#heat is getting to me as well barely eaten or drunk today cause i feel trapped in my room

[highmarshall-azure]

.

[writingsfromhome]

Sorry x Rare

A/N: I got two lyric requests for Sorry by Beyonce and Rare by Selena Gomez. They were both sort of two sides of the same coin so I wrote them together it mostly goes from rare to sorry. Thanks for the requests, fingers crossed it lives up to what you wanted! <3

Synopsis: You and Harry have been together for a long time but he’s not the same man you fell in love with anymore.

-----

I move my dinner around on my plate, my gaze on the man pacing outside the restaurant on his phone. My man. But it didn't really feel like that these days. These days, Harry was a stranger to me--late nights, phone calls interrupting dinner, waking up to find him gone and not even sure if he'd come home at all.

I watch him remove the phone from his ear in a rush, stare at it, and then shove it aggressively in his pocket. He walks back in, cheeks pink and huffing.

"Should we ask for the bill?" He sits down in a flurry. I stare at his barely-eaten meal and my own dinner mashed to bits.

"We've barely had dinner."

"Babe, we've been here for over an hour since..." he takes his phone back out to inform me of how much time exactly but something must catch his attention because his sentence dies on his lips. I stare, he was so distant lately. "I'll drop you off at home, I've got to meet the boys they decided to talk business-"

"It's 8pm on a Thursday," I state the obvious. "Can't you catch up with them la-"

"This isn't an argument Y/N," Harry finally looks at me. He was done discussing it. He lifts his hands to the waiter and a minute later dinner's been paid for. He wasn't my baby, I think as we stroll outside to his car. I don't know who this man was.

***

I wake up the next morning with the weight of Harry on the other side of the bed. I could smell him, the booze sitting in his pores.

“Ugh,” I groan, not wanting to smell that first thing in the morning. I get up and start my day before I head to work. Soon, Harry appears squinting as I stir sugar into my coffee.

“I need a coffee,” he says, his voice hoarse. It used to sound sexy but now it was just another reminder that things changed. We lived like roommates and it hurt that he never wanted to talk. Half the time, he acted like I wasn’t even there.

I watch him settle with his coffee, taking the first sip and letting out a deep breath. A memory comes to me suddenly, the first year we were dating,

“I think this is the best coffee I’ve ever had,” it was the first night Harry had stayed the whole night and I’d made him coffee in my outdated coffee maker. It came out burnt half the time but that morning’s cup was decent. We’re swaddled in my blankets--the room I rented back then had poor circulation in the winter.

“I think you’re still slightly drunk,” I lean my shoulder against his and cup the warm drink. “I’ve definitely had better coffees.”

“Maybe coffees are just better the morning after,” he says, glancing at me and I know he can see the flush on my cheeks. He knew I was shy talking about certain things in the light of day.

“We can say that,” I mumble into the cup. “It’s just nice to have a heat source.”

“Here,” he takes the cup from me and reaches over to put both on the nightstand.

“Hey I wasn’t done with that.”

“I know but if you’re cold, I know this other heat source--it even works for hypothermia.”

His statement causes a blood rush that warms me already but I don’t say no to what he has in mind. I could make us another cup later.

Harry catches me staring when he looks over and raises an eyebrow. I snap out of my thoughts and twist my lips into a smile, looking back at my own drink bitterly. Who was this man in front of me? Out loud, I ask: “How was your night? You came in late.”

“I was out with the boys.” he says in a tone that meant he didn’t want to talk about it. “It got late.”

“A text would’ve been nice,” I say, still looking at my cup.

“S’not like you were waiting up,” he turns to walk back towards the bedroom.

“Learned not to,” I mumble but I know he’s heard me with the way he pauses. But he didn’t care enough to argue, dispute it, nothing. He leaves.

***

"Guess who just made a commission that's more than I used to earn in a year?" April walks into the small office, an infectious grin on her face.

"You sold him on it?" I put away the file I'm working on and jump up to hug my friend.

"I had to flirt a little--give him a vivid picture of what he could have there, and he signed! I'm bloody brilliant."

April was my American ex-pat who I met when she was looking for a flat a few years ago. And now here she was, working for me at the small real estate office I managed with a few other people I considered friends.

"Do you know if he was single?" I tune back in to hear Janelle asking.

"No, don't give her bad advice!" I scold Janelle. “We don’t date clients.”

"I'm miserably single," April pouts. "I'll take advice even if it’s bad."

"Bad advice is to stay with your college sweetheart to the point where you're not sure he even cares about you." I say to no one in particular. It was just us in the office today, and they knew everything about my life so I didn't care much. But the pin-drop silence that follows is different. I look up to see my friends eyeing each other. "What?"

"Nothing." They stay tight lipped but I push and they crack. "Well, so...we know things are rocky between you and Harry..."

"Things aren't rocky," I clarify. "They're just...nonexistent."

"Right," April slides closer. "Soo, we saw him at the club yesterday."

I raise my eyebrow, "He told me he was meeting up with his boys."

"Oh!" They sound surprised I know, but they look at each other again so I push them. "He was...there was a girl? Sitting on his lap for most of the night? Like, nothing happened I don't think so?" She turns to look at April at the end of each sentence.

Personally, I feel gut-punched even though I suspected this. I knew he wasn't where he said he was going to be sometimes, or with who he said he was going to be with. But he cut our own dinner short last night to be with strangers yesterday? I grip the pen in my hand.

"Y/N honestly...you know we love you and support you. But, you're a special girl and you deserve better than that sod."

"Yeah," Janelle puts her hand on my shoulder. "You're a gem Y/N. There's someone else out there who's gonna see how rare you are."

"I know," I blow my cheeks out. We'd had different conversations like this before, although never this direct. I guess we'd never had direct proof of what my husband was doing until now though.

"He's an idiot not knowing you're so rare," my friends try to comfort me. I feel my eyes well up and I swipe at them. I wasn't going to cry at work but they must sense the tears because they excuse themselves, "We're going to get you a tea, and some pastries to celebrate April's sale. April?"

I keep my face buried in my hands as they leave, take a few deep breaths. "I am rare," I say to myself but even that makes me laugh bitterly. Harry and I had been together for 5 years and here I was trying to count up all the reasons we should stay together when he didn't even care. He was out with other women, and I was waiting around for him.

"I'm rare," I say again. "I'm special, I deserve better. I...deserve better."

When will u be home tonight? I text Harry before I lose my nerve.

Busy he says. That’s it. And then, Why?

What time? I ask again.

8 or so, he responds.

Okay, we need to talk then. I put my phone away, too scared what he might text back. A tear falls from my cheek onto my keyboard, landing on the letter H. It mocks me. I wipe it off, and before I can think about what I'm doing I smash the letter down with my fist. I stand up and walk to the back of the office, a window overlooks the busy street. I'd had enough, I decide. Fuck Harry.

I’m not sure how long I stand there stewing, but my friends walking in with pastries and tea ends the emotional boiling pot from overflowing.

"Thanks," I take the cup from them.

“So we were talking and...” April looks at Janelle and she nods. “You should come out with us some time. Like...tonight. Dance with us, with other people...”

“I...I’ve got something at 8,” I come up with an excuse. As angry as I was, I wanted to have this conversation. It was long overdue.

***

I check my time again, the last text Harry sent me Ok. But it was 8:25 and Harry still wasn’t home. I’d give him five more minutes, I decide. I’d already tried to ring him with no answer.

I stare at the ring on my finger, it was supposed to symbolize a promise he made to me. What a fucking joke. I should’ve never said I do in the first place.

Was it young love, I wonder. Did we do this too fast and we were just set up to fail? But I remember the good memories, the soft and sweet times between us.

“I-I’ve never done something like this before,” I tell Harry. “I hate heights.”

“Listen,” he crowds around me, blocking my view of his friends who are walking up the narrow trail like it was any old walkway. “You go in front of me, I’ll have my hand on your back the whole time. I won’t let you fall. I promise.”

