a blend of purples and blues, hinting at the waning daylight. There were more of the lamp posts with the floating lanterns, which were now lit, giving off an eerie glow on the cobblestone. Here, shadows seemed to flicker and dance just out of sight, giving the illusion of movement. Manicured rose bushes lined the strange, winding cobblestone path that was elaborate as it snaked its way toward a castle.

The castle loomed ahead, a gothic structure that combined the whimsical elements of Wonderland, with its white and red stones adorning every surface, with an almost gothic darkness that felt as though it loomed over the castle itself. The spires reached toward the sky, their silhouettes jagged and twisted. Yet, atop each one was a topper in the shape of a heart. If nothing else, it was definitely grand.

The Knave led the guards through a huge heart-shaped entrance made from the same bricks as the rest of the castle, with a guard tower on either side. If circumstances were different, you probably would have explored the place, being fascinated with its design. The atmosphere grew heavier, the air thick with anticipation and the faint, metallic scent of impending danger. Your ears twitched at the unfamiliar sounds of the place while your tail flicked with your growing concern.

The courtyard itself was well-kept. More rose bushes and floating lanterns adorned the area. You were in no position to get away or fight off this many soldiers, let alone the Knave. So, you focused on paying attention to your surroundings, planning a possible escape when the opportunity presented itself.

The soldiers tightened their grip as they ushered you forward, their expressions blank and unwavering. The Knave glanced back at you with a smug smile, his eye glinting with malice and amusement. The doors of the castle loomed large before you, intricately carved with scenes of the Queen’s reign, a reminder of her power and authority. Inside the castle was a contrast to the outside. Instead of being white and red, the stones were shades of gray, from light to almost black in places.

The grandeur of the castle's interior was overshadowed by its oppressive atmosphere. Tall, dark columns lined the hallways. In a checkered pattern, some were adorned with menacing gargoyles that seemed to watch your every move—the others were draped with red curtains that seemed to brighten the dark space.

Red velvet curtains and banners added a splash of color, but even they couldn’t dispel the gloom that pervaded the place. The chandeliers, dripping with crystals, cast a cold, harsh light. The path down the center of the columns lay a red rug with intricate patterns and designs, bordered with vining roses, a darker red than the rest of the rug.

As you were marched through the corridors, you couldn’t help but notice the portraits of the Queen in various regal poses, her stern gaze following you. Finally, you were brought to the throne room, a vast space with a black and white checkered floor and a high, vaulted ceiling. The throne itself was an elaborate creation of gold and red, sitting atop a raised dais.

Along either side of the column, adorning the walls were high, stain-glassed windows with identical designs of hears on vines, allowing the waning light of the evening to shine through. Between each window, a tall mirror bordered with a golden frame befitting her royal chamber. Behind the Queen’s throne were heavy red curtains, pulled back with golden ropes, revealing more stained glassed windows that stretched from almost the floor to just below the ceiling—each one with thin red curtains.

The Red Queen sat on her throne, her presence commanding the entire room. Her dress was a mix of crimson and black, adorned with hearts and lace, giving her an imposing and regal appearance. Her face, with its stark white makeup and exaggerated features, was a mask of both beauty and cruelty. You noticed she wasn’t wearing a crown atop her red curls, which you found odd, but so far, everything in Wonderland was odd in one way or another.

“Your Majesty,” the Knave began with a bow, his voice smooth and dripping with feigned respect, “we found this peculiar creature wandering through your labyrinth.” He explained, approaching her side before kissing the back of her hand that she’d outstretched for him.

The Queen’s eyes narrowed as she examined you, her gaze intense and unyielding, “What is it?” she demanded, her tone imperious and filled with curiosity.

“It, Your Majesty, is the intruder you sent me to find,” the Knave answered, turning his gaze to you as the Queen continued to study you.

All you had to go off of were things you’d watched on Earth when it came to royalty, as you’d never encountered it in any other dimension. Well, not to this extent, anyway. You wondered if perhaps you could outsmart her and find a way to escape.

“That doesn’t tell me what it is,” The Queen snapped, her gaze still on you, but she was clearly annoyed at the Knave for his lack of explanation.

“I am a Traveler, Your Majesty, and I would bow, but the soldiers are holding onto me very tightly,” you explained in quite a respectful tone.

The Queen raised an eyebrow, “Let her go,” she stated plainly, but there was still authority in her words, and the soldiers released you. The Knave could only watch in annoyance.

You kept the smirk of triumph from making it to your lips as you bowed before the Queen, keeping your gaze from meeting hers until you stood straight again. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” you replied with gratitude.

“Now, what exactly is a Traveler, and why do you have cat features but also look human,” she inquired quite curiously.

This just might work to my advantage.

“I come from another world, Your Majesty. All of my kind have these features, but I am a little special. Not all of my kind can travel to different worlds. Only special ones can. When I came upon your world, I was only seeking the doorway to move to the next world,” you explained to her, keeping that respectful tone and posture.

It was easy to see that the Queen was quite intrigued by you, but the Knave was getting quickly frustrated at the Queen’s lack of command to either remove your head or lock you in a dungeon. He stayed quiet, though, as he knew his place, and it was never to question the Queen, or she’d have his head removed. At the moment, you were just thankful you had the Queen’s curiosity and not her wrath.

The Queen’s gaze remained fixed on you, her curiosity piqued. “A Traveler, you say?” she mused, leaning forward slightly on her throne. “And what makes you think you can just wander into my realm and disrupt my order?”

You maintained your respectful stance, careful not to let any sign of defiance show. “I apologize for any disruption, Your Majesty. It was not my intention to intrude. I merely seek to find my way to the next world, as my journey requires it.” She really didn’t need to know the details, and it didn’t seem as though she’d understand them anyway.

Her expression softened slightly, though her eyes remained sharp. “A fascinating tale. And yet, you have found yourself in my labyrinth, a place meant to trap trespassers. Tell me, Traveler, what makes you so special that you can traverse worlds?”

Of course, she’d ask you something like that, and you’d now have to come up with some sort of explanation she’d understand. So, for a moment, you pondered all sorts of explanations before finally giving her an answer. “It has to do with something we’re born with that no one can see. It’s deep inside and can never be removed or taken away, as it is more of a yearning than anything else.”

The Knave, still standing beside the Queen, couldn’t hold back any longer. “Your Majesty, surely this… creature cannot be trusted. We should lock her up until we know more about her intentions.” The Queen shot him a withering glare, silencing him instantly. “I will decide what to do with our guest, Knave,” she said coldly. Turning her attention back to you, she asked, “And what proof do you have of this ability? Can you demonstrate it?”

You took a deep breath, knowing that showing any sign of weakness could be dangerous. “I cannot demonstrate it here, Your Majesty. Traveling between worlds requires specific conditions and a certain amount of preparation. However, I am willing to help you in any way I can to prove my intentions are sincere.” 

Her eyes narrowed, considering your words. “Help me, you say? And what exactly can you offer to the Queen of Hearts, who already has everything she desires?”

That one made you think. What could you offer her, as you had nothing you felt like parting with? It wasn’t like your senses would help her. The scent of her roses had been overpowering in the labyrinth, even if that wasn’t the case now. Then, you got an idea.

“It is true, Your Majesty, I don’t have anything to offer, not in the way of riches or items. I could offer my services, as my senses are better than your Knaves or the soldiers that guard you. I can hear things they cannot,” you explained to her, hoping she wouldn’t take it as a threat of any kind. She leaned back, a smile playing on her lips, “Intriguing indeed. Very well, Traveler. I will grant you the opportunity to prove your worth. But, be warned, any attempt to deceive me will be met with the severest of punishments.”

You bowed deeply, relief washing over you, “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will not disappoint you.”

The Queen nodded, satisfied for the moment, “Good. Now, Knave, see to it that our gues is given quarters. I will decide her fate after I have seen what she can offer.”

The Knave’s expression was a mixture of frustration and resignation, but he bowed and gestured for you to follow him. As you were led away, you couldn’t help but feel a small spark of hope. You had bought yourself some time, and now, you needed to figure out how to use it to your advantage. 

----------------------------------------- Chapter 17 - Wonderland pt. 4

Link to the series Masterlist.

A/N: If you'd like to get in on the Dimensional Traveling, go to this link and leave me with a comment, or several, with as much or as little detail about the dimension you'd like the Traveler to end up in. If you'd like to have something specific happen, share that too. I'll make sure that you get credit for the idea you shared in the chapter in which your dimension is featured. I'd love to have as many readers involved as possible. I think this could be a lot of fun.

As always, if you'd like to be tagged, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list. If I missed anyone, please let me know.

Tag List: @littlemadamred @mxltifxnd0m @foxyjwls007 @supernaturalfreakout @roseblue373

[solardee]

Dawn of a New Dream - Chapter 2

“Do you think any of the berry bushes are ready yet?” Dawn asked his brother as he hung from the vines of their tree.

“I don’t think so,” Dusk replied, “everything’s still only got flowers right now.”

Dawn scrunched his nasal ridge in mild confusion.

“The tree doesn’t.”

“The tree never has flowers,” Dusk said patiently, fiddling with the willow branches they collected from the river’s edge a few hours ago, “it will only ever have apples.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because.”

Dawn waited for his brother to elaborate, but no such explanation came, “Because why?”

“ ‘Cause that’s how it works. It’s not a food apple tree.”

Dawn made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, slipping from his swing so he could sit on the forest floor beside his brother. He knew the apples weren’t meant to be eaten, of course he did! The feelings of foreboding energy they gave off were a tell tale sign of that.

But that didn’t explain why it didn’t follow the natural cycles of life they had watched and influenced in other plants.

“It's still a tree though!” Dawn argued, crossing his legs and putting his chin on his fists, “Why doesn't it die and bloom like everything else does? The apple blossoms would be pretty I think.”

Dusk hummed, setting down his half woven willow branches in his lap, “Yeah, blossoms would be pretty cool,” while he conceited to his brother, he still frowned, “but where would the magic go while the tree is dead?”

Dawn frowned at that too, “I… I dunno. The roots?” 

Dusk scoffed, “Nothing blooms on roots, that's dumb.”

“No it isn't! Mushrooms grow in roots.”

“Mushrooms grow everywhere, roots don't count.”

“Apples can grow anywhere too!”

“They only grow on apple trees-” Dusk’s argument was cut off as Dawn tore a bit of grass from the turf they sat on and threw it at his face, “pleh- ew! Dawn!”

“Grass also grows everywhere~” the pink clad skeleton sang as Dusk glared at him.

“This is why you’re the baby brother…” Dusk grumbled as he picked the clippings from his shirt. Dawn gasped in offense.

“I am NOT the baby! We’re twins, so we-”

“Yes you are, I am a whole 3 hours older than you,” Dusk huffed with immense self satisfaction.

Dawn grumbled, crossing his arms as he sat back, “Whatever, at least I’ll be taller than you.”

“Will not.”

“The last Guardian was!”

Dusk frowned a bit at that, “Well duh. He was old. Of course he was taller than me. I bet his brother was taller than him before I woke up.”

“You don’t know that, you didn’t ever meet him!” Dawn argued.

“Well you never met the other guardian so how would you know he was taller than you?” Dusk said as he turned his attention back to the willow branches in his lap.

“Because you told me squirrel for brains!” 

Dawn had straightened out his spine, attempting to gain just an inch on his hunched over brother. The smug grin of his face was heard through his voice, because Dusk glanced up from his work with a sly smile of his own.

“Maybe I lied to you,” Dusk hummed with a shrug.

“You didn’t!”

“Yeah, I did, he was really the size of a grass blade,” Dusk snickered at Dawn’s devastated expression, holding up his fingers in a pinched notion, “He was thiiiiiiis big, said he shrunk when he got older so his brother was so much taller than him and-”

Dawn grabbed his brother by the shoulders mid sentence, beginning to shake the other in exasperation.

“Nuh-uh that’s the lie!! You’re lying right now, stop it!” Dawn whined as the shaking slowly stopped to Dusk’s amused giggles.

The expression on Dawn’s face didn’t lighten up by much though.

“... He wasn’t really that tiny, was he…?” the sunnier twin asked, much softer this time.

Dusk paused in his willow branch weaving, taking in Dawn’s demure posture. 