I look up into those gentle eyes and swallow my fear. “Okay.”

“I promise it will be so worth it,” he gushes, his excitement uncaged now that I’d agreed. “There’s no lights there so the stars are so bloody bright--I know you’re going to love it!”

I can’t help it, my lips crack into a smile at his boyish excitement. He catches it and pauses, a breath in this whirlwind of a night. What started out as a house party turned into a walk to a local beach which turned into a hike into the woods and up a precarious--and very steep--ridge to get to an isolated lookout. Only with Harry did I find myself in these situations. And I loved it. I loved him, I realise then. My expression must change because he tugs on my hand, probably worried I’d change my answer.

“Walk ahead,” he instructs and I nearly tip toe on the ridge that’s at least 30 feet across. But his steady hand on my back pushes me gently and I walk across confidently until I look down 2/3 of the way. I freeze in place but Harry’s ready. “Y/N, you’re safe here. Look at me-look...”

I crane my neck and he grounds me, oh my god how did I just realise now how in love I was with him? He squeezes my hand, asks if I was okay. I had to be, I couldn’t stay stuck in the middle.

Inch by inch we finally make it to the other side and I jump off with a yelp which sets Harry off in a burst of laughter. Pretty soon he’s lifted me over his shoulder and carries me to the lookout on the edge. My feet had been through enough, he’d said.

And he was right--it was so worth it; the view with all the stars laid out. The buildings and their light pollution below were blocked out by the outcrops and it made the stars twinkle in all their glory. It made it the perfect place to be with the person I loved.

“Isn’t it the most incredible view?” Harry whispers in awe behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist.

“I.....I have no words apparently,” I laugh and turn in his arms. “Thanks for pushing me, this...it was worth it.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ears and gazes at me in a way that makes me want to squirm. But I hold his gaze.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks with a smile.

“Compared to the view,” I glance behind us. “I guess I’m alright.”

“No,” he guides my face back towards his. “This view over that one, any day. M’just that lucky.”

My words die on my lips as I’m overwhelmed by this feeling between us, the one I thought would keep us together like this forever.

He raises an eyebrow when I go silent and I shrug, “I’m all out of words today.”

I close my eyes as he kisses my temple. I turn back around and we spend the moment in silence, drinking in the view. His friends chatter around us but they’re background noise. My life felt like a movie right now.

Before we leave as a group, I tug Harry back. This was a good as place as any to tell him. I press my lips to his, and it takes him a second but he’s kissing me back. Before it can get carried away I push away and tell him what I’d been thinking all night, “I love you.”

He takes a step back, and then he’s grinning and pulling me back. “I love you! I love you listen, I’ve been wanting to say that for weeks!”

“Weeks?!”

“Yeah weeks! My sister said it was too soon, I might scare you off!”

I think about a few weeks ago, I was intensely shy around him even then. Maybe she was right, but the idea that he talked about me to his sister makes me flush. I wrap my arms around his waist “I just...this moment is so perfect. I never want it to end.”

“It doesn’t have to.” he’d promised. “I’m yours forever Y/N.”

When 8:30 comes and goes I call April, she lets me know where they were. “We’re so happy you’re coming! Are you sure you don’t want us to meet you somewhere else?” she shouts into the phone. When I tell her I just wanted to be where they were she reminds me to text them when I was nearby.

I have to dig into the back of my closet, past the pantsuits I wore to work, the casual dresses and loungewear. I still had some of my old party clothes, just a bit tighter than they used to be. But for where I was going, it would fit in.

Before I leave, I take a pen and scrawl a note: “Great talk"

My friends spot me as I walk in. The music is instantly too loud, the lights too bright, and there are too many people. But one of my them shoves a drink in my hand and pretty soon it’s the best place on earth. It was exactly where I needed to be. I turn off my cellphone and enjoy myself.

After a certain point, I don’t even know who I’m talking to, but pressed up against a body, feeling wanted, it drives me to keep dancing all night. Eventually, I crash at April’s and don’t roll out of hers until 11 the next morning. Harry’s barely an afterthought until I’m tucked in the taxicab taking me home and turn on my phone. 8 missed calls, 2 voicemails and 13 texts.

I’m shocked at the volume, Harry hadn’t blown up my phone like this in over a year. I listen to one voicemail: “Where the hell are you? I come home an hour late and you’re bloody gone with this stupid note here. Pick up! I’ve called you a billion times.”

I stare at my phone, I hadn’t heard Harry this passionate since...well it was a long time. And all it took was going out late and not answering his calls, giving him a taste of his own medicine. It almost makes me angrier; I had to partake in this juvenile dance to get his attention, even though we’d been married nearly 2 years.

He’s on a call when I get home, talking numbers or something. I head directly to the shower, clean up, and take my sweet time. It must’ve driven him mad waiting for me because by the time I’m out he blows a gasket.

“What’s this stunt you pulled last night? Wanting to talk and leaving me a stupid sarcastic note just because I’m late? Where were you?”

“Out,” I shrug. “I didn’t know you were late. You didn’t text.”

“I didn’t tex--oh I see, now we’re being petty yeah?”

That irked me, “I’m not being petty. It’s not like I get the same courtesy when you’re out late!”

“I’m busy, I can’t always be texting you!”

Excuses, I laugh and he looks at me like I’m crazy. “Busy what? Screwing other women-”

“Don’t be making shit up-”

“I’ve had people tell me that they see you with other women Harry! S’not a far stretch!”

That quiets him. Finally, he comes forward to stand inches away. “Y/N, c’mon. You and me...this is stupid. Sure I go out to party but I’m not-”

“Stop.” he was actually trying to talk his way out of this. And because I’d rather step in front of an oncoming train than cry in front of him, I head to the front door and walk out. I’d find someplace to crash today, but I wasn’t doing this.

***

“How’re you doing?” Janelle asks. I’d shown up at her doorstep and she set up her guest bed. She had plans so I spent most of my time burying myself in work, trying to get rid of all that angry energy pent up in me. Janelle had just come home.

“I’m just trying to move on. I don’t want to talk about him, I just don’t care at this point--I’m fed up!”

“As you should be,” she agrees. “Listen, I know we had a crazy night yesterday but I’m going out with some friends today and...maybe it’ll help you?”

I think about the killer headache this morning, but I also remember how good it felt to forget for a bit. I agree. Before I know it, Janelle’s found something that fits me and we’re back at a different club than the night before. Her friends are familiar faces but after a few drinks we’re all best friends. It feels great. Until I spot Harry’s face.

“That’s enough,” his face looms over mine as he pushes away the man I’m up against.

“What the fuck Harry...” I trail off as he pulls me away from the middle of the crowd. I try to pry his hand off but there’s too many people and he’s moving too quickly...and I’ve had a lot of drinks. “Let me go!” I say when we finally step away. We’re in what must be a private room. He seemed familiar with it--of course.

“So just because you heard I’m out and about some nights, you decide to come here and fuck around with random men?”

“Excuse me?” I stare at him, he was out of his mind. “I’m out having fun with my friends! I’m not here because of you.”

“Really? You come to the same place I come to all the time and dance with these strangers? And you’re drunk as fuck!”

“Since when did you care?” I ask. “Just leave me alone. You’ve been doing that perfectly fine the last few months.”

“I’m your bloody husband Y/N, you can’t just-”

“Then act like one!” I shout, and in the muffled quiet of the room with the bass thumping through it rings out. “I don’t need you! And you made it clear you don’t need me. These rings are a fucking joke, here-” I take mine off and throw it at him.

“You don’t mean it-”

“I do.” I give him a level stare, suddenly clear-headed. Maybe I’d process it later, but right now I was finally seeing what he’d become. He deserved to feel how I felt, and quite frankly, I didn’t give a fuck. I flip him with both hands, “Quite frankly Harry, you can suck my d-”

“Harry!” A shrill voice rings out from the entrance that now carries the loud beats of the dance floor, swallowing my words. “Liam told me you were here!”