It was easy to forget that his younger sibling had never met the previous guardian, didn’t receive the gentle explanation of their roles that Dusk had gotten when he had awoken. Never received the reassurances of care and comfort that he had received from someone who knew what the world held, like he had, if only for a brief 3 hours.

~--------------------~

“Hmm. How odd it is, to be on this end of the lifetime.” a strange voice had rung out in his auditory senses. Dusk’s auditory senses. His name was Dusk. He knew that to be certain, though wasn’t sure why.

“C’mon on then Mini-Cosmo, open up those eyelights of yours and let’s see how you compare.” the voice said again, it was soft, fond, comforting.

Dusk opened his sockets, the eyelights(?) kicking on as if he’d been doing it forever. Patterns like breathing and thinking and language built into his skull, knowledge tucked away in the safety of his mind awaiting the wisdom to be able to apply it.

It was blurry at first, Dusk had to learn to blink in order to clear his vision before the soft orange blob in front of him materialized into a more solid vision.

An old skeleton, bones weathered by time and nature sat across from him, leaning against the tree of feelings (Oh, he knew what that was, it must be important. He knew it was important). The clothes the other wore matched his magic, soft hues of what Dusk would eventually come to know as the sky at sunset, and the soft golden crown upon his head looked like a star.

The stranger’s gaze was so fond, despite the wet trails down his face (Tear tracks, his mind helpfully supplied, though Dusk couldn’t fathom what they were for).

“Well well well, guess we all really are unique, aren’t we?” the stranger spoke again, breath wheezing through old ribs.

“Who are you?” Dusk had asked. The other felt important for some reason. (Brother, his mind again supplied, but for some reason Dusk couldn’t correlate that to the being that sat in front of him).

“Hmm. I don’t think my name’s going to be very important soon kid. I’ve got something better for you though. Would you like to hear a story?” the skeleton asked, patting the ground weakly beside him. It looked as though someone had already been sitting there previously. 

Dusk wondered where they went as he cuddled up beside the stranger, warm and safe.

Two and a half hours later, when the stranger finished telling him about the tree, the forest, his life, and his role, he faded away.

Thirty minutes later he had a brother.

~--------------------~

Dusk looked back at his brother again, expression soft and gentle as he tried to offer the same comfort he had felt once before, “Course he wasn’t Dawny, I was only playing.”

Dawn smiled a bit as he looked up, Dusk setting aside the finished basket of woven branches as he patted the ground next to him, “You know, he told me a story, I don’t think I told you this one yet…”

Dawn giggled as he eagerly cuddled up against his brother’s side, both their backs against the tree as the sunset painted the sky in red and golds.

[laurathegreatest]

August will be my starting point. 🌊🌻

Wednesday 14 (D-16 until september)

Weigh in: 65.55kg.

Food eaten: 3 black coffees, lettuce, sesame seeds, a tomatoe, a bit of vinegar, a boiled egg, a banana, 2 and a half small pieces of meet, cooked mushrooms, cooked green beans, cooked pepper, and a bit of an hojaldre and some iced lemomade. A small empanadilla.

To do:

Stretch lightely, go running 10 minites with your doggy, do your stretching routine, do a small strength circuit, stretch lightely.

Shower and do your skincare.

Ice your knee and have a lettuce bowl with vinegar and a boiled egg for breakfast. And a tomatoe and seasem seeds.

~ 10:04 ~ The last few weeks have been very difficult for me. I have had no sttenfth to do anything, but I am back on track. I need to feel I have a direction and I am going to do my very best.

~ 12:31 ~ I finished my tasks!!!!! It's been so long since I last could make myself be productive, that right now I feel like I could do anything. I feel amazing. 🥰

Right now I am eating my salad and I feel more than satisfied.

I love being on track, it feels amazing. August Is. Gonna. Be. My. Month, and I am going to be my dream self. 💙💙💙💪

To do:

Prepare your bag to go to your grandma's house.

Walk your doggy.

Go to your grandma's house.

~15:01 ~ I had lunch with my grandma (cooked veggies with meat and a piece of fruit). And now I am going to take a nap and continue. I've got this! 🩷💙

To do:

Actualize both your cv. Send your cv to all the places near you (includind Em).

Check your opportunities of jobs in the town hall. Every one.

Get pads.

~ 18:52 ~ I am glad I didn't waste anytime scrolling today, so now I can relax.

I asked a girl I talk with at the climbing gym, if she could go out of her way to take me with her in her car. Because I can't drive and I usually go on my electric bike and today it is been raining heavy all day. Which is great since the temperatures have dropped from usually 27°C at this current hour, to 19°C right now.

I am fighting my feelings of being a nuisance. She is so nice to make me this favor, I feel like I owe her one, and I am feeling so bad, for making her make me this favor. I know she's doing it because she wants to, and because she's a good person... But still, it feels bad. Ugh. I hate asking for favors for this exact reason. But this is how you bond with people, being vurnerable...

It will be okay, I will just be grateful. 🩷

I searched for jobs online, and went through the rain to buy myself some pads (my sister left me without), and climbing shoes.

I had to buy my climbing shoes today no matter what because tomorrow, some people from the gym and I will go rock climbing.

I am so excited! The "friend" (i hope we become closer soon!), who invited me is letting me borrow a vest and a helmet, and everything else.

I am very excited because I always wanted to learn. And I couldn't go tomorrow morning to the shop because it is a national holiday and everythinv will be close.

I got as wet as if I had gone swimming. But anyways, it was fun getting cold in the summer. And I gained time to walk my doggy again.

I am now relaxing and waiting for it to be time to go. 💛

To do:

Tidy up.

Go to the climbing class and be grateful to Amparo to take you there.

Go running with Morgana (my doggy). If it's not raining too much.

~ 21:49 ~ I am grateful that I went with Amparo. I had a great time, in the end the class was just us two. And we always talk a lot and encourage each other. We talked a lot in the trips of going to and coming from the gym, she assured me that it was no big deal to help me. And I had fun talking with her.

I am going to eat a small dinner even though I didn't plan on eating anything else today, because I always get very hungry after climbing class.

I had a snack now, a small empanadilla and I am goinv to finish exer isinc for the day before eating a the same salad as before.

~ 23:44 ~ I finished exercising for the day, and just had my salad for dinner. I sttetched a bit, went on my 10 minute run circuit, did my stretching routine, did a short strength corcuit consistent of 30 push-ups, 30 lounges, and 1 minutes headstand.

The strength circuit was very difficult without any energy left from food, but I still managed.

Then I stretched and made myself the salad.

Now I feel like if I touched my bed I could fall asleep instantly.

I am going to sleep now.

[blindrapture]

THURSDAY JULY 21ST, 2011 (Who Once Ruled the Streetlights)

9:31 AM Rabbit hole hotel. Rock solid fake beds. I tried calling some room service, a voice on the phone accepted my order, there was a knock at the door, and when we opened up, there was no one there, just a tray of food on the ground. I ordered a mushroom burger. Donnie got a korma.

9:44 AM Eaten. I guess I should write some explanations, huh? Well. I had to leave the library, I had to think things through. It's. Really fucking sad to know that she's dead. She was someone I knew, someone I had history with, someone who, all things considered, did actually help me not feel so totally alone for a while. I had dreamed of getting to meet her one day. I was scared that our breakup would have meant she wouldn't want to see me, but, like, I can't even confirm that. Maybe it wasn't as bad as all that. Maybe she would have wanted to come with us. I could have talked Donnie into it, I think. Donnie would have liked Anna. They're both really sweet and… ..did I even really know Anna all that well? Do I even really know Donnie...? We do talk. I don't write everything down. We chat about the world as it once was, and our gripes with school. Donnie had British schooling, which has its differences. Donnie also grew up with a lot more British TV than I did. And she'd seen a lot more American movies than me, as American movies get distributed everywhere, and I.. well, okay, it's complicated. My parents were film buffs. It sometimes felt like there was always a movie on at my house. But they were often black-and-white movies, or off-beat 2000s comedies that dad found really funny, or the myriad thrillers and supernatural horrors that mum loved. I watched kid movies. And TV. So much TV. Dad did show me Watchmen in theaters when that came out. Donnie's seen all the classics, the Ghostbusters, the Blade Runner, the Bourne movies, the Back to the Futures, the Breakfast Club, something about a Wong Foo. Hell, Donnie watched Samurai Jack when it was on TV. I didn't watch any of those. I did see some Samurai Jack, but it was always too slow for me. What did Anna watch? I remember her mentioning Donnie Darko. Neon Genesis Evangelion, definitely never got around to that one. She talked a lot about musicians like Ben Folds and Foxy Shazam. And she talked a lot about that Homestuck. I think, of all those things, I was familiar with Donnie Darko. Donnie is too. But, like. Media is all I really know of people. And some details about how people feel about their families. A loose idea of what creative things people like doing. Is that, like. Is that just an internet friend thing? Is it also just a me thing? It doesn't... come naturally to me, to just chat about anything else. What is there? Sports? Card games? I guess, for adults, there's jobs. I'm not even that good at talking about food. So, like. So. It's not that bizarre, to feel a little bit of sadness and then move on. ...I hate that I feel it. And I hate that I feel expected to move on. And I hate that I'm.. just.. going to. And, like. Another option is vowing revenge. But she died in the Cipher Realm. And we killed the Cipher. We got that revenge. … Anyway.

9:50 AM So I left the library, I went out the Door, I came to Utah. I felt what I was going to feel. And I found the slender man. A slender man? He watched me from a doorway as I passed through. I didn't even notice him at first. I just noticed a lot of fallen leaves gathering under my feet. The last thing I remember is looking around, noticing him. Then.. Donnie was sleeping next to me in this hotel. My journal is blank for those missing days, except for those tally marks again. I can.. I mean, I can take a guess as to what happened. I went with the slender man somewhere. I killed for him. I marked each kill. He's the slender man. In the stories, that's the kind of thing that he causes. I guess it doesn't have to have been kills? It could have been fucking pill bottles stolen from college students, for all I know. Masks bought from Wal-Mart and decorated with creepy black marker. Donnie says she doesn't know about all that, that when she couldn't find me in Castle Dale she ultimately decided to head west. First she walked, dragging her rifle on the ground behind her, my journal in a pocket in her now-tattered combat suit. Then she found a car and drove until night fell and she slept in a gas station. She considered sleeping in one of the many department stores or supermarkets she passed, but the bigger buildings out there could hide all sorts of threats. That night, she didn't notice anything, but the journal still had the tally marks come morning. So she kept moving, driving through interstates, switchbacks, and national parks. She occasionally saw small packs of travellers, and even less occasionally passed another moving car. More often, she saw a dog, always waiting for her at the towns she drove through, always already there. She didn't stop for it. In between CDs on the car stereo, she could hear cawing, sometimes screams, and sometimes gunshots. Night fell for the second time, and she started looking for good empty buildings, when she drove through another road-sized rabbit hole and ended up in a desert at daytime. And she kept driving, at least until the car got jammed by sand and she couldn't get it unstuck alone. And that's when the Thunderbirds came. Blacking out the sky in a tremendous storm, convincing her to stay in the car and grip her gun. They flew in circles, cawing a cacophany, whipping up a wind that morphed the sands in front of her, building a hotel of desert brick that rose out of the ground. Immaculately carved. And then there wasn't a single bird in the sky, and the hotel's lights were on. Sign said The Lookout. So she waited a few minutes, bracing for jump scares, before going inside and getting a room. And this time, late in the night, she heard the door open. And saw me walk in. And saw me collapse on the bed next to her, writing the tally marks in the journal, then pass out. She says she stroked my hair a little before she fell asleep. She says she's just glad I'm back. ...me too.

10:00 AM I talked with Donnie as I wrote all this down. I thanked her for keeping my journal safe. And I apologized for going off by myself, which was dumb. "I had the feeling you weren't gone for good. I'm starting to.. get used to how all this works." All the Fear stuff? "You." o_o;; "I never did tell you, did I? That.. friend of mine, who I wanted to go to Nebraska for. He was my ex." Oh… "There's been anxieties in my head, for sure. I've wondered if, in our travels, we'd find him... dead. Or even alive. Honestly I don't know which makes me more anxious. Because, I needed him at the time to help me get through a.. thing with my mum. My parents' divorce... my mum's alcoholism." Yeah. That makes sense. "But, did I really know him that well? Was I just using him, in a hard time?" I don't know about that. I don't know how friends work, I guess, but that also means I don't know if taking advantage works that way. I mean, I guess I don't know the whole story? But I don't need to. If he's willing to focus on you when you need the company, that's... friendship. "Is it romance, though?" Uh. o__o;; I'm even more ignorant on that one. "When his own life got stressful, he didn't depend on me. He just cut it all off. Said he didn't need me around for this." That's.. different, then. So you thought maybe you'd be able to find him and show him that you can help? "Yes. That's.. pretty spot-on. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this." holding my hand. I think we do understand each other. :) "Was it like that with you? And Anna?" Y'know, I.. don't.. actually know? I think it's more likely that I proved I was too caught up in my own problems to be able to help with hers. Or maybe even.. to even really listen to her. "You think? So you don't actually know." No. I didn't want to. "Then you're being too hard on yourself. And you clearly want to know now." Now when it's too late, yeah. "I think you're going to feel that for a while." Yeah.

10:13 AM Well, we've set out. Went to the elevator. This hotel has thirty-two floors, and our room was on floor thirty-one. ...can we see the top floor? "Uh. Sure?" Sorry, just. 32 is my favorite number. .w.

10:14 AM Floor 32, here we-- that's blood. Blood all over the walls. Just like one of my Japanese animes… "What?" Metal Gear Solid. "That's an anime?" No, it's-- y'know what, forget it. Just keep that rifle handy. "Okay. And you keep Tiger Stripes handy, okay?" Yes, ma'am. :)

10:15 AM End of the hall. Door 417. "Why can't Xanadu ever keep its numbers straight?" The door's locked. Looking back, already something's changed with this hallway. The blood splatters on the walls are humanoid now. Except for that one. The far end of the hall is a tall human in a black business suit. If he has a face, we can't see it. This fucker again. DONNIE YELPED WHAT The human-shaped blood things are full-black now. They're shadows. They're.. the Victims. Some of them are hanging around us, and some of them are approaching the slender man. ..door 417 opened. I think we're being ushered inside. The slender man is leaving. Is he.. scared of the shadows?

10:16 AM Inside Room 417. It's.. just another room. But the shadows, the Victims, are hanging around the chairs and beds. Like they're trying to sit, like regular humans. donnie "Did.. they just save us?" "It has no power here. Not in our hotel." You can talk?! a shadow nodded. donnie "I didn't think the slender man was scared of shadows." "He isn't. But that wasn't the slender man. That was one of Xanadu's constructs." Oh shit, lore. Please go on. Constructs? "With the coming of the red sky, Xanadu grabbed onto many of the Fears and dragged them into dark worlds. It took their forms and created many shadows." Shadows, like you? "We are the Victims, as we were once human like you, before we were lost in other worlds." shit. "What Xanadu did to the Fears it ensnared is somewhat different, which we believe to be because a god will cast a far greater shadow than a human will. We are humans who have lost our bodies. Xanadu's constructs are new beings, clones, carrying on a wholly different will." So. So Xanadu has the slender man trapped? donnie "We saw him in that factory! That must have been him!" "If you recognized what you saw as the slender man, then you have not seen him, you have not seen what has been done to him." Maybe we just saw another construct. "You have likely seen many constructs. Xanadu has taken multiple Fears." Why would it want to.. clone them? "It is likely not a conscious act. It is the operation of many systems." Right, yeah, 'cause it's a whole universe. I get it. donnie "So, the, uh, real slender man. Should we... try to... rescue him?" looking at me "You will not make it to his prison." another shadow "His oubliette!" another shadow said something about a 'plonk level?' now the shadows are all arguing.

10:22 AM "The least we can do is tell them..." Yeah? Tell us what? "Who the slender man was." "Who Xanadu wants him to once again be." "The Beast." "The Beast." "THE BEAST!" o__o "Understand, word gets around when you live as the absence of light. There is nowhere we cannot go, often unnoticed. And we are Victims who are stuck here in Xanadu." "We have heard the insectoids speak of their tales. We have heard the gingerbread poetry cycles. And there are many voices without bodies that speak until spoken to…" "Tiresias says a lot more when he thinks he is alone…" They’re forming one large shadow on the wall: A four-headed, four-horned dragon. All heads overlap in one single orb. "The Beast was the firstborn of Sanche, a far more ancient name. We will always be part of his great misdirect. It is said that all gods answer to one of Sanche's thousand names. But the Beast…" "The Beast embodies Fear and betrays it. He once ruled the streetlights, leading us home like a wise and dark shepherd. His power was born of our anxieties. A robe of blood and shadow cover his torso, a scepter of black fire and branches speak for him after he swore his vow of silence." "The Beast removed his own face in order to ensure his silence." "The Beast was the leader of the gods."

(Attached: "This is all true.")

"Perhaps he will break free of Xanadu of his own accord, return to Earth, and be our leader once more." "Would he want to, after he was so betrayed?" "Xanadu did not reach out and grab him. Someone on our side forced him into his prison." "But even if he does not want to, he must. He is the only one who can challenge the Lamb." "The Beast and the Lamb. The Beast and the X. The Beast and the Harlot. This is the triad of the end." ..wait. I’ve been hearing that name a lot lately. What is the Harlot? The Victims are forming a shadow of a naked woman with a bull’s head. "Tiamat was never meant to kill Marduk.” “She is our creation myth. We have her to thank and her to blame.” “She watches over us all, influencing our decisions, challenging our assumptions. It is she that will sacrifice her vessel to usher in a new age: The Beast would use her to end the world, and the Lamb would use her to bring us to Rapture. Unless she finds it in herself to control the Lamb.” Huh. And so who is the Lamb? The shadow of a man, arms outstretched, feet of a bird, tail of a scorpion, in a coat, with a circle around his dog-like head. “The terminal messiah, follower of the Blind Man’s Book, he lies down on Broadway always in the presence of enemies.” “It is he who will face the Beast in the Final Battle. If the Lamb wins, Rapture comes. If the Beast wins, the apocalypse may last for years.” “Should the Beast win, Fear will follow in eternity’s shadow until the sun is finally put down. Should the Lamb win, the sun will never.” Are you saying we’re going to die either way? "October 21st will decide.” ..THE COMING OF RAPTURE IS OCTOBER 21ST?! October 21st, asdfghjkl; That’s only three months from now. "It is literally three months from now." O_< ..it’s been exactly two months since the apocalypse started. It feels.. much longer than that.

10:52 AM As I was saying that, we just... got un-rabbit hole'd. No more Room 417. No more prophetic Victims. Hell, no more hotel! We're.. standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk. People walking by us, regular people. But.. a blue sky above.

10:55 AM We're in Las Vegas.

11:43 AM So, uh.. we’re definitely in Las Vegas, Nevada. It looks completely normal. The cars look a little more beaten than normal, but they all pretty much work. And people all look.. human! We went into a restaurant and asked around about this place. This city has been renamed New Sanctuary. It’s kept safe by the local police force– privatized, mind you– which is the NS division of the Rise Against Fear Anon guys. They do a really good job. When Donnie asked about the blue sky, the guy we asked said it’s provided by the “ants of the sky.”

12:34 PM Nobody’s wanting to talk much. Everyone does their job, carries onward ever forward. The advertisements, in newspapers and on billboards and on TV, allude to Fear presence, though never anything specific. It makes me want to just get a job somewhere, myself, so I’m not left in the open for Fears to get me.

2:52 PM ..what's that. Two men in black who I can't focus my eyes on. Walking into an alley. do you want to see?

55555:4444 PM The alleyway stretches, far, into fog. A blur in a suit and hat is just visible farther down. I.. ope Donnie grabbed my shoulder. You're.. here too? "Don't." What? "Don't go after the Musicians, Jordan." I.. didn't realize you were here. "Is this the kind of thing you do when you go off by yourself? Go staring into the face of gods?" It might be. I never really believed in gods before all this, I don't think. I'd go staring into something else. My own soul? The sad reality of the people around me? "I don't want you to do it anymore. Not without me to pull you back." ...a hissing static sound from behind us. where the musician was. "He's trying to pull you away. He wants you to go out there, all by yourself. Don't you see?" The... the Fears aren't all monsters, Donnie. ._. We've been meeting so many, EAT, Tiresias, the Victims, who've proven that. "How do you know that? How do you know they're not filled with cruel deeds they've done to other people?" I don't! Obviously! But "But what? Do you think you're just luckier than everyone else?" No! Well, I have no opinion on that and I can't, because luck is unverifiable. "Then what? Talk to me, Jordan! Please!" I!! Don't think they're going to do anything physical to me! The Musicians especially, they're all about the mind. And I'm good at my own mind! I'm not good at a hell of a lot of things, but I am good at my own damn mind, okay? "Not good at.. what?! Jordan, you've been the best boyfriend I've had! You've kept us both alive!" I.. boyfriend? kisssss "They're preying on you, baby. They're leading you away from me so they can separate us for easier pickings. They know the other Fears, dummy. If they don't kill you, they know someone who will." ...yeah... that's a point. >_< "You hear me, you jackasses?! You won't separate us!!" don't. please, don't make them angry… "Heh. So you do think they're dangerous." Well, so far I've just been taking the risks myself. I don't want to lose you. D: "You selfish asshole." Point taken! more kissing ....so. Where do we.. go from here? "What, you want to do it here? You want them to watch?" No! God! I meant where do we physically go? Just, the way we came in? "Oh! Um. We can try!"

4444:55555 PM The streets outside the alleyway are just as fuzzy. Text on signs is just a bunch of unruly scribbles. "That sky looks like static with pastel colors." Yeah. "Sorry, just trying to come up with more descriptions for you." :) ..you think I need the help? Am I not doing a good enough job? "You're doing fine, silly. It's your journal. Your little... project." Is that what it is? My project? "..you're the one who's supposed to tell me what it is. Why do you write this stuff down?" So I can remember it later? And it gives me something to do the rest of the time. "Then it's your project." Okay. :)

333:22 PM "Excuse me." ..a Musician behind us. Donnie's not having it. "We're not here for you." "We can see that." a second voice, that's the other musician "Do you want us to let you out of here?" Yes! donnie's holding me back "Can't we find our way out by ourselves?" "If you wish. We will make it so you believe you are leaving of your own accord." "....okay, well, maybe you can just let us out, then." see, donnie? they're capable of reason! "yeah, they're not dogs. of course they can reason." then please, can I just talk to them? "absolutely not!" hnnng Sorry, guys. She says I'm not allowed to talk to you. :( ":(" ":(" "they didn't really say that. you just wrote that." "We will get our chance."

5:07 PM We just appeared here, back in the alleyway. I guess we didn't really go anywhere. "No, but time's passed." So it has. "So we should.. try to make some progress while it's still light. Get a car, get moving. If your EAT is to be trusted, you're wanted in California, remember?" Hey, yeah! And maybe, on the way, we'll find another deep rabbit hole so we can find the next Cipher! "No, we shouldn't." ....oh, fuck. Right. Well, can we just find somewhere, like, a cafe to sit in for now? I wanna go over that journal again, since I wasn't here for it. I want it to sink in. "It's a date."

5:34 PM The seventh Cipher will bring the next set of seven-things, followed by the last set of seven-things, and at the end of all that, Rapture will come. So, the Ciphers are making Rapture come. "According to Tiresias." But you kinda trust him. "Sure." And, I mean, Tiresias is also the one who told us about the Ciphers in the first place. It feels weird to not trust him on this point when we clearly trusted him enough to go after the Ciphers in the first place. "Sure!" But, at the same time, it's also weird that he would offer the correction. That kinda paints his word as unreliable? "Or, it paints him as someone who is willing to admit being wrong." Well, sure. "Do you two want a refill?" Yes, please! hey donnie "yeah?" how are we gonna pay for this? "pay?" we. walked into a cafe, a genuine cafe. "yeah." and sat down. "and sat down." and ordered drinks. "...it's been a while since we've last needed money, okay, I did kinda forget." well, we can just. ask. I mean, what kind of people would be running a cafe, uh, two months into the end of the world, where society in general is shifting its priorities, and still expect people to have cash?