I glance at the brunette in the doorway and back at him. I couldn’t even muster an eye roll; I had enough.

“Y/N!” Harry calls my name as I walk out.

“No it’s me, Becky?!” she tries to correct him. I can’t help but laugh as I make my way back to my friends with a drink in my hand, feeling free.

***

“Y/N, it’s Harry. I don’t know how it got this shite just please call me back. Just give me five minutes that’s all I n--message deleted”

“He’s moved on to the office phone then?” Janelle asks, her desk was beside mine so she’d heard him as I checked my messages. It was two weeks since that glorious night when I’d dumped Harry’s ass. Although a lot of my things were still at our house, I was just staying in a hotel right now while I figured things out. One thing I knew for sure though, I didn’t want to see him again.

“It’s pretty pathetic,” I say. It was also pathetic how long I’d stayed waiting around for us to be magically fixed. But that was something I was working on getting past.

“You’re glowing without him,” April says from where she’s getting her files together. “Haven’t you got that showing out east?”

“Yeah, oh god is that the time?” I rush to get my files in order. “I’ll catch up with you later-”

“We’re still getting drinks after?”

“Yes, drinks!” I call out as I leave the office and head down to the lobby. I don’t expect Harry there, and I barely have time for him as he comes up to keep my pace.

“Harry, I’ve got somewhere to be please leave me alone.”

“Y/N, wait just please listen to me.”

“No.”

“2 minutes!”

“Not even 1,” I spot my cab out front and head towards it. I’m about to get in but Harry holds the door. “Harry let go I’m going to be late.”

“Just let me talk to you, please!”

I finally look at him and he’s quite a sight. His hair is matted and without it’s usual bounce. He’s got a rough look and a 5 ‘o clock shadow.

“You had plenty of time to talk to me for months, you were too busy at the club. Sorry not sorry,” I tug at the door and he lets go, I don’t spare a backwards glance as we drive away.

One of the showings is successful, I manage to sell the family on the home and we set up a meeting to go over details at my office later in the week. I’ve got a bounce in my step as I return to the office. I tell the girls I’d meet them at the bar as I finalize my papers at the office. My bounce falters when I go head out after 5 to see Harry waiting outside the building.

“Y/N,” he calls out when he sees me. “I’m not going to leave until you talk to me.”

“That’s called stalking,” I say. A few people walking past us turn to glance at him and he notices. He moves to the inside lobby and asks me to follow. With a big sigh I do.

“I know what I did.” he begins.

“Congratulations,” I roll my eyes.

“No wait, I know what I did to you. And sorry can’t cover it. Just let me make it up to you, we have history and-”

“You don’t get it.” I stop his monologue from going any further. “I’m gonna be just fine. Without you. You didn’t care about our history until you couldn’t have me. I don’t know what happened to you Harry, but you’re not the man I fell in love with-”

“I know,” he says, tears of frustration coating his lashes. “I fucked up, I-I didn’t see what I had right in front of me and I just-”

“Let her slip away? Is that the best you can come up with?” I scoff. “You know what Harry? I’m done with this! Boy...bye.”

“Y/N just--” he grabs my arm before I can leave and pushes something cold into my palm. My wedding ring.

“I don’t want this,” I push it back in his hand.

“Please just take it--hold onto it,” he pushes it back into mine and closes my fingers over it. “I can’t...I can’t hold onto it just take it! You don’t even have to think about it-”

“Harry,” I soften my tone. He was desperate and even though some part of me thought it was about time he felt this type of way, my heart hurt a little. I didn’t want him to see that though so I just tuck the ring into the pocket of his button up and pat it. “Goodbye Harry.”

I walk away with my head held high even though he calls out to me. I walk the few blocks to where my friends are waiting and their warm smiles are enough to help me push the memory of Harry’s teary eyes, and the real history we did have once upon a time away. I was done with him, no longer thinking about him.

I just kept telling myself, I was rare like a gem and I had to see that. And maybe one day, someone else will too.

[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?”

[jakeyp]

“I don’t know why I’m crying I-I’m sorry” // angst and fluff ♥︎

hi... i kind of wrote a small fic with that prompt. you can read it here or on ao3! thanks for this i really needed the motivation. i decided to write something about what happened after 8x06! <3 

—

Amy arrives home a little later than usual that night, overwhelmed with the events of the last few days. There are so many things to process, though the only thing she can focus on at the moment, is her husband’s suspension. She knows Jake very well, and most likely he’ll try to hide his sadness and pretend he’s fine, not because he thinks he’s weak but because he doesn’t want Amy to worry about him. Yet, she can’t help to wonder how he’s taking it.

Not knowing what to expect as she enters their apartment, Amy tosses her keys onto the couch sadly, too distracted to place them on the key hook. Jake is nowhere to be seen, so she figures he must be putting Mac to sleep, since it’s past ten already, and there are no toys scattered around the floor.

Indeed, she finds Jake whispering to his son, who lies in his crib, babbling and very, very awake, even though the lights are dimmed and it’s quiet in there.

“Hey,” Amy says softly.

Despite her tone, Jake startles, turning around, but immediately relaxes when he sees it’s just her. “Ames,” he breathes, looking down at Mac and then back at his wife, guilt taking over his features. “I kind of let him take a nap earlier and now he can’t sleep…”

“It’s okay,” Amy says, shrugging. She wants to add something else to reassure him, but her mind’s entirely blank, so she settles for a casual question. “What did you two have for dinner?”

Jake smiles. “He tried scrambled eggs for the first time. I know it’s technically breakfast food, but I read he can eat them now, plus it’s what I cook best.”

“And?”

“He loved them, duh.”

Amy chuckles. “Of course. Did you have some too?”

“I… wasn’t really hungry.”

“Oh. Well, I haven’t eaten either. We can heat some leftovers if you want.”

Jake nods with a weak smile, which widens as he turns to check on Mac. “Hey, he’s asleep! Maybe he just needed to make sure mama arrived home safe.”

Amy leans over to look at her sleeping son. Mac looks so much like his dad, when he laughs or smiles—which he’s been doing recently a lot—but especially when he’s asleep and completely peaceful.

She turns to see Jake staring at their baby with a proud smile and it warms her heart. Perhaps he’s forgotten about the suspension.

“Leftovers, then?” she whispers after a while, grabbing him by the wrist to pull him a little closer to her.

“Sure,” he says, throwing a last glance at Mac before following Amy out of their room and closing the door behind him. They’ve learned to make as little noise as possible in the last ten months, so their voices are barely above a whisper by default whenever Mac is asleep.

As it’s routine, Jake turns on the TV, not choosing a channel, and mutes it before joining Amy in the kitchen, while she gets the food from the fridge and puts it in the microwave.

From the corner of her eye, she can see Jake leaning against the counter in an awkward pose, staring at her almost anxiously.

Amy has no idea how to ask the question she’s been wanting to ask him since she got there, so she takes a deep breath and turns to him. “Babe, are you… okay with it?”

His expression tells her he’s been dreading her to ask. Yet, he plays dumb. “With what?”

“With everything that happened. Your suspension…”

“Oh,” Jake spats after what seems like hours, as if every emotion he was supposed to be feeling before was just settling in. Amy’s stomach drops. These subjects might not be her thing. “It’s fine. I suppose I can talk about it, but is it necessary?”

She shrugs. “Just tell me.” Her voice is as soft as it can be. “How do you feel about it?”

Jake puts on a poker face now. She’s usually good at reading him, but she can’t tell what he’s thinking. Amy knows how much he enjoys his job. Everything had happened so fast, though, at some point she’d lost track of it all. One second he was very excited about his ‘Speed’ situation and then, suddenly, he was in too deep.

To sum it up, it hadn’t gone well.

“I feel weird,” Jake finally admits, looking down. “It feels weird to know I won’t be going back tomorrow. But I’ll… adapt, I guess.”

“I’m sure you will,” she automatically replies, hesitating a little before placing a hand on his chest.