5:42 PM Fucking Americans. Well, I'm washing dishes tonight. I kinda suspect this is how they operate the cafe in the first place, just give people drinks and then ask them to clean up because they owe it. ...that's not an awful model, actually. BUT I'M CLEANING UP OTHER PEOPLE'S STUFF TOO

9:10 PM While I worked my shift, I got to talking with the others, the cooks and the busboys and whatnot. I asked them about those "ants of the sky." They're robots, or something. Got different answers. Something flying in the sky that provides a blue color? People around here are a bit too.. placated. Apathetic? Words. Like they've been talked into working jobs so much that they don't really consider there's a world outside anymore. There's just no time to. Is that a thing? But, if they were talked into it, then surely they can... talk their way out of it? ...talking isn't some alien thing…

9:22 PM Donnie met me outside and took me on a walk. She hasn't found any place to stay that doesn't ask for money, but she did find a free car! She wants to drive us out of the city, get some distance done for the day, then pull over somewhere where we can sleep. She's an angel!

9:46 PM ............Donnie? "Mhm?" Why are there police sirens everywhere we go? "Oh, I don't know."

9:47 PM ..........this car wasn't free, was it? "I did not pay money for it." And you're putting some distance between us and the city for other reasons. "My clever little boyfriend! Such a brain on him." ......just, drive fast, okay? "I plan on it."

(Attached: "The Beast, the Harlot. The Lamb, the X. The Sea, the Blood. The Sampo, the Mechro. And I, eternity's cutting historian, and you, my always book. All that happens in these pages relates to one of these. All that happens in all Totality relates to one of these. I have it on good authority: I've seen it all happen.”)

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[sansxfuckyou]

It's fungal not floral

Summary: There's a lesser known counterpart of Hanahaki, a fungal disease, it festers in your lungs just like the sister disease Hanahaki does, but instead it comes up due to some form of hatred- the only way to save yourself is to let go.

But, George has a hard time doing that when it's someone he holds very close to heart.

Warnings: Crying, toxic friendships, graphic depiction of disease, body horror, check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: banger idea and spike in emotional viscosity is because of @sobredunia who splayed her heart out on the table for me while I was writing this and all of a sudden shit got real, I really hope this fic did the idea justice, also my writing style changed since I last wrote for them so I think it'll be a quaint 4K word punch to the gut, also snf cause I am a total slut for red/blue pairings, and not as important but this fic a second of two things, one being giving George plant motifs (done over here the first time) and the second time someone has eaten eggs in one of my fics, and it's George, again, what the fuck.

George heaved a heavy sigh as he ran the flat edge of a butter knife along his tongue where fungal spores threatened to gather, making the color more pastel than it already was. One hand kept his mouth held open, the other held onto the butter knife tightly. He knew exactly why this was happening to him- he hated someone, he just didn't know who. He had already eliminated those who he knew it couldn't be from his list of people who he was close to.

He had scratched out Wilbur, Sapnap, Dream, hell, even Quackity, but he's begun leaning towards Quackity being the one whose causing this mess of his respiratory system. He couldn't possibly hate any of them, could he? No, no he couldn't, they've stuck with him for this long what good would it do him to push them away (even if for his own health).

George wants to keep dwelling but he feels a constriction in his chest, he drops the scraping knife and wheezes out a couple coughs. Bright, neon, green spores come pouring from betwixt his lips and leave his mouth dry on the way out. His throat feels raw and dry, like someone took chalk dust and slathered a steak in it, he knows it's wet underneath the dry casing. Breathing feels different now with the consistent fungal casing on his trachea but he won't cut them off because they're his friends.

His hands grip porcelain tightly, he loves them all so much, why? Why does he have to release one of them? Cut ties with them, he might as well just isolate himself, ghost all of them see if that gets rid of it. Tears are welling up in his eyes, he couldn't bring himself to just drop all of them like that, it'd be cruel. He's choking on his own breath as he sobs, his tears hit the sink and slide down the curved ivory, glistening in the LED light. His body quakes, he doesn't want to let go, he doesn't care if one or two of them are bad for him, he doesn't want to let go.

They've done so much for him!

How could he just pick and choose until he stumbles across the one that's causing this?

He can't.

He'll just suffer instead.

He'll suffer and stay quiet about it because his friends care to much they'd make a big deal out of it.

---

George doesn't stream today, he was supposed to do another shock stream for some god awful reason except with some weird damage loop around so they'd have to protect each other.

Instead George can barely bring himself to get out of bed; his sheets all have spores layered on top of them, a green tone or that of mildew. He wakes up his jaw agape and he can feel the mycelium that's dug into his tongue and between his gums. His hands feel heavy with the mushrooms that had formed over his fingers and the sheets- he yanks them up and the growth shreds easily. He would yawn, but all he can bring himself to do is blink as he looks around his partially sunlit room. His mouth is dry and chalky, even more so than usual. His case has gotten worse over the last couple weeks, he's stopped leaving his apartment entirely, ordering groceries and wiring over the money.

He swings his legs over the edge of his bed, when his feet touch the hardwood ground it feels carpeted with the amount of spores and developing mycelia. He simply looks blearily around his room til his eyes land on his alarm clock, it's almost ten, his stream with Sapnap was supposed to start ten minutes ago. He grabs his phone as he stands up and stumbles to the kitchen, he cringes at the sight of concerned texts from Sapnap. He can't fess up to what's really wrong and he doesn't want to lie either, he leans against the counter as he hesitates to open them up.

George feels his hand shake as he places his phone face down the counter.

(it hurts him to ignore them just as much as it hurts them to be ignored)

The last space that isn't absolutely covered in spores because even if he's in his deathbed he has some decency. He doesn't even know what he wants to eat, he just knows that salt helps kill mushrooms. He grabs a bowl he's used three times in a row with nothing more than a rinse in between and grabs salt from the cupboard. He pours a sizable amount into the bowl, it tastes like shit no matter how he waters it down but it makes the casing in his throat die down. He opens his fridge, it's seemingly bare, a carton of eggs, a bottle of milk, lettuce, and little bits of leftovers that have no doubt gone bad. He doesn't want to fill his fridge with food he won't eat, it's hard to down much of anything that's a solid given his current state.

He pulls out the eggs and milk, he places them down beside the bowl and flicks on the burner, a pan already waiting as he prepares the eggs. With the amount of salt in the bowl it's sludgy even with two eggs and a bit of milk, he whisks it haphazardly- his mind is elsewhere and he doesn't know how to fix it. All he can think about is how this isn't helping, about how he isn't letting go, about how he isn't really fixing his disease. He knows logically just distancing himself isn't actually letting go and cutting ties, but at least they might take him back if he only distances himself until this over.

His phone buzzes loudly against the counter and he cringes a bit, he flips it over to find another concerned text from Sapnap. In a burst of foolishness he flicks it open and starts to type out a response faster than he can stop himself- but at least he catches his actions before he can send it. He deletes the entire message before he can read what he wrote and he really should respond but he doesn't. Instead he checks to see if anyone else messaged, he finds worried texts from Karl, Wilbur, Quackity, his parents, and a couple others.

But not Dream.

Dream hasn't texted him in forever despite how much George tried to reach out, tried to make arrangements; he'd move mountains to get an ounce of attention from him. The constriction in his chest grows tighter and he hacks up chunks of coral mushroom, they're bright pink and he swears red droplets are on them. He tastes iron in his mouth but he ignores it as he shuts off his phone again and focuses on the eggs. It's fine that Dreams ignoring him, it's fine that he won't respond, it's fine that he isn't getting what he needs- he won't tell that to Dream though. No one needs to know what's tearing him up inside to the point of spores taking residence in his lungs if he can't figure it out himself.

(he knows exactly what it is but he won't let himself realize)

George bitterly swallows down the heavily over seasoned meal, it burns what little of his taste buds still work at this point in time. He's been on this diet for a month now, just to kill the mushrooms, they take most of it anyways. He's sure his body is fine even though he's destroyed all his mirrors to never look at his sickly form again. He hears his phone buzz again, he doesn't look at it.

And again.

He ignores it.

And again.

He forces down the last of his breakfast and grabs his phone, he doesn't open it, he doesn't want to see what plea for a sign he's still alive he's getting from Sapnap. He left him on read that's good enough, that shows he's still breathing doesn't it? His phone keeps vibrating in his hand and he can't tell if it's from messages or his own hand shaking.

He ends up on the couch, it's coated in spores of a mildew hue and a neon tone, they match the black leather terribly. A puff of spores burst up when George drops down on the couch and he simply hates this sensation. He knows it won't go away until he let's go, but he doesn't want to, he'd sooner die than give up one of his friends no matter the cause. He leans his back along the arm rest, the ground around that side of the couch is thick with mycelia and forming mushrooms. Poor Sapnap, he must be so worried about George, poor everyone, all of them keep sending texts, asking him if he's okay- and he's just not responding. He's hurting them and in the process he's hurting himself as well to extents he can barely comprehend, someone has to get hurt and this time it'll be everyone.

Tears rise to his eyes and throat aches as bursts of spores go off in his lungs, he hack and coughs until he's practically choking on the cloud of damp spores. They float down the floor, spattered with the crimson of his blood and glowing with a new genus prospering inside of his chest. His form is slumped over the armrest of the couch, his rib cage resting on the tainted fabric with his arms hanging over the edge. His body is so sore, his mind is so tired, he just wants to sob and not have webbed mycelia crawl ever closer to his lips.

But he can't let go of whose causing this, he doesn't want to, he isn't ready.

(he knows this is killing him but why should he let himself live like this)

His phone keeps buzzing, but he's in too much a haze to even bother checking just to confirm it's Sapnap. He's sure it's just some pleading question as to what's going on and he's not answering the questions he's being asked. He grips his phone to toss it to the other end of the couch before trying to get into a comfy position where he'll be able to hack a lung out easily.

---

3 messages unread

Sapnap: please just tell me whats going on George was it something i did? is this on me, if it is i can try and make it right

im coming to England just to find out myself George

---

More time passes and somehow this is the third time this month George has ordered a box of salt, kosher, Himalayan, black, table- he's tried every kind and none of it helps him anymore. Now he uses it to scrub his dishes and wash his clothing and the sheets because if it won't kill the spores in his lungs then maybe it'll at least help him lie to himself about his state. Maybe if his clothing isn't covered in fungus he won't feel so dirty, maybe if he slept in clean sheets he'd feel better about himself.

He lays in bed, the sheets are clean and he relishes in the fact, he's achieved it with god awful amounts of salt in his washing machine (the poor thing must be in agony). He knows that he's absolutely terminal by now, he feels faint consistently and his everything aches no matter what he does to make it stop. He sees his reflection in the black of his phone screen and he wants to vomit with how zombified he looks.

Mycelium creeps outward from his lips like lichtenberg fractals and his skin, now disturbingly thin, bulges where thick roots of mycelia wrap around his veins and shoot down his spine. His eyes look hollow and when he opens his mouth it's all white, the thick casing of spores crack when he moves his tongue- he's shocked he can salivate at this point. When he looks at his hands he sees them in a glaze of mildew hues, neon green, and red from all the times he's raised his hands to cover his mouth when he coughs. His hair no longer retains it's dark hue, it's lightened up with the fungus sapping his nutrients and the spores latching onto individual strands, causing it to clump.

He looks like a monster.

He's glad no one has seen him in months, they'd all run screaming if they saw the hideous creature he's become.

He doesn't want to move anymore, he has no excuse to just stay in bed aside from the fact he's literally dying. No fungus tries to hold him down and his sheets are thin and light, he just sees no reason in getting up even though he's hungry. He should eat, he really should, he knows the food in his fridge is rotting and the door dasher must be getting concerned with the fact he only buys salt, bleach, and Tylenol these days (even if he was buying healthy the mushrooms on his apartment door are also a red flag).

His phone buzzes and he picks it up, a message from Sapnap, he's tempted to just ignore it but when he sees the preview he's just confused. Why the fuck would Sapnap need to know if he's changed his lock since last time he visited? He gives a quick two letter response before turning off his phone, silence washes over his dark room. The lights are off and the blinds are down but light still filters in between the cracks, despite that the luminescent mushrooms that have taken residence inside of him glow under the skin and on the hardwood floor.

And then he hears his apartment door open.

Panic briefly washes over him, but then he hears Sapnaps voice calling out a meek 'hello?' and he can rest easy again. How stupid, panicking over someone breaking into his apartment, it'd obviously be Sapnap just visiti-

Wait.

Why is Sapnap at Georges door?

Last time George checked they did not live anywhere remotely close by.

Just to investigate George limps out of bed, on the way to the door he grabs a Tylenol and downs it dry. He knows it won't start working for a couple minutes, but if Sapnap really is at the damn door and he isn't just hallucinating he'd rather have it kick in than not have it. He pushes open his bedroom door, vines of mycelia trail down the white paint that's peeling away as spores integrate themselves into wood. He walks- he stumbles, gripping onto the nearest wall for support as he makes his way to where his couch rests. He finds a concerned Sapnap looking very, very confused and almost sick with worry as he stares at the mycelium littered across Georges apartment.

"Sapnap what the fuck are you doing here?" George choked out, his mouth didn't want to properly form all the words and his voice felt higher than before with how little he used it, it was quiet. Sapnap still perked up at his voice and turned to face his sickly friend.

He rushed over to capture George in a rib crushing hug and despite the fact he was shorter he still managed to lift the Brit with a worrying ease, "fuck, you're okay, you're alive- I was so scared George," Sapnap only barely managed to choke out the words, the chill rooted deeply into George seeped into him but he didn't care. He was hesitant to release his grasp on his frail friend, "I thought you were dead."

George gives him a questioning look, "and you hopped on a plane to Britain just to make sure? Are you fucking insane?" His question comes off a little bit roughly but if anything he's touched by the sentiment, still worried about what would happen if he was dead and Sapnap was stranded here.

Sapnap gives a bit of a laugh, "they say love makes you do crazy things don't they? Or is that not a saying in Britain," Sapnaps hands rest on Georges wrists and what little untainted blood remains in the Brits body goes to his face. He looks pale as a ghost and the slightest blush on his face looks like blood on a wedding dress with how much it stands out.

The warmth Sapnap gives off is addicting and George slips his wrists from the grip before interlocking fingers instead, it anchors him into reality, this must be how ghosts feel, "everyone's heard that saying," he sounds so sure of himself, he steps a bit closer to Sapnap before leaning into him. He feels dead, he feels so dead now that he has someone healthy and alive to compare himself to, it's like he's wasting away, "I'm sorry."

Sapnap gives George a perplexed look as he leads them over to the couch, the leather is torn in some spots (it wasn't last week), "what for? I'm sure you had your reasons, maybe you thought it would help the Saprophytis in it's onset, I'm just glad I got here before it could kill you," he gives a hum of as he guides George to just rest. He ends up on top of Sapnap to some extent, ankles resting on the armrest, Sapnap places his chin on the top of Georges head as his partner nuzzles into him, "so, care to cough it up?"

"I think I'll try to avoid hacking up mycena and coral mushrooms if I have a word in it Snapnap," George said with a forced chuckle, a puff of spores filter past cracked lips at the singular laugh.

The spores aren't much more than a red mist these days, at least it wets his painfully dry lips. The red settles onto his terribly stained shirt and it blends with the preexisting blotches of spores and blood. He finds himself coughing, he brings up his hands to his mouth and his entire body shakes as he draws his knees to his chest- he slumps a bit lower on Sapnaps torso. When he pulls back his hands they're dripping with crimson and red chunks of coral mushrooms, he feels disgusted in himself. No one should have to see that, especially not the only one to haul so much ass to check if his friend was okay.

George stared at his hands in horror for a brief moment, Sapnap only looked intrigued and mildly worried, "fuck I'm sorry," he mumbled out as he wiped his hands on his pants, they were covered in bloody hand prints from the cuff to the waist- he heaved a sigh but couldn't help a smile when Sapnap wrapped an arm around his midsection.

"You can't help the symptoms," Sapnap stated with a shrug, he rested his hand atop Georges, "now, I'm begging you, cuss out whoever you hate so much that it's done this to you," George gives him a hesitant look, "please."

George glances to the side, "you won't get mad at me?"

"Of course not, I wouldn't get mad at you for evading death, George that's stupid," Sapnap said, he gently ran his thumb in circles across the top of Georges hand, he could feel the mycelia under skin and the almost scale like make up of the spores on Georges fingers- it was different, but it was still George.

"It's Dream, I just, he won't respond to my messages, he won't reach out, he hasn't talked to me in months but he streams, so I watch, see if there's a hint as to why he's been giving me the silent treatment, but there isn't," George explained, his breaths were short with how crowded his lungs were. He had to pause to hack up chunks of coral mushroom, stringy bits of mycena came out along with it. They looked like guts in his hands, coated in a sludgy blood, he tossed them to the floor, "he just wouldn't give me attention no matter how much I was begging for it."

Sapnap nodded a bit, he gave a hum of understanding, "and you hate him for that?"

George nodded fiercely, "I guess so, I can't think of anyone else who could be the cause this," he hacked and coughed again, the blood dripped from his forever stained crimson hands as chunks of fungus tore up the casing in his mouth and throat- he could feel them again despite the sting. He threw the mushrooms to the floor before wiping down his bloody hands, he noticed the drops of red on his friends hoodie, "sorry."

"Don't worry, shit happens," Sapnap said, his casualness shocked George, but it was the least he could do despite the fact he was fearing for his partners life given how much blood he's hacking up and how malnourished he feels, "is there anything else on your mind?"

George paused, "I don't think so, I just wish he'd pay more attention to me sometimes."

"What? Am I not enough? I spontaneously paid for a flight to fucking Britain just to check in on you and that's not enough," Sapnaps voice is playful even as he takes Georges bloody hands in his own.

George rolled his eyes a bit as he let his knees drop from his chest, he pushed himself a little bit higher up Sapnaps torso, "yeah, definitely not, you didn't even smuggle me some pop over the borders," he sounds playful as he speaks even though his voice is cracked and raw due to lack of usage over the last few month.

Sapnap brought a hand to Georges chin, tilting up his head a bit, "I love you dude, you know that right? You know I'd jump through some insane hoops just to make sure you're feeling good?" George nodded a bit, only to be taken aback at an unprompted and chaste kiss.

There's an awkward silence.

"Shit I shouldn't've done that, jumped the gun on my end," Sapnap said, grasping for excuses and apologies as a distinctive red rose to his face, "tasted kinda bloody anyways."

George simply stares at Sapnap, the words registering, "the first time you kiss me and all you can think of is how bloody it tasted? What a romantic," a lilt of laughter rests on his voice and he shies away from Sapnaps form just a bit.

"What else am I supposed to do!? Compliment you on your dry lips, say that your veins are looking absolutely magnificent? Throw me a bone George," Sapnap said dramatically, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as though offended at such a thought, he's caught off guard when George pushes him into the sofa slowly, "well someones taking things fast, you seem like the kind of guy who'd want a candle lit dinner before we get down to fucking, have I misjudged you George? My dear partner in crime how badly have I made assumptions about you?"

Georges face heats up, "I was gonna kiss you again, but now that you mention it, yeah, I do want a candlelit dinner before we kiss," he's smirking a little bit.

"What about premarital hand holding?" Sapnap asked, he looked smug as he spoke despite the fact he was pinned under another person, albeit a person whose weaker than a wet kitten.

George gasped in faux shock, "how scandalous! I'm shocked you could even say such a thing," his exclamation dissolves into laughter as he goes on with the bit, he leans down and kisses Sapnap again; this time he can actually relish in the reaction such a simple motion garners.

He splays himself atop Sapnap, back pressed to his torso, he can feel his partners heartbeat reverberate in his frail body. He let's himself slide into the crack between Sapnaps side the backrest of the couch, he rests a good portion of himself on top of Sapnap. He's, to put simply, smitten with his friend at the moment- he can't really blame himself for it either. Kissing the guy who decided to fly on over to Britain on a whim, just snuggling on the couch, a dream come true.

Georges phone buzzes, it's probably just Karl. He sits up a little bit before pulling it out of pocket only to find it's Dream, yikes. Maybe if he sent the message two hours earlier he would justify it with a response, but he just fessed up to hating the guy. He places his phone on the coffee table, a hit of coughing catches him off guard and keels over Sapnap to choke out whatever's in his trachea. He finds himself coughing for a solid fifteen seconds, he convulses like a cat choking on a hair ball until a chunk of fungus the size of a meatball dislodges itself. He feels gross, but he also feels like he can breath again with the saprophyte in his lungs disappearing bit by bit.

He leans back to look at Sapnap who is simply staring, "so am I still hot or did that just wave a massive red flag in your face?" He wipe the blood from his lips with the back of his hand and for a second Sapnap is stunned (the likeness to a vampire in those actions is blood chilling in the best way possible).

Sapnap stifles a laugh at the words, "George do I even need to justify that question with an answer?"

George gives a hum of amusement before resting against Sapnap again, he's smirking, "good point, I'll always be hot as fuck, even when I look and feel like shit," he can't help the way he arches into the warm touch resting on his spine.

"I think cute would be a better word to describe you, but go on," Sapnap said playfully, George gave an offended gasp, "who texted you?"

George shrugged, "someone that fucked up big time if he wants my attention now," he finds himself flustered when the hand on his back pulls him down and into a hug.

"That means you won't die right?" Sapnap asked quietly, practically whispered into his taller friends ear.

"Obviously, I couldn't just die on you after only two kisses anyways," George said, his tone was cocky.

His confidence simply melted away when Sapnap placed a kiss to his cheek with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face- he really was turning this entire day into a warm embrace.

[average-giant-kissing-enjoyer]

G/t July #6: AU

Catching up on these prompts... eventually. Also this one is a little nsfw, sorry.

The sound of a telephone yanked Ron from his dream. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. Who the hell was calling at this hour? He looked at the digital alarm clock by the bed. 2 A.M. Unbelievable.

It had to be an important call. There was no way this was one of those telemarketers. They always called in the early evening around dinnertime. Ron groaned and made his way to the kitchen to pick up the still ringing phone.

"Who is it," said Ron, "and do you know what time it is?"

"Ronald," he heard.

Oh god. "Jeff, why are you calling me at two in the morning?"

"Ronald, I've been thinking," Jeff said, his voice thin, his words pouring out in a flurry. "I've been thinking, Ronald, thinking about mushrooms."

"Good night, Jeff."

"No don't hang up!" Jeff pleaded. "You know that new game, that Super Mario one? The one with the turtle? And the mushroom that makes you bigger?"

Ron squared his jaw. Whatever his friend was on, it was potent. "Yeah, you came to my house and played it for two hours today."

"Yeah, that's right, you remembered! So, the mushroom you eat in the game, it makes your Mario man grow to double his size. Well, what if - when you eat the mushroom, what if you actually got smaller? Your Mario man shrunk down smaller and smaller. Really small. A couple inches tall."

"Are you ok?" Ron asked.

"I am fine!" Jeff practically shrieked through the phone. "Do not call the hospital."

"Hospital? Why not?"

Jeff paused for a second. "What hospital? I never said that. Anyway, the mushrooms, man. What if the mushrooms made Mario really really small, and then he rescued the princess, and she picked him up and - and - and - and kissed him with lips the size of, of like, of school buses. And then she ate him. She opens her mouth and just sticks the whole Mario man in there and swallows him."

"I'm going to stop you there, Jeff," said Ron. "Goodbye."

"No! No please don't go! I don't want to be eaten by the giant lady!"

"Excuse me?"

"What do I do if I'm kidnapped by a giant lady? She's gonna eat me. I don't want to be her lunch. I didn't mean to eat the mushrooms."

Ron sighed. "I'm coming over," he said. "Then you and I are going to the hospital. We're calling in sick tomorrow."