He seems to attempt a smile, but it vanishes right away. “I feel stupid too. Why can’t I listen? Holt told me to stay out of it and I screwed up. I screw up a lot.”

Amy frowns. “Of course you don’t. Sometimes you can be silly, yes, but there’s nothing wrong with it. This time it just… it got out of my hands too. I was really drunk.”

Jake chuckles. “Yeah,” he says shortly, and then swallows. “So five months, huh? It isn’t that much, is it? There are like thirty days in a month so it would be like a hundred days which have twenty-four hours each, so it would be like twenty-four thousand hours.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head with a smile. Math is decidedly not Jake’s strength. “It’s only like… three thousand and seven hundred hours.”

“Oh. That’s… still a lot.”

Amy sighs. His eyes are red, probably with exhaustion, and she can’t recognize the emotion behind them. It might be just deep, deep sadness.

“Ames,” he says huskily before she can talk. “What am I gonna do?”

Her eyebrows shot up, but before she can even think of an answer, Jake cuts her off again. “Things were so well yesterday. It makes me think… I can mess everything up so quickly. And it’s always my fault. What am I gonna mess up next?”

“Don’t say that,” she says, her throat knotting. “It’s okay to make mistakes, babe. And you are great at dealing with the consequences. You learn from your mistakes, you’ve always done.”

“Yeah, I keep pushing things until something goes wrong,” he argues in a trembling voice, “and until then I stop, I—” and suddenly that trembling voice breaks.

Amy’s stomach drops again as his eyes tear up, becoming redder. He immediately looks away when he realizes himself.

“Hey,” she says soothingly, cupping his face to make him look at her. “Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I know it’s a dumb thing to cry over, I just—” once more he’s unable to finish his sentence, pinching his lips shut before his voice can get any louder or high-pitched.

A single tear streams down his cheek.

“It’s not dumb,” Amy says. “If it makes you feel like this, it’s not dumb.”

“Well, I got myself into it—”

“And as I said, you will learn from it. That’s what matters.”

“I’ve been suspended like a thousand times already,” he counters, his tone bitter. "What makes you think it won’t happen again? What makes you think I couldn’t get fired?”

She shrugs, trying to stay calm even though she wants to cry as well. “I wouldn’t be less proud of you than I am today,” she says. “You’ve grown up so much and whatever you have to deal with, I have to deal with too, because I love you and I’m willing to. So please, don’t beat yourself up over this because it’s going to be fine.”

He sniffs. “How can you know that?”

“Because I’ll make sure everything’s fine. You’re not alone, babe. You have me.”

Jake stays in silence for a few seconds, and she thinks he’s going to start sobbing, but his lips curl instead. “I love you so much,” is all he says.

“I love you too,” she mouths back, afraid she’ll begin crying if she talks, and then pulls him into a hug.

They stay like that for a while, maybe five seconds or ten minutes, sinking in a silence that they don’t really mind. She pulls away from his embrace only to wipe his tears away. Jake looks so tired. Exhausted, even. She feels the same way, when minutes ago they were going to watch some TV and have dinner, though now she’s not sure she’s up for it.

Jake must have been thinking the same thing because a small laugh comes from his lips all of a sudden.

“What?” Amy asks, amused.

“I just realized we never even heated the food.”

Amy chuckles, and it only causes him to laugh a little harder. She wonders if it’s the exhaustion making such a simple detail seem so funny, and rests her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It’s calmer now, it could be matching hers.

“Babe,” she says softly.

“Yes?” Jake hums.

“It’s going to be fine. I promise.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and Amy separates, afraid she said the wrong thing, but Jake’s only bowing his head like she said the cheesiest thing in the world.

“I know. Thanks, Ames,” he says, and then adds, “I love you.” Even though she hears those words coming from him at least ten times a day, he manages to make them sound like it’s the first every time.

“I love you too,” Amy whispers, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Jake is about to return a much longer kiss on the lips when Mac interrupts the moment. Amy squeezes her eyes shut with a knowing smile—this has happened many times before. However, Jake immediately becomes alert and rushes to attend to his son.

Amy chuckles to herself, finally heating the food which is still inside the microwave and turns off the TV, because they are definitely not watching anything before they fall asleep, worn off with the events.

Like Jake would say, they’re sort of an old couple now, but she couldn’t care less. To her, so far, it’s meant that things can be so easy now.

Her husband doesn’t join her back in the kitchen so she goes and checks on him and Mac. The room feels so warm and quiet still, as Jake rocks his son softly, lulling him, again not realizing Amy’s watching. It always seems like he drifts away from reality when he’s trying to make Mac stop crying—and he’s good at it. She doesn’t know what it is, but Jake is great at it.

“I have to admit,” Amy says, startling him of course, “I’m a little jealous of you. You get to spend five months with him, all by yourself.”

Jake gives her what looks like an automatic smile, and then realization hits him. “I hadn’t thought about that before,” he huffs, stroking Mac’s soft curls and looking down at him. “Did you hear that, bud? Five months for only the two of us.”

Mac babbles, and Amy tries to ignore how awake he still sounds. “Careful, Ames,” Jake tells her. “That sounded a lot like ‘dada’, and with these five months? It’s definitely going to be his first word.”

Amy rolls her eyes with a playful smile. “Not if I train him every night.”

“Challenge accepted.”

An hour later they’re both in bed after eating dinner and Amy has already changed into her pajamas. Jake hasn’t stopped rocking Mac, who woke up once more, but his father doesn’t seem to mind, and Amy has the feeling that his suspension doesn’t sound so bad to him anymore.

—

[emetoandotherthings]

"oohhh I gotta lie down" for Jude bc he's dramatic like tha

A/N: First of all, don’t get excited that I’m suddenly writing again - this is an old piece that I wrote that I’ve only just got the impetus to type up... On that note, I hope you enjoy it though! 

--

“Jude?” Eden stretched across and poked his boyfriend’s thigh; Jude was leaning back, his eyes closed under his sunglasses and his mouth slightly open as he dozed. “Jude?”

“Hmmm…” Jude mumbled, still in that sleepy phase.

“Jude, it’s time to wake up,” Eden sat up, the sun lounger that he had been lying on creaked as he swung his legs round and planted his feet into the sand. It was still warm from the heat of the daytime sun, even as the sun was beginning to go down towards the horizon.

“ ‘s it?” Jude stretched his arms, above his head, his back arching, but his eyes still closed. “Was having a nice nap…”

“I know,” Eden said, poking his finger into Jude’s leg again, as it looked like Jude was going to go straight back to sleep. “Jude, you’ve been asleep for over an hour.” Eden told him, check his watch. “It’s about time that we head back and get changed so we can go out for dinner.”

“There’s no way I’ve been sleeping for an hour…” Jude rubbed his hands into his eyes and sat up further, his own sun lounger groaning as the plastic repositioned under him.

“You have,” Eden replied. “It’s just after six – look, the sun’s going down.” Eden pointed out across the beach; it had nearly completely emptied now, everyone else had gone back to their hotels or out to dinner.

Jude swung his legs round, so he was facing Eden, and reached out to grab his free hand.

“It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?” Jude said, squeezing Eden’s hand.

The holiday had been a spur of the moment decision – it was just chance that Jude’s school holidays had aligned up with Eden’s reading week, which meant they actually both had a week off to spend together. Only a few days earlier, Eden had arrived back at the flat to find Jude had selected three different locations, looked at hotels and apartments, and price checked flights. At first Eden thought he’d been joking, but it became clear very quickly that he was deadly serious. They’d decided on Tenerife, booked their flights and apartments that night, and frantically looked out clothes and packed into their cases.

“It is!” Eden agreed. “I’m glad we decided to come.”

“Yeah,” Jude nodded. “We deserve a break.”

“Look at those colours in the sky!” Eden’s finger was almost pointing directly above him; the rays of the setting sun were casting orange, pink and purple shades into the sky and reflecting on the deepening blue of the sea. It was as though someone had dipped a brush into watercolour and allowed them to merge seamlessly across a canvas.