[suicideandcheese]

Therapies, Blur-Betweens, Soul Sessions

Within the ever-lives, breaths of livening, live-ins, left And in, I am undone, done to so many, done to go on right Merry. This cascading weight of reality now, the unforgiven, Moreso foreboding, ominous dilemmas of inconclusion. Forgive me, but don’t. I am without my masks again, no, They fit to express things, namely, the nothingness bewitching Souls are just a plaything, perhaps? Expressions in embodiments. When I glide my fingers along the wall, I feel textures like I’ve missed. The context behind universal depression is just this: force. Me not, Au contraire, every time. You can make me but you can’t take me Baby, we’re all in it for the could. Potential is a helluva drug. Lines burn Through my knows. It’s just another late night, lasting. Presence And how it grows. Until it’s absent. I find so much to be in not being. Have you dreamed lately? It’s how there is another, an other, otherly. Alienistic, dwelling without sun nor moon, but a base unknown; home. The things I’ve contracted just trying to be alone. All in all, gods Make us seem well. Enough of the contribution, they’ve said it all. We tear the silence apart and make our suns spit out a moon. It’s barely there, this, things, this moon, this hush. Silver is light You cannot believe what it looks like — shhh we all become shhh. How bright, how lonesome, how altogether quietly loud light. I need you now, to be this bright. This is how we sing like unsung Sung-light. I like your noose. Pshhh, we are forever in dooms. Sadly Pretty, like once were moons. Goddamn, you bleed like a trap. Idk how to proceed, but offer me a quietude. How familiar things Find god in the all-but-hmm. We never had a chance. This is all taken Down. Quiet now, we are live. After-night, over-night, forever-knight. I miss you, somewhere. With an always, with a hazy maybe. I miss This. Forever centuries trying to keep us down. Cry a little, blessed. I’m staying down. We look like shit but I keep it down. I said we Look like shit but we shit-keep the downs. I hate this. I get lonely Around the hell provided, available, apparent, mm, it’s all there. Now we can die in littles. This, this, missed, no more. I am still Here, forever, watch me, I go on like the cowardice of dogmas. Deep down, try to hurt me, I’ve done better. My armor is just Your hell mixed with heaven trying too well. We unbecome. We die in certainties of perfect cells. Do not question the wrists. If I wanted to die, would I, surely, like a sure thingish thing. Extra moist, extra wrists, all the blood, all the blood, nothing To let go of but how soon, doom, you gloom-swoon, doom. Damned, and good. And I believe in it. But no one dies under Me. We don’t die. We shit shits and kill killers. We— Kill me a certain je ne sai quois, I don’t care, try. Daresay, You got me and you got me played. Man-damned, the bliss Never shows. Never tries. Never arises. But you will expel piss Under belligerent moons. The sliver is hostile like a gun's chambers. Imagine clicking with death that good. Bullets worry me disorders. Years on this birth, earth giving me the go-ahead to seek ruin. The suns I've seen, blind spots keep me cyclops blind. Feel-warms Instinctive within the skin, lunar hours approaching. Sight Seer. Gut compass, mind's bio-vision. Envision us, star-eaten. Ever-seeking, just an all-nighter called a lifetime. Blur on, said The mushroom. And I asked to what extent? The end, naturally.

[galaxytoons]

goofy ahh dreams I’ve had

A mushroom that could give you appendicitis if you touched it

Jimmy Neutron was gay and came out by saying, and I quote, “guess what, guys? I’m the big G!”

my dog gave birth to exactly 1,001 gremlins

My friend got into a car accident on the Titanic

my cat died (I cried)

my family was eaten by cannibals (I woke up crying)

ok these are getting sad

joe Biden was a homeless man and he was dating sans undertale

[burgertaco6]

back at it again in baldurs gate making it to the goblin shithole once religous hangout spot, i get a bit of closure on wether or not mindflayers have beaks (they dont) and save that scholar twink (no i did not have my eye plucked out)

hehehehehe funny hat :)

i gaslight the spiders into helping me along the way

after some more blind stumbling and the free of some prisoner guy being tortured later, i find druid boss, who is not too happy to have been replaced by kagha AND caught lacking by some goblins

during the breakout one of the goblin leaders just kind of got stuck in one spot with some other goblin and didnt move until the very last moments, only to get shoved in the spider pit and eaten alive whilst being shot at by everyone

i get weirdly kinky with this torturer guy, and afterwards brutally slaughter their buff red leader, stealing his limited edition spongebob gangsterpants merch collection

had PLENTY of shinies for my wonderful heat seeking missile man to absorb for his crack- i mean, magic addiction

my sarcasm about having the flu goes right over toad ladies head, leading me safely into the land of dreams where i learn what the make a guardian section meant and i forgot how GODDAMN UGLY I MADE HIM 😭look bear with me PLEASE there werent any dragonborn options for the guardian, if there were i woulda picked it in a heartbeat (coolass shot of dream worlds badass skeletor cave)

solve the easiest puzzle ever and baddabing badaboom im in the underdark, next thing i know rapheal pulls up offering to take the worm in my brain away which i say no to, let lae'zel cook smh

ngl was kind of sad there wasnt any flirting to do with THE sassy devil man directly calling me up on my brain phone with a spamton business offer

blocking his number, i obtain SHINY EXPENSIVE OBJECT!!!!! (almost got eaten by a very large ground worm thing along the way)

got to the village where i gladly accept to hunt down the mf who poisoned one of my fellow forest friends (dark gnome lady), spoke to the village leader guy he's pretty cool :)

and i meet one of my new FAVORITE CHARACTERS LIKE HOLY MOLY!!!!! OMMGGGGG big mushroom man.,.,.,. he looks so full of dirt and nutrients, if i prone someone they are just gonna be dead because he punches them to death VERY quickly

LOOK AT HIM!!! my boy 🥺✨ my man my THING, dweller of the dark, needs revenge. i will cry if he dies along the way in my journey for his vengeance thats all i've done so far, i'll supply more yummy insight on my playthrough as it goes, having some issues with crashing but i'll make it through a few underdark missions before returning to the druid grove, im sure they'll be fine up there seeing how all the goblins are drunk and their leaders are rotting on the ground <3

[the-daily-multi-fandom-post]

Glenns lover girl

 (part 3)

warnings: warnings: Mentions of racism, death, Weapons, weed, affairs, sex jokes,  drugs, drinking, murder, cussing? talks about past abuse that may be triggering Please do not read this if you are triggered by abuse it's not worth it. I promise you.

Taglist: @kaitebugg03 Ask me if you would like to be added to the taglist

word count: 3,190

Summary: Y/n is the younger sister of Daryl Dixon. Y/n was more like her brother Daryl than she was her brother merle. Well, that is unless she's angry. Then she has the mouth and anger of Merle Dixon himself. Y/n first met Gleen at the quarry. That's where there friendship first grew and continued to grow through the post-apocolypes.

The sun was rising over the hills. The sunlight glowed on the tent making it bright in there. Y/n groaned slightly as she pulled her blanket over her head covering her eyes from the sunlight.

Y/n rolled over reaching over for her boyfriend who stayed the night in her tent. But he wasn't there. Y/n jumped up looking for him. He was gone. "Glenn?" Y/n calls out. She slips on her shoes sliding a hoodie over her body as she stepped out of the tent.

"Glenn?" She calls out again. Usually by now one person would be awake by now, but Y/n didn't hear anyone. Y/n started making her way up the hill where she saw the camp infested with walkers. Glenn being eaten alive along with the rest of the group all bitten or turned. Y/n screams as she looks upon her worst nightmare.

Y/n felt her whole body shake, but she was stuck, frozen. "Oh my god." She cries as she falls onto her knees. The walkers walking up towards her. Y/n woke up from her nightmare with a scream. Glenn was trying to shake her awake and finally she woke up.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay it was just a nightmare." Glenn says as he wipes her tears away. "Oh my god, Glenn." Y/n cries as she pulls Glenn to her arms. "You were dead. Everyone was dead and turned." She sobs into his chest. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, I promise." He says as he kisses her forehead, rocking her soothingly. "I'll never leave you." He promises.

Y/n and Glenn got ready for the day. Y/n put on one of Glenn shirts and stuck to his side most of the morning. She was glued to his hip terrified her dream would become real. She didn't tell her brothers about the nightmares. But she gave both of her brothers a tight hug this morning and gave them a kiss on their cheek whispering that she loved them. They both told her they loved her too. Even Merle. He loves his sister, but doesn't show it in this best ways.

"Today were going to the ciry for a run, any volunteers?" Morales asked as they gathered bags together to take with them. "I'll go." Merle, Glenn, Jaqcie, andrea and T-dog all volunteer to go.

Y/n looks up at her boyfriend. A little anxious, but he always comes back to you. "I promised. I will be back." He says kissing her forehead. Y/n gives a tight lipped smile has she hugs him. "Y'all be careful." Y/n says as she hugs her boyfriend. She goes over to Merle and hugs him. "Be careful asshat." She says holding him tightly. "You have a bad dream again I guess." She nodded. "Don't tell Daryl, He'll worry about me and I don't want him to worry." Merle noddeds and agrees with her. "Don't worry about me baby sister. Can't nobody kill Merle Dixon." He proclaims with his arms wide. Y/n smiles and walks away. Off to help the other do chores around the camp. Just another day in the life of the apocolypse.

The day went by slowly. Y/n dreaded every second of that day. Her anxienty was up every minute of that day. She jumped at every little noise. Y/n watched the camp carefully. She had her weapons ready at every moment. She was hanging up laudry when she heard Lori walk off. "I'm gonna go look for more mushrooms. Carl stay in eye sight of Dale." Lori says as she starts to walk off. "You too, stay in shouting range. If you get into any trouble just yell." "Yes mom." She says softly.

Y/n observes as Shane shortly follows behind but going a diffrent route. "Hopes he uses the condoms we got." Y/n says to herself, shaking her head.

As the day went on Y/n starts to prepare lunch for the group. putting some beans in the cast iron pan to heat up over the fire. She feeds everyone, but she doesn't eat. She could'nt, her nerves would allow it. If she ate she would just throw it all up.

"This should help your nerves." Carol says as she hands Y/n a mug of tea. "It's herbal tea, it really does help with anxienty. It's what I drink every morning." Carol says softly.

"Nightmare?" Carol asks as she sits beside Y/n. Y/n looks out at the water and shakes her head. "Is it that obvious?" Y/n asks Carol. "Well, when one of our best and strongest people don't act normal some of us can kinda pick up on it, hun." Carol explains.

"I had a dream that walkers took over camp. I watched as the walkers ate yall alive. I couldn't do anything about it. I just sobbed and fell to my knees. I begged God not to let it be true. To see the kids being torchered. It killed me to see y'all like that. I finally woke up, but just to see that it killed me. I cried I know an half an hour after I woke up. I felt horrible that Glenn had seen me in such a wreck. I try to be strong. I try to be strong for everyone. I try to keep my emotions in check. Put them on the back burner, that way I can help any of y'all when ya need it." Y/n rants as tears dare to spill out of her Y/e/c eyes.

Carol imbraces Y/n into a hug and Y/n excepts it slowly. It felt weird to be imbraced by a woman. She didn't have her mom in her life very long. She died in a house fire. So to be imbraced in the arms of a person she trusted. Y/n just let all the emotions out. She just sobbed into her shoulder.

"Shh." Carol softly shushes as she rocks Y/n in her arms like a child. "It's okay. It'll all be okay in the end." She comforts Y/n.

"I'm sorry." Y/n cries out. Carol shakes her head no. "You don't have to be sorry, Y/n." "I'm weak." Y/n cries. "I can't even hold myself together. Am i even good for the group. Good for him, I'm just damaged goods." Y/n cries.

"What do you mean? You are not damaged goods." Carol says as she leans back pulling Y/n away looking into her eyes. "You can't tell nobody. I don't want anyone to think any diffrent of me." Y/n starts.

"I won't tell a soul." Carol promises holding up her pinking to do a pinky promise. Y/n giggles slightly as she wraps her pinking around Carols sealing the promise.

(Where the story of abuse starts skip until the next note if you would be triggered by abusive and grafic murder.)

"My daddy. He use to beat on us. He would hit me with whatever was in his reach. I've been hit so many times I couldn't even count the scares that I have on my body." Y/n says and instantly Carol finally understands what she meant the other day when she threatened Ed.

"My daddy, he'd put his ciggerates out on my hands or where ever he could reach. I can't even count the number of times I had to go to school with a black eye and just say how I got in a fight with my brothers. He'd use a whip on us. My back is covered in scares from it. I would take blame for what my brothers did, not wanting them beat either. Merle left us. Leaving most of the beatings to Daryl and I." Y/n somewhat regrets telling Carol all this. She feels bad about it. She should've kept her mouth shut.

"I don't want you to feel bad for me. I made that bastard suffer." Y/n says as she wipes her tears away. "May I ask what you did?" Carol asks. Y/n nodded as she smiles. "He hit me for the last time. Broke my arm and fractured my rib. I had enough of the abuse. I was abused for 19 years." Y/n starts. Carol sits there silently allowing Y/n continue at her own pace.

"He was passed out drunk in his chair in the living room. His drink still in his hand and a burnt out ciggerate in the other. All I thought about when I saw him was how he should pay for what he put me and my brothers through. And I just acted. I knew once he was passed out drunk he wouldn't wake up to anything. I tied him down to the chair. Taking extra prcautions. I thought about what to do. I grabbed a baseball bat from the closet. And I cracked it over  his head. And some how it didn't kill him. I beat his whole body with it. I just wanted him to feel the pain he put my brother and I through. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and i just stabbed him. I stabbed him over and over. Making sure he'd be good and dead." Y/n says looking at Carol to see if she would look at her to see if she would look at her any diffrent.

"When I knew he was dead. I called Daryl. He helped me get rid of the body. We threw 'im in the hog pins down the road. We knew that nobody would miss him. He would skip town anyway. What did it matter if my daddy went missing again?" Y/n finshes. "Do you regret it?" Carol asks. "No, I'd do it all over again. That's why I told you if Ed put another hand on you again I'd kill him. I don't have remorst for the wicked."

(End of that part start reading here if you skipped it)

After Y/n pulled herself together and made sure carol was okay after pouring her heart out to the older woman. The day was pretty much over with. The sun would set in a couple hours. Y/n looked around camp searching for the group that left this morning.

"They talked a little bit on the radio earlier. They'll probably be here soon." by the time Lori tells Y/n that they all hear a car alarm.

"What the hell is that?" Shane asks as he looks up at Dale who was sitting on the top of the Rv looking out with the binoculars.

Y/n watches as Glenn pulls up in a bright red Dodge challenger. The alarm blaring loudly. "What the hell were you thinking bringing this thing here? Every damn walker for miles will be here." Shane yells. "Pop the hood please. Pop the dam hood please." Shane says as he opens the hood of the car finding the correct wire on the battery pulling it off. The alarm stops.

"I'm glad you're okay." Y/ns says gratfully as Glenn pulls her into him. "You have no clue." He says breathlessly. "I love you so much." He proclaims giving her a passionate kiss on the lips. "Are you okay were you bit?" Y/n asks, Glenn wasn't really the one for much PDA.

"No, no. Everything is fine. It's just been a long day." He says as he keeps her in the hug. "Where is the rest of them?" Lori asks. "They're right behind me. We have a new guy with us. He saved our lives today." Y/n looks up at him and smiles. Thankful that she was finally in his arms. "but there is something Y'all need to know. That Daryl and Y/n are probably not going to be happy about. Merle was left handcuffed to a roof. He's safe away from the walkers, but he was dangerous. Waving a gun around threatening us. He was high on something.."

By the time he says that the others pull up in a box truck. Everyone got out and joined their families. "The only way we made it out today was because of the new guy. He's a sherriff like you shane." Morales says as he looks back towards the truck. "Come on officer friendly, come meet the group." As Lori was comforting Carl from the lost of his father; Carl happens to turn around.

"Dad!" Carl cries out running towards his father. "Carl, oh my god Carl." Rick his father cries. "Lori." He cries more as he imbracing his family.

They were all enjoying the evening when they heard Carl and Sofia screamed. The group runs towards their screaming. They find a walker eating a deer that had an arrow in it. "Daryls not going to be happy." Y/n thinks to herself as the group of men start beating the walker.

"God, got my damn deer. I've been tracking it for miles." Daryl says as he looks at the walker that had aten half the deer already. "Do you think we can cut the eaten parts off? No need to waste good deer meat." He asks the group. "No, I wouldn't chance it."

They got rid of the walker and the half eaten deer. Daryl hands Y/n a handful of squirrels. "I guess this is what everyone is eating tonight. No deer." Daryl says as he walks off. The group gave Y/n a look practically telling her she should be the one to tell them about Merle. Y/n nods and walks off towards Daryl.

Daryl sits on a lawn chair down by the water. Y/n doesn't say anything as she sits on the ground beside him. Daryl notices his sister, but doesn't say anything. "Some of the group went on a run today in the city." Y/n starts. Daryl looks at her as she speaks. "You go?" Daryl asks as he sharpens his knife on a wet stone. "No, to be honest with you I haven't been in the right head space today." Y/n explained. Daryl nodded and said, "I know, I heard you screaming in your sleep, but I knew Glenn would take care of ya." Daryl says and Y/n looks down at her hands. "Merle was one of them that went on the run today." Daryl looks at Y/n trying to figure out what she is trying to say. "He dead?" Y/n shook her head no.

"He was threatening the group while they were trapped inbetween herds. He was shooting the gun when it was the worst time to. He was trying to hurt everyone in the group. The officer hand cuffed him to a roof. And one of them dropped the keys down the pipe when they fell. I will go with you tomorrow to find him, but at this moment we need to stay calm." Y/n rants quickly fearing her brother would yell at her, not meeting his eyes once.

"Okay, I'm pissed off, but I know it's not your fault and there's no need to cause more chaos in the group." Daryl tells you what you want to hear. You know truly he wants to beat everyones ass. Glenn included. "Just yell, get it over with." Y/n says as she finally met her brothers blue eyes.

"I ain't gonna yell at you. Them maybe just a little bit, but you did nothing wrong here." Y/n just takes her brothers word for it.

The group ate the squirell that Y/n had skinned for the group and that daryl had killed. Y/n ate slowly as she rested her back up against Glenns front. "This is the best damn squirrel I have ever ate." Daryl says looking down at his plate guzzling down his food. "I can't believe I am saying this, but I agree." Lori says, "Y/n knows how to fix it just like mama." Daryl says as he goes to meet Y/ns eyes.

"She was the one that taught me." Y/n says with a tight lipped smile. "Luckly I found the right seasonings." Y/n says giving them a smile.

Everyone ejoyed their meals and slowly one by one left the fire pit area. Y/n slowly got up. Glenn gets up with Y/n. Glenn takes Y/n by the hand and walking her to her tent.

Daryl was sitting out by the fire he made at their small camp at the water. Y/n looks at Daryl and knows he is upset about Merle. Y/n pulls her lawn chair closer to Daryl. And Glenn sits in the other beside Y/n. His hand resting comfortably on Y/ns thigh.

"I'm gonna go out with the group and help y'all find our brother." Y/n says lowly to her brother. Daryl just nods. "You know Merle. Nothing can kill him, that's what he told me this morning. That sneaky bastard will live through anything." Y/n says giving Daryl her comforting smile. Daryl nods. "I know." He aknowledging Y/n. They sit in silents just listening to the sound of the frogs and the crackle of the fire.

As time went on Y/n and Glenn eventually went to Y/ns tent. Y/n changed into clean pjs. (A just an oversize shirt.) She cuddled into Glenns arms just resting.

"Glenn, are you still awake?" Y/n asks as she looks up at Glenn. "yeah." HE whispered looking down at her. "Can I tell you something without you freaking out?" She whispers playing with his fingers that were wrapped around hers. "You aren't pregnant are you?" He jokes. "No." She laughs. "I want to tell you that I love you. Today it just made me realize that I need to tell you that. I thought if things with south today and you got hurt or killed. You would die not knowing how I truly feel for you. And you don't have to say anything back, but I just wanted to tell you that." Glenn smiles at Y/n as he leans down to kiss her. "I love you too." And with that the two just felt so comfortable they fell asleep.

end of part 3

[youreallyshouldtalkmore]

Grilled Seafood Love ft Octavinelle Dorm

AKA Octavinelle Dorm with a Seafood Loving Girlfriend 

This might have started from all those cute fanart I see of young Azul and the twins specifically this one. And I love seafood and mushrooms so…. 

Twisted Wonderland MasterList

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

All three knew that land dwellers lived on seafood as well. They came to accept that. Humans mostly ate dumb fishes, those closest to the surface. The magical talking fished generally lived further down, where it was harder for humans to get to. However, in the Coral Sea, it was illegal to fish at all. 

Azul 

You were not giving up your love of seafood, even if you were dating a merman. Was it odd for you? Ehh, you got over it quickly. Your love knew no bounds after all. 

And Azul wouldn't dream of asking you to stop. He knew how land mammals worked. Just as long as he wasn’t on the menu. 

Wait, did you see him as a meal? 

Azul loved you, he did, but he was also a little scared of you. You called him your little calamari or little sushi. It would make him blush and stutter. => (´◡`)(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

Bonus if you pinched his cheek and cooed at him.  He wasn’t keen on being labelled such, but at the same time he secretly loved your affections. => (´◡`)(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) => 〔´∇｀〕

Just please don’t do it to him in public. => (≖_≖ ) He’ll accept it in front of the twins at the bare minimum, but in public he had a reputation. He was already trying to rebuild it after his overblotting. Don’t hinder his progress!! 

He was morbidly fascinated with your love of seafood. Mostly because you were his girlfriend. He couldn’t care less about other people.  And quite concerning that, you loved calamari the best. Calamari was a squid, a cousin of sorts. You admitted that you also liked eating octopus as well.

Please don’t see me a menu item, angelfish!! => o(TヘTo)

No worries!! Calm down! I love you! I don’t want to grill you. => (´ε｀ )♡

Tears might have started to swell as Azul rethought this relationship. => （πーπ） Please reassure this boy that you love him! You did not see him as a menu item. 

That’s why it took him twice as long to show his octopus form to you.  Once he did, you promptly and gently picked up one of his tentacles and began to nibble on it.   

Azul.exe => (◯Δ ◯ ∥) (!! ´◯`)∑ 

But why, Great Seven, WHY did you look scary and cute at the same time?  => ヽ(๏ ∀๏ )ﾉ

Oh no!! You weren’t thinking of throwing him on a grill after all, were you? Azul had visions of the seasonings you’d use. => (⋟﹏⋞)( ˚‧º·(′̥̥̥ o ‵̥̥̥)‧º·˚) 

And he thought you said you didn’t like raw seafood, so why?  WHY? => (༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽)  (✖﹏✖)

You grew thoughtful when you spat out his tentacle into your hand and began to gently massage it.  => (´._.`)（´-`）

Ahh, that’s nice. => (￣个￣)

Floyd told me that he did that when you were children. Personally, I don’t see the attraction. 

Azul might have twitched if he wasn’t being so concerned over his personal safety. He’ll kill Floyd later. 

You swam up to him and laced your hands around his neck, who tensed looking at you. => (´-＿-｀)

You grinned, “But the twins are right. You are adorably cute, my little calamari!” 

If you kiss him gently, Azul.exe might stop working. 

Can a merman drown? Σ(｀L_｀ ) Ahh.... 

Jade 

Are eels generally eaten by humans? 

Jade blinked at you. Exactly why were you asking this question?  He answered honestly: Humans have eaten dumb eel before. It is a menu item. 

Huh, I’ve never tried eel before. =>  ♪～(￣、￣ )

Jade just stared at you before suddenly smirking, “Don’t tell me you wish to throw me on the grill and find out?” 

Somewhere Azul is just => (ﾐ〒﹏〒ﾐ)  @ this conversation. How in Twisted Wonderland did Jade put up with you? He could never date a human this in love with seafood!! He might not want to acknowledge where he came from, but seeing your gleeful face when you got into your seafood platter was nothing short of murder in his book. 

You glared at Jade, “Only when you annoy me do I think about the best seasoning for grilled eel.”

Jade only laughed. You were quite amusing for a human. Perhaps the reason he frequently found himself in your presence. In addition to seafood, you loved mushrooms too. 

Grilled mushrooms, let’s go!!  🍄✨

Did you like to grill everything edible?  (Spoiler Alert: Yes...) 

But Jade couldn’t help but to make numerous mushroom dishes for you to try. You might have thrown up a one or two. Jade felt bad about that. He wasn’t trying to kill you, honestly! 

Azul: Be more careful in what you feed a human and a non-magical one at that!! 

That dish is nasty!  => (✦థ ｪ థ) Don’t do that to a mushroom ever again or…or… 

Jade grinned: Or what? 

I’ll grill your behind into a tasty dish. => ＼(｀0´)／

Jade smirked. 

Ahh, such a remarkable human you were.  

Floyd 

So, Shrimpy what kind of seasoning do you think I would be grilled with best? => (☉౪ ⊙)

You looked at Floyd => (ᇂ_Jᇂ ) Something to even out the flavor, that’s for sure.