“It’s amazing what a change of scene can do, isn’t it?” Jude had lowered his head and closed his eyes, still sounding a little sleepy.

“Yeah,” Eden agreed, then looked across at Jude and gave the hand that he was holding a small shake. “Jude? Don’t go back to sleep! Come on, we need to go back and get ready for dinner!”

“Hmmm?” Jude’s head bobbed up again. “I know. It’s just been a long day…”

Eden frowned slightly, it hadn’t really been that long day… They’d slept relatively late, ambled down to a beachside bar and had some lunch and sangria.

They’d possibly had a bit too much, because by the time they’d left in the early afternoon, they were giggly and jaunty – taking a walk right along the beach front, occasionally running back and forth from the waves hand in hand, like little children.

They’d walked so far that the backs of their necks and their faces from the sun, so they bought overpriced ice creams from a van and began their walk the other way, back towards where they had come from.

The sun had still been high in the sky when Jude managed to find some free static sun loungers underneath a canopy of wooden parasols. Sun loungers were hard to find on the beach at the best of time, but to get two together was almost impossible. Eden had bagged them, while Jude found a beach vendor selling pineapple and bought them both a slice.

Eden had laughed and commented that all he seemed to do on this holiday was eat and drink, but Jude had barely finished his pineapple before he was snoring gently on the lounger. Eden had watched him for a little while, smiling at how calm Jude looked while sleeping, before leaning back on his own lounger and enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin.

It hadn’t really been a long day, but Eden brushed it off; if Jude felt like it had been a long day then he’d allowed him to feel like that.

“I know,” Eden said, “but if we don’t move now it’s gonna be 9 o’clock before we even get out for dinner.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jude agreed; he slipped his book into the canvas bag that they had been using as a beach bag. Eden had stood up – stretching his arms above his head, then picked up the bag and swung it over his shoulder.

“Coming?” Eden asked, as Jude still hadn’t moved from where he was sitting on the sun lounger, and he held out his hand for Jude to take.

“Yeah,” he reached out and grabbed Eden’s hand as he stood up from the lounger.

The two of them walked along the end of the sun loungers, in front of the rows of empty loungers. Nearly everyone else had already headed away and the beach was peacefully quiet, with only the rushing sound of the water flooding in across the sand and then back out. Eden paused for a second, breathing in the salty seawater air and feeling the light breeze across his face. Jude had paused too; he seemed to be lagging slightly as they started to walk again. The grip of his hand around Eden’s felt a little too tight. When he turned to look at him, his cheeks were a little flushed pink and Eden could tell he had spent some time in the sun.

Jude was trying not to hold on too tightly to Eden’s hand; his head felt kind of fuzzy, the way it did when he drank red wine on an empty stomach. But he had eaten today… He’d had an omelette, and chips, along with the sangria, and then ice cream, and pineapple. But the thought of the food he’d eaten hours ago made him feel kind of queasy. In fact, everything around him was making him feel unsettled. His face felt like it was on fire, and his mouth felt very dry. He stumbled slightly on the sand, and felt Eden’s hand tighten to prevent him from falling.

“Whoa, you okay?” Eden asked, stopping and almost pulling Jude alongside him to check.

“Yeah,” Jude lied, trying to laugh, but it sounded oddly forced. “Tripped over my own feet!” Eden seemed to take that at face value, sand wasn’t the easiest thing to walk on.

Jude could feel his head beginning to throb – he couldn’t understand it; maybe he had drunk more than he’d realised at lunch time? But he was sure they’d only ordered one pitcher between them, and they’d shared it – there was no way he could still be drunk from half a pitcher of sangria! It wasn’t even full strength. But the whooshing, thumping in his head was growing stronger, and he was starting to feel his feet and legs going numb, becoming more and more difficult to have full control of. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage like he was sprinting rather than just ambling along the beach. He tried to close his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath in through his nose, trying to clear some of the weird sensation.

“Jude?” He heard Eden’s voice, but it was reverberating oddly in the space between his ears; like Eden was shouting from the end of a very long tunnel. “Jude? Are you okay?” He felt Eden’s hand squeeze tighter on his, and tried to squeeze back to communicate, but the messages from his brain to the rest of his body didn’t seem to be working too well.

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and was steered somewhere, and then forced to sit down, underneath his thighs he could feel cool stone or bricks. He couldn’t tell whether his eyes were closed, or just not working properly; the thumping in his head seemed to be throwing his balance, even though he knew that he was now sitting down.

“Take a deep breath in,” he heard Eden again, and a hand on his thigh, grounding him, “and out.” Jude followed Eden’s instructions, but the swirling sliding feeling was getting worse. His insides seemed to be rolling over and over, somehow connected to his lost sense of balance. He could tell that his eyes were squeezed shut.

“What’s going on Jude?” Eden asked, he sounded worried and Jude felt bad at the concern he was causing.

“I… feel funny…” He was surprised that he could even get words out, but thankful that he managed.

“What kind of funny?” Eden questioned further. Now the whole of Jude felt like he was on a helter skelter, going round and round, unable to be controlled.

“Oooh, I gotta lie down,” Jude mumbled, sliding from the solid stone he was sitting on, down onto warm sand.

“Oh, oh okay! Here, let me help,” Eden picked up quickly, almost cradling Jude’s head and gently helping him to lie on the sand. He could feel the cold of the wall he’d been sitting on pressing against his back; he didn’t quite know why he wanted to lie down, but there was something about being on the ground – there wasn’t anywhere else to fall to.

The warmth that he’d felt earlier had intensified; he felt like he was sitting right next to an open bonfire. He was taking slow breaths in the hope that the unsteadiness would settle.

It seemed to take a lifetime but the swirling sensation calmed around him, but his insides still felt like they were on a rollercoaster.

“Jude?” Eden was trying very hard not to panic, but right now his boyfriend was lying on the sand, and not responding much. Jude’s cheeks and forehead were rosy pink, and Eden could see his chest moving and he inhaled and exhaled. Then out of the corner of Eden’s eye, he saw something – a twitch, or jerk – that wasn’t quite natural. Eden moved a little, and just in time.

“Mmmmmmmhuuuuuurrrrrrggggggllllk…” Jude’s mouth had opened and his chest jerked once more, the muscles in his torso tightening as a gush of liquid vomit spilled onto the sand.

“Oh shit,” Eden had retracted his hands for a second, before returning one to under Jude’s head and the other towards his back. Jude hadn’t been able to warn Eden, it had happened far too quickly; his mouth had gone from bone dry to oversalivating in an instant. He could tell that he wasn’t done – his muscles still clenching and heaving.

“Hnnnnngggguuuuuuuurrrrlllllkk!” Another spray of sick burst passed his lips onto the sand; he coughed, spitting extra saliva out.

“You’re okay Jude,” Eden said, but he wasn’t convinced he was – this had come on out of nowhere! Eden stroked one hand across Jude’s forehead and felt the sweltering heat. “Oh God Jude – you’re burning!”

“Hot…” Jude whispered, trying to stop his stomach from revolting.

“You’re far too hot, and not in the good way!” Eden told him. Eden could feel himself panicking, his chest tightening as he looked down at his semi-conscious boyfriend. “Oh Jude… What do I do?” He looked at Jude, his hands were trembling as he touched one of Jude’s arms. As he did so, the canvas bag that had been on his shoulder fell onto the sand, and with that an idea crossed his mind.

“Okay, okay, Jude, you just – you just stay there,” Eden said, rather reluctantly as Jude wasn’t up to moving anywhere. He rifled through the bag and pulled out one of the cheap beach towels that they had bought on the first day of their holiday.

Leaving Jude lying on the sand, Eden gripped the towel and went charging down the beach towards the water. Ignoring the salty scent from the sea, he dumped the towel in the water, making sure that it was thoroughly wet through. Then he scooped it up, not bothering to wring it out and made his way back up to where Jude was lying. Opening up the towel, he laid it across Jude’s skin, avoiding the puddle of sick as he knelt down next to him.

“Alright – Jude, d’you think you could sit up if I help you?” Eden said, putting his hand back on Jude’s arm and gave it a squeeze.

“Nnnngghhh….” Jude groaned, not particularly able to verbalise anything coherent; but Eden had made his mind up. He had to get Jude back to the apartment – even if that meant having to hoist him onto his back and carry him. Though he really did hope that he wouldn’t puke down him if it came to that.

“Okay, right, Jude,” Eden fastened his grip on Jude’s bicep and slipped his other hand into the gap at his neck. “1, 2, 3…” Eden warned Jude and then pulled him upright; Jude let out a little groan, and his head flopped forwards as soon as he was up. Eden wrapped the damp towel around the other side of Jude, ignoring the sand that was sticking to his skin.

“Uuuurrrggghhnnn…” Jude’s eyes were closed and his face was red.

“Okay Jude,” Eden said, sitting next to Jude and holding him up. “Take some deep breaths.” Eden was watching him carefully, trying to detect any sign of him getting better, or worse. He heard Jude take a few breaths, but they were ragged and gasping. “That’s it, you’re doing well.”

“Hmm! Hmmmrrk!” Jude heaved, his chest jerked and Eden heard the rush of liquid coursing up Jude’s throat. “Hmmmmrrrllllk!” It splattered messily between Jude’s legs, and Eden winced at the way Jude’s belly muscles kept clenching – long after he was bringing up anything.

“Oh honey…” Eden sighed, pushing back Jude’s fringe from where it was flopping into his eyes. “You’re gonna be okay…” Eden was speaking out of hope more than any kind of certainty. “Here…” Eden fumbled with one hand in amongst the debris that had fallen out of the canvas bag. Knowing that he’d be cursing later on that he’d allowed both of their phone to have fallen out into the sand; he found the bottled water that they carried everywhere. “Here…” He repeated, clumsily unscrewing the lid with one hand, the lid rolling onto the sand, then raising the bottle to Jude’s lips. “You just need to take a little sip Jude.”

“Mmmmnnn…” Jude groaned, trying to turn his head away from the water bottle.

“No Jude,” Eden insisted, pressing the bottle back to his boyfriend’s lips. “Just a tiny sip.”

“Don’ wanna….” Jude mumbled, still trying to turn his head away.

“Little sip, little sip,” Eden put his other hand behind Jude’s head to keep him from wiggling away. “Little sip…” He held the bottle just high enough for a small amount of water to pass his lips. “Good, good job.” Eden encouraged as Jude swallowed the little amount of water. “Okay, okay Jude – we need to get back… I think you’ve got heatstroke, we have to get you cooled down properly.” Eden said. “You think you could walk if I helped you?” Jude didn’t reply, instead he simply leant his head in towards Eden, still rather limp.

“I guess that means no,” Eden mumbled, his arm was still around Jude’s shoulders. “Right, well…” Eden was thinking hard, and there was only one solution to the predicament he was in.

Using his free hand, he picked up the debris from his bag that had landed on the sand and shoved them back into the canvas. He pulled the bag over his shoulder, far enough up that he hoped it wouldn’t fall down.

“Right, okay – Jude, you need to listen to me,” Eden tapped Jude on the cheek, “can you let me know you’re listening?”

“Mmmm…” Jude hummed.

“That’s good enough, I guess,” Eden sighed. “Jude, I’m gonna help you up onto the low wall right behind you, then you can sit there for a few minutes, okay?” Eden gripped his hands under Jude’s armpits, holding tight. “1, 2, 3…” Eden counted, before hauling Jude up and making sure he was planted onto the low wall he’d been leaning against. Eden exhaled deeply, glad that Jude was managing to stay upright, if a little slumped. Jude’s eyes were still closed and the red flush across his cheeks.

“Jude?” Eden knelt down right in front of Jude, which felt rather precarious at the moment – he wasn’t entirely convinced Jude was done throwing up. “Jude, I need you to help me with this.” Eden was almost pleading with him. “I’m going to kneel down in front of you, and I need you to wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist. I’m gonna piggy back you to the apartment, but I need you to hold tight, can you do that? Jude?”

“Yeah…” Jude mumbled, and Eden could have cried with relief.

“Good, good, right – okay,” Eden gushed. “Let’s do it.” Eden turned around, carefully avoiding the puddle of sick that Jude had already created. “Come on…” He was glad to feel Jude’s arms snaking around his neck, and he gripped at Jude’s thighs as they tightened at his waist. “Good, right – hold on tight.”

Holding so tightly on to Jude’s legs that he was sure he was probably hurting him, but that didn’t matter, as Eden steeled himself and pushed through his legs until he was on his feet. Jude groaned slightly at the movement, but he continued jnto hold on to Eden’s neck, which was reassuring.

“Okay,” Eden said, slightly strained; he wasn’t particularly strong, but this was the only way he was going to get Jude back. “You just – hold – on…” Eden began to walk, stepping off the sand onto the pavement. “And please…” Eden struggled, “try to warn me – if you’re gonna puke again…”

Jude hummed slightly, his head had flopped onto the flat of Eden’s shoulder, but his hands were still holding on around Eden’s neck.

Eden felt like his lungs were on fire. He wasn’t anywhere near as fit as he could be – and he certainly wasn’t used to carrying his boyfriend on his back for so long. He was sure he was receiving some funny looks from passers-by, but he started focusing only on breathing, and his feet moving forward.

Every few steps he tried to remind himself that he was nearly there, his arms were beginning to ache and tremble from supporting Jude’s legs. He was so nearly there though; he could see the front of their apartment blocks. Jude was still clutching on to him and Eden couldn’t tell if he’d fallen asleep or not.

He navigated into the lift, and then out again at their floor; he was dripping with sweat, and he knew had to put Jude down so he could get the key to the apartment door.

“Jude?” He panted breathlessly, when there was no response he gave Jude a little jiggle on his back and he heard Jude moan. “Jude? I need you to try and stand up… I can’t get the key without my hands…” Eden could hear Jude making a small huffing noise. “I’m going to put you down…”

Eden had backed next to the railing at the other side of the hallway, intending to get Jude to hold on to that. Gently, he let go of Jude’s legs, which dropped from Eden’s waist; Eden felt his hands loosen, then let go from around his neck.

“That’s it,” Eden breathed encouragingly; but almost as soon as Jude’s feet hit the ground, his knees crumpled and he ended up in a semi heap on the ground. “Oh Jude…” He sighed, rummaging with both hands in the canvas bag that had been hooked in between himself and Jude. He successfully located the key, stuck it in the lock and shoved hard – as soon as the door was open, Eden went back to Jude.

“Come on,” Eden said, looping his arm behind Jude’s and gripping tight. “We’re going to get you in, and in a cool shower to bring your temperature down.” Eden hauled Jude up, and practically dragged him inside the room, using his foot to kick the door shut. “Come on, right into the bath.” He said, using the light coming from the balcony doors to navigate his way into the bathroom. “Okay…” Eden lowered Jude onto the closed toilet seat, knowing that would prop him up until he could get the lights on. “Right…”

Eden put the bathroom light on, Jude was leaning back – his face and skin still redder than usual. He collected the bath towel provided by the apartment, and found a clean pair of underwear for Jude to change into, he stacked them neatly, before pulling the shower head down from its holder. He had to navigate Jude into the bath first though; he ran his hands over his face.

“Okay Jude, lift your leg,” Eden told him, picking up one of Jude’s legs and putting it over the edge of the bath, then repeating the action with the other one. “I’m going to help you slide in, okay?” Jude was at a kind of strange angle, with his legs in the bath, but it allowed Eden to hook him under the armpits and slide him in. He landed a little harder than intended, but Eden wasn’t complaining. “Okay…” Eden let out a few deep breaths, thankful that he’d managed so far. “Right…” Eden made to turn the shower on, but just before he turned the control, he heard a noise. Turning back to Jude in a flash, Eden saw his chest jerk suddenly.