Ohh, why that? => ( ◉◞౪◟◉)

With your personality, as a grilled eel, you’d have too much flavor by itself. I would need to butter you up. Or butter you down, as it were. Then add a little dish of this and a little dish of that. 

Somewhere Azul => (༎ຶꈊ༎ຶ╬) @ this conversation. Why was Floyd encouraging this?  Why was one of his best friends even dealing with a person like you? Did he have a death wish?  He gazed at Floyd. Well, this proved he wasn’t all up there. Azul knew that but still… 

Fufufu, you’ve really been thinking hard about this, haven’t you? 

Every day, you breathe, Floyd. => (,,-`_●-)

*mock gasp* But why though! => 〣 ( ºΔº ) 〣

Cause you are annoying as jack! And every time you get my feels up, I wanna grill you. 

Hehe, you do spend a lot of time threatening to grill my tushie. But in order to that, you’d first have to catch me and then reel me in. 🎣

He lays a hand over your head, “You need to grow a few more inches before you can accomplish such a feat, Shrimpy.” 

Cue you running around trying to catch Floyd as he laughs.=> (つ≧▽≦)つ (❀>◞౪◟<)ﾟ

Threatening him with the grill. 

Again. 

Azul yelling at you to cut it out since you are at Mostro Lounge. 

At this rate, Azul was high key scared he’d come home to cooked eel one day. ♨️🔥🐟🐠🍳

[stellocchia]

Hey yknow how apparently lmanbur regularly cried in his office or something like that?

Gimme some Crimeboys comfort for that. And I mean COMFORT ok? If I see you making this any angstier than it is in canon it's on sight

(prompt privilege)

Yish alright!

As If I'd ever make anything way more angsty than needed hlsdnjhdbalbd I'd never!

Anyway, let's move on from my definite lack of propensity for writing angst, and let's get to the comfort!

---

Wilbur was so tired.

It wasn't even really physical tiredness, he'd done almost nothing that day, it was just pure exhaustion.

He'd been trying and failing to focus on the three building permits Tommy had brought in a few hours prior for, well, a few hours. He'd gotten no further than the first line still. He was no nearer to finishing for the day than he'd been five minutes in, the only difference was the steadily building pressure behind his eyes.

He was so tired...

He noticed a water droplet falling on the parchment in front of him and pushed himself away from the desk. "Fuck!".

Why did he choose to do this? He wasn't cut out for it. He really wasn't. But he couldn't resign because if he did Tommy, as his Vice President, would have to take over and he couldn't do that to his little brother. He deserved to stay a kid a bit longer... as much as that was possible after losing two of his lives so early on.

A knock on the door distracted him from the pitiful moping he'd been doing. He wiped his face with a handkerchief and did his best to compose himself before inviting in whoever knocked.

"My hands are busy, open the door dickhead" It was Tommy, how unsurprising. Wilbur did as asked.

Tommy waddled inside and slowly headed to the desk balancing a bowl of hot soup, a mug of tea, and a couple of golden apples precariously in his arms. He set everything down carefully and turned to Wilbur with a satisfied expression.

"I got you dinner!" Tommy explained with a wide grin. "I can see that, but what's the occasion?". Tommy's brows furrowed "What do you mean? I made soup, that's the occasion. Also, I managed to steal a few golden apples from Dream, but don't tell him that". Wilbur nodded solemnly.

His mood had already definitely improved.

He sat down at his desk pulling the bowl of soup toward him. It smelled nice. He could see quite a few things in it as well, carrots, potatoes, mushrooms, there was even some meat floating in the broth. He wondered how long it'd been since anyone put that much effort into making something for him...

"Have you eaten already Tommy?". Tommy shrugged "I had a couple of gapples earlier". Wilbur furrowed his brows, he got up and grabbed a chair setting it down right next to his own, then he rushed off again to get a second spoon and handed it to Tommy.

At Tommy's hesitation, he pulled the teen into the chair next to his and wrapped his hand around the spoon. "Come on now, you wouldn't leave me to eat alone, would you?" he had meant to make it sound like a joke, but some of the previous anxiety seeped into his tone.

"'Course not. It wouldn't be very pogchamp of me if I did!" Tommy proclaimed puffing out his chest. Wilbur rolled his eyes. "That word will never be a thing, no matter how much you try to push for it". Tommy glared at him "You say that, but I already convinced Tubbo, Big Q, and even that Sam guy to use it. I'm so powerful Will. So so powerful".

They kept bantering like that until they finished the soup. Tommy then insisted for Wilbur to have both the apples since he already had two earlier. He didn't want to agree, but Tommy's puppy dog eyes were unfairly powerful.

It was nice to be taken care of for once. Even if it was in Tommy's clumsy way. It was really nice.

[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?”

[wienerbarnes]

A Certain Romance (2/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1,685

Warnings: not rlly anything

A/N: a lil bit of a deeper dive for these two’s relationship👀... enjoy!

MAIN MASTERLIST | A CERTAIN ROMANCE MASTERLIST

Your apartment is nice. Very you.

Sam invited him out to some restaurant, but after the last one he suggested, he decided to pass. And when Sam asked him what he was doing instead, if he was seeing you, Bucky lied and said yes. It made Sam happy and got him out of going to another ridiculous restaurant, so he saw it as a win-win.

Once Sam left, though, his thoughts did drift to what you were doing.

You two exchanged numbers at the pizza place after your date, but you two haven’t texted much. He texted you making sure you got home safe, which you did, and a day or so after, you texted him a picture of some advertisement with an awfully cheesy pick-up line written on it, which even he agreed was awful.

But that’s about it. So, he texts you.

Hey. What are u doing?

About to make dinner. Y?

Told Sam I was seeing u. Wanna hang out?

Come over.

Simple enough, he thinks.

You two haven’t had the most meaningful text conversations, clearly, but it’s still nice. No flirting, no typing and retyping messages in order to hook, line, and sinker, no ghosting. No relationship texting.

It was a dream for him. To have a new friend. He’s made plenty of friends, both in New York and in Wakanda. But it’s all under the same… umbrella. Always an agent, a fighter, an analyst of some sort. Someone to train with, to fight with, to fight for. Never someone like you. Someone that works a mundane job and lives in a mundane part of New York where her weekends are filled with going on mundane blind dates or otherwise cooking dinner for one.

It’s a breath of fresh air to not talk about fighting or missions or press or media or anything else he has to hear about at work. The only connection you have with Sam is that you met in a coffee shop a few years ago that has since closed down. He was one of your first friends here.

You could care less about Captain America, too. Which hurts Sam’s ego, and in turn, makes Bucky smile.

So, he goes over to yours.

He’s not sure what you’re making, but he brings a bottle of red wine as a courtesy. You are making dinner after all. Besides, women love wine, right?

Your apartment is nice. Very you.

Enough going on to show that someone does indeed live here, but also enough to show that you’re not exactly swimming in riches, like most people that live in this city.

The place smells like garlic and basil, and he’s glad that he brought the wine.

Shoes discarded at the door, he helps chop up the rest of the ingredients while you put a pot of water to boil. He chops up mushrooms, onion, pancetta, eyeing the bottle of vodka out on the table and tube of tomato paste next to his hand.

It's an understatement to say he’s excited. Most of the pasta he makes is from a bag of precooked noodles and a jar of tomato sauce.

Basic small talk floats through the air as the two of you dance around one another in the kitchen. Even though you’re “dating”, you don’t know much about each other. This isn’t too uncommon from how dating was for Bucky when he was a teenager; you’d marry women knowing very little about them.

Your favorite color is orange. You played violin in grade school. You had a childhood dog named Chowder. Bucky tells you his favorite color is green. He played a little bit of piano when he was younger, but did boxing in his late teens and early twenties before the war. You poke fun at him when he can’t remember the name of his own childhood dog.

“He’s probably rolling over in dog-heaven.”

“Good boy; he’d deserve a treat.”

You laugh.

Easy conversation continues on the couch as bowl after bowl of pasta is eaten and replenished. As fun and seemingly simple questions are asked, like each of your favorite movies or whether or not you pour the milk before the cereal, the room that’s left is used for deeper questions.

“What’s your most embarrassing moment?” You ask him.

He thinks for a moment before opening his mouth, only to close it again. “One time when Princess Shuri was fixing my arm it wasn’t secure completely, so it flew off while I was playing with some of the children.”

“That’s not your most embarrassing moment. I know it’s not, now you have to tell me what it really is.” You tease him.

He’s never been the best liar.

“You’re right, it’s not my most embarrassing moment. My actual most embarrassing moment is just kind of… sad. And I didn’t want to ruin the mood or anything.” He explains, hoping you’ll accept that but instead you give him an encouraging smile to hopefully give him some comfort that whatever it is he wants to tell you is safe in your apartment.

“Okay, uhm. So, in the 40’s, after I was rescued by Steve, but before we shipped out again where I was recaptured for the second and final time. We were all holed up in this little dance club, all the soldiers and their gals. And in walks Peggy Carter in a pretty red dress,” He begins, only glancing at your eyes periodically as if to make sure you’re still there.

“I know she’s Steve’s gal, he told me all about her. I wasn’t flirting with her because I wanted her, I was flirting with her… to make sure I still could. I mean, after being held in that… place… they injected me with stuff, told me things that weren’t true, I mean Steve told me I was repeating my number over and over again when he found me, I didn’t even remember doing that. I felt… violated, used, not like myself. I felt like I wasn’t me anymore.

“So, when Peggy walked in, I thought about how everyone always called me a ladies man, how good I was with women, I mean, I’d take girls out about every damn weekend, you know? I wanted to feel normal, so I flirted with her, tried to get her to dance with me. And she completely ignored me. She never even took her eyes off of Steve. It’s like I was invisible. And it just sort of felt like the nail in the coffin for whoever James Barnes was before the war. It was a realization that I’m never going to be that person again. And it was embarrassing for me.” He explains.

He hasn’t looked up at you again, but he heard your fork stop moving around your bowl a minute or so ago. He feels a lump in his throat thinking about that time, how he knew he’d never get back the man he was, even before knowing what was in store for him after falling off that train. How he used to be this man that wanted a long, happy marriage, six or seven kids running around a big backyard, a white picket fence surrounding a big two-story house in a neighborhood of identical homes. He wanted the cheesy life, at one point. But the same man that wanted that life died falling off a train many years ago.

All of that’s forgotten, though, when you open your mouth, and seem to say the perfect thing to make him feel better.

“One time in the third grade, this girl pulled my skirt down in front of my crush, and I wasn’t wearing any undies.”

A snort escapes his throat as you, somehow, after he’s shared something so deeply personal, something he never even told Steve or Sam about, still found a way to make him laugh. Which is what he wanted, he realizes. The comfort of moving on from that confession and not having to wallow in it like other people would try to. His hand leaves his fork to cover his face as tears threaten to leak out from how hard he’s laughing.

He took that secret to the grave, even if it wasn’t his own. He told himself he’d never tell Steve about how he felt in that situation, and he never did. He never told Steve that he didn’t enlist, either. He couldn’t imagine how Steve would’ve felt knowing that the army would’ve rather taken men that didn’t want to go to war, men who were terrified to go to war, had too much to lose and wanted to be selfish and stay home, than men like Steve who would do anything to enlist. Including lying on the damn enlistment form.

He wonders if Steve is looking at him now. Watching over him as he shares something that he never did with his best friend, with you, a girl he’s met barely a week ago, on your couch over bowls of pasta while he points out leftover sauce on the corner of your lip.

“What’s your greatest fear?” He asks you next.

“Dying alone. Actually, no. Getting kidnapped, probably.”

“Oh, mine’s spiders.” He shares.

It’s so easy to laugh with you, he finds. He jokes with Sam a lot, all the bickering and teasing all in good fun at the end of the day, and it’s mostly pretty funny. But laughing with you. He feels like a teenager again. Somehow, everything is funny; he doesn’t remember the last time he’s laughed so much, especially about things that aren’t even that funny.

It’s raining at the end of the night. Early morning, rather.

“You can take the couch, if you’d like.”

“Nah, I don't mind a little rain, and I like the ride home.” He fed Alpine before he left, but he imagines his cat misses him, even if she’s probably busy licking herself to even notice he’s left.

“Suit yourself.”

You don’t push him. A simple pleasure that’s more of a luxury for him. There’s no pushing or convincing or Are you sure’s with you.

Certainly a luxury, you are.