“Hmmmmrkk! Hmmmm! Bllllahhhhuuuurrrgggllllllee!” Jude vomited so forcefully that it landed on his legs, coating all down his front. “Brrrruuuuaaarrrp!” He let out an empty belch as he rested his head back.

“Oh God Jude…” Eden pushed Jude’s sticky fringe away from his forehead, still feeling the burning heat. “Well, at least you held it in until I’d put you down.” Eden chuckled, moving to turn the water on.

Ensuring it was a cool, but not freezing stream of water, Eden began to wash Jude down. Initially, he was concerned with getting the puke off Jude, but once he was clean, he was using the water to bring down his temperature, even directing the water over Jude’s head and allowing it to soak into his hair. He continued moving the shower head up and down Jude’s body, making particularly sure that he covered all of Jude’s torso and his arms. He went up and down, over and over, until Jude was beginning to shiver where he was laying in the bath.

His eyes were still closed, and goosebumps were forming on his chest and forearms. He turned off the water, replacing the shower head back into its holder on the wall.

“We need to get you out now,” Eden told him, trying to grip Jude’s forearms, which was more difficult as he was slippery from the water. “Please, try hold on to me.” He begged.

He wasn’t quite sure how he managed to get Jude out and back on to the lid of the toilet, but once he was there he wrapped the large bath towel around Jude. He rubbed his hand up and down the towel, drying Jude off; Jude’s head had flopped forwards and he seemed to be nearly asleep.

“Bed – that’s what you need,” Eden instructed, trying to pull Jude up and struggling to get him to the bed.

Jude hummed a little as he flopped onto the bed, still enrobed by the towel. His cheeks had lost some of their ruddy flush, but he was still warmer than he should be. Eden bundled himself to their sink and poured some cold water into a glass, collecting the cleanest looking teaspoon and carried it over to the edge of the bed.

Kneeling down, he dipped the spoon in the water and then pressed it to Jude’s lips – which parted instinctively to allow the tiny dribble of water to enter his mouth.

“Good, that’s good,” Eden muttered, “just little bits of water – I’ll keep giving you little bits of water until you’re feeling better.” He spooned another amount of water into Jude’s mouth and saw him swallow. “Well done Jude.” Eden settled himself further, his legs already beginning to cramp up from kneeling down.

Jude let out a breath that sounded quite relaxed, and Eden could swear that he heard Jude try to say “thanks”. He smiled as he watched Jude’s chest rising and falling slowly.

It looked like it was going to be a long night.

[sleekervae]

Young God [0.1]

Masterlist

July 2011

Her alarm didn't wake her up, but the carnivorous notions of the oncoming day did. Taylor's first show was today. Her first show in America, to be precise. The very idea that she had touched down and was in California in the first place was enough to send goosebumps rippling down her arms and her palms break out into sweats. And Taylor used the phrase 'carnivorous' in the sense that if she didn't put on a good show, she'd be eaten alive by the crowds and never be able to break out across the pond.

Steadily now, Taylor threw the blanket off her head and ran her fingers through the knots and tangles in her blue hair. Behind her was the soft down pillow, and she frowned when she saw the faint stains of black makeup in the linen. Oh, fuck me, she thought to herself. She wiped the crusties from her eyes, and as her vision came into focus she found various liquor bottles scattered across the coffee table. In a bedroom? Oh, that's right; she slept in the living room, on the pullout sofa to be specific. That was why her head was pounding... and why her clothes smelled like the inside of a dirty pub.

Taylor stood on shaky legs, frowning when she saw she was only dressed in an oversized sleep shirt and her panties. Fuck, where were her clothes, now? Taylor held her head as she wandered through the flat, cursing to herself when she suddenly stubbed her toe on the corner of the base boards.

"Oh! -- Motherfuck..."

In the kitchen she found a few more glasses randomly distributed across the countertop, some empty, others smudged with various shades of lipsticks and dirty finger prints. Taylor picked up one, in the glass a liquid that consisted of a ruby red pigment. She didn't care much for what it was, she'd brush her teeth later on. Taylor knocked back the leftover drink, vodka burning down her throat while the sour tinge of the cranberry juice it was mixed with made her lips pucker. Afterwards she went to the sink and filled the glass with cold water, then downed that as well in a single gulp.

Her weary legs took Taylor to the bathroom. The door was closed, and Taylor grumbled when she found it was locked. Inside, she could hear the echo of the shower beating against cold tile. Fucking shame, she needed to take a piss and she smelled like a mini fridge after New Years.

"I fuckin' -- good Lord, Worsnop," she raised her fist and knocked briskly against the door, knowing fully well what a whore Danny was when it came to his showers, "Danny! Hurry up! I need a whizz!" she called through her banging.

"Wait two minutes, Tay!" his usual soft, Yorkshire accent was gravely and gruff. Taylor then pictured Danny as some sort of hybrid singing werewolf because of it.

"No! Either get out or I swear to God -- I'll squat over your ferns!" she shouted. At that, the beating of water quickly ceased, and Taylor stood back with a sly smirk on her face as she heard the bathroom door unlock. It opened and out came a sopping wet Danny with water dribbling down his beard and a towel wrapped firmly around his waist. He shivered as he stepped aside for Taylor, chuckling to himself.

"You're a right prick when you're hungover, Taylor," he said, "The Geordies would be so ashamed of ya!"

"Oh yeah," Taylor sighed, "Look how broken up I am about the fucking Geordies. And clean up that mess out there; you want the people to think we're slobs?" and with that, she slammed the door in his face. Immediately, she was engulfed in the pleasant scent of men's shampoo.

Danny knocked on the door then, "Oi! Why do I gotta' clean it up? You helped make the mess!" he called.

"Yeah! But it's your flat!" Taylor called back, "And I'm your guest,"

"They don't say flats here, Tay," Danny chuckled. Taylor rolled her eyes as she heard his footsteps swish away.

"Whatever," locking the door behind her, Taylor turned to face the mirror and examined the ugly reflection of frizzy blue hair, dark circles and blackened eyelids -- a true indication that she was indeed hungover and on the cusp of a breakdown.

Well she was young, ripe at twenty years of age, and either of those fit well.

She pulled a gag face and tended to her business with the toilet. Afterwards, she ran the cold water from the alabaster sink and proceeded to splash cold water onto her face several times over, scrubbing at her skin with a wash cloth to get rid of the old makeup. Unfortunately, her taste in makeup was good quality, because all the makeup did was slide and stick to her skin.

I don't have the patience today...

Taylor squirted a bare-minimum amount of toothpaste onto her toothbrush and popped it into her mouth, shuddering when she heard a knocking at the door.

"How long ya' gonna' be?" Danny asked, "Not that I'm trying to rush you," Again, Taylor rolled her eyes and unlocked the door, to which Danny took as an invitation to enter. He couldn't help but laugh when he saw the makeup streaked over Taylor's face.

"Not funny, you wanker," she spit through the blue foam.

"I'm not laughing at you, Taylor; I'm only laughing with you," he replied simply.

"I heard that bullshit before," she spat out the fluff and started again, "What time do we gotta' be at the park?"

Danny reached past her face, opening the medicine cabinet to grab his razor and shaving cream, "Somewhere around ten-ish," he replied, "We got some time to kick around, grab a coffee. How ya' feeling?"

"Like I crawled out of a garbage can," she said.

Danny chuckled again, "Besides the hangover, love,"

Taylor spat out the rest of her toothpaste and wiped her mouth with her wrist, turning to Danny with sunken eyes, "Honestly -- I wanna' go home,"

He squirted a bare amount of shaving lotion into his hand and proceeded to smear over and around his soggy beard, "No. Why?" Danny asked.

"Because," Taylor replied, "I ain't gonna' fit in, Dan. I know I won't,"

Danny scoffed back as he switched on his razor, "Taylor, none of us fit in. That's why we go to Warped Tour -- for the weirdos," he said, "And you're the perfect weird addition to our fucked up little family,"

Taylor glowered back at him, "That was a backhanded-compliment, Dan," she stated.

"I'm sorry, Tay. But I can't be as charming when I'm hungover," he said. Taylor threw down her toothbrush and brushed passed Danny, charging into the flat to look for her bag. It wasn't in the living room and it wasn't in the bedroom, where the fuck did he put it?

"It's not just the tour, though," she said, "It's America," she threw her hands up as though to make a dramatic point.

Danny shuffled along in his large bath towel, a quarter shaven and visually following her manic movements as she scoured through his flat, "While I admit it may not be the greatest country in the world, it ain't fucking bad," he said, "They're age restrictions are a little whack,"

"You're telling me. Can't drink until you're twenty-one, fucking bollocks," Taylor huffed as she tried not to trip over the remaining bottles on the floor, "I'm just a little worked up over performing to an American crowd. I don't know how they're gonna' react to me, is all," she said.

"Babe, come on," Danny awed at her, "You was a smash in England, you'll be a right smash in America, too,"

"You're just saying that 'cause I'm your friend and you feel obligated to make me feel better," she replied, then suddenly growling out loud, "Where is my fucking stuff!?"

"In my bedroom," Danny replied oh-so-matter-of-factly. Taylor glowered at him.

"Why is it there?"

"I told you it was there, you said you'd unpack it later on,"

"That was before you got me drunk,"

"We was celebrating!" he cried, "You're big American debut!"

"American debut my skinny arse!" she charged into his bedroom without another word. Danny meanwhile snickered to himself as he shuffled to his fridge, he was suddenly feeling a tad peckish.

"Oi! Finish shaving before you go snacking!" Taylor called suddenly, "You'll look like a rabid dog," Danny's only response was a dramatic, long-winded dog howl.

Andy lit his first cigarette of the morning and leaned against the cold wall of his bus, unpleased at the rising heat that coated his pale skin in a light sheen of sweat. The blue sky still had wisps of the previous evening's indigo and the sun was burning down more intensely than he'd prepared for, which left him feeling rather stifled and uncomfortable, a stark contrast to the cool, air-conditioned environment of the bus he'd been in moments before. It was California days such as this that made him consider cutting back his long hair.

There was more time than usual to kill before the show today and Andy had hoped that everyone would partake in a drink or two whilst they threw around some new ideas, but the boys had instead wandering off for a pre-show meal before their own soundcheck. Left to his own devices, it hadn't take long until he had resorted to a shot of whisky in his coffee, then, feeling miserable, full of self-pity and not at all in the mood to write, he had wandered outside for a smoke.

He puffed his hair from his face feeling it already begin to stick to his forehead. Maybe it was time for a trim. He wondered what he'd look like if he buzzed it all off or changed his style completely. As he smoked, he considered the setlist they'd compiled, he checked his phone and scanned through his messages, he yawned several times and contemplated going back to his bunk, then he took a final drag deep into his lungs, watched it escape through his lips and disappear into thin strands of wispiness above his head before crushing the cigarette with the heel of his boot.

His boredom had gotten the best of him to the point that he decided to wander around the park to kill some time. With it being still early, vendors were still popping and setting up their tents and buses were slowly rolling into the parkade. He felt the eyes of some onlookers, either taking notice for his metal aesthetic or they recognized his long dreads and skinny physique from the posters and t-shirts that were being laid out for fans to purchase later on. Andy grinned suddenly when the familiar twang of rippling guitars ghosted through his ears and he headed towards the MainStage.

A few hours later Taylor stood to the side of the stage, feeling somewhat refreshed, though her head still clung to the smallest trace of a headache just to make her miserable. As if anything could be worse, she was still jet lagged and wanted to go back to bed. She tried to sleep it off in the van, but her tour manager, Robin, barely gave her a moments rest as she went through Taylor's schedule for the next week. Taylor was extremely grateful to have Robin as her manager -- she was the perfect composition of organized and kick-ass. But bloody hell, she was fucking persistent when it came to Taylor's scheduling. Perhaps that was why she had the job in the first place?

Danny was a fantastic showman, he held this charisma that just commanded everybody in the audience -- well, soundcheck -- to pay attention to him and his band: Asking Alexandria. Or perhaps everybody was just staring at that ridiculous fedora he had on today? When they got to soundcheck, Ben refused to let up on how ancient that hat made Danny look, as though he stepped out of a scene from The Great Gatsby.

"You said you'd love me for better or worse, Ben!" Danny cried dramatically.

"I didn't say I'd love that fucking hate, mate," Ben chided back.

Taylor loved watching the band perform, though today she found she couldn't get into their energy as much. She was too on edge, perhaps from the three cups of coffee she'd consumed before she left the flat -- sorry, apartment. She was too nervous for her own gig. Taylor looked over her shoulder at the empty field, a field which would soon be filled with cheering -- or jeering -- audiences. Taylor was new meat, one of the starting-acts, and that was daunting enough to make her stomach turn; and not just from the hangover.

She could still remember her first show back home in Gateshead; many of her friends were there, and they invited friends of friends and so on. Many loved her, others booed at her. Taylor could still hear the ridicule of one audience member who called her Joan Jett wannabe. That just made her want to work harder, prove to them that she was fantastic on her own. She wasn't trying to be the next Joan, or the next Debbie Harry, or Stevie Nicks. Taylor wanted to be the first Taylor Wray.

"This next one I'd like to dedicate to our good friend, Taylor Wray," Danny spoke into the microphone, eliciting little reaction from the stagehands and roadies who watched them. Taylor meanwhile grinned and gave Danny a little wave.

"This one's called 'I Used to Have a Best Friend, But He Gave Me An STD'," and with that, Taylor's smile vanished and she flipped her middle finger at him.

"Fuck you, Danny!" she shouted.

"Right back at ya', love!" Danny called back. With that, the band tore into the song and started jamming out.

Taylor rolled her eyes and instead pushed herself up to sit on the guard rail, tapping the heel of her leather boot in time to James' drum set. She jumped suddenly when she felt a buzz reside within the back pocket of her jeans. Her phone lit up with a text from Maxeen, the bassist of her touring band. She was just wondering what time soundcheck was.

The MainStage was within Andy's line of sight and he wandered through the grass and weeds to watch Asking's set. Watch -- and maybe heckle a bit. From the stage, Ben caught sight of his long-haired mate crossing the threshold, and he stopped mid-strum to wave him down. Lifting his head as he turned back to face his friend, Andy crosses the field, eager to watch his friends but stopped dead in his tracks when his brain caught up with his vision and he realized he wasn't the only spectator in the park.

Sat on the guardrail was a young woman, swinging her legs back and forth as her feet could just touch the second bar in her heeled ankle boots. Her vibrant, teal blue hair immediately caught Andy's attention. When she noticed Ben waving, she shifted to turn and spotted Andy coming her way. When Andy's gaze caught hers, he nearly lost his composure.

He knew it could have only lasted for seconds, that there was no way in which the consistency of time could have altered for him and his own sudden and ridiculous longing, but he could have sworn then, just for a moment, as he laid eyes on her for the first time, that everything fell deadly still around him and begged him to notice her.

And notice her he did.

Her eyes were big and round, lined in black eyeliner and glittered with green, shimmery eyeshadow that brought a warmth to her brown irises. Her jeans were ripped in the knees and the tattoos on her bare arms were on display in the oversized Abbey Road muscle tee she wore. Her thick teal curls flowed in the wind as she ran her free hand back through her locks and he noted the effort it took to detangle her fingers from the strands.

There was an abundant softness about her that made him sigh out loud, a gentle spunk that made him feel as if he'd damage her just from the intensity of his stare but she still gave off an ember of effervescent vibrance when she turned the corners of her lips up at him, his heart thudding against his ribcage just from the bravery in the way she held his gaze.

As if she could feel the way in which he thirstily drank her in, Taylor slowly looked him up and down, catching Andy off guard. He blinked once or twice, just to have something to do besides marvel at her and bit the inside of his cheek to confirm he wasn't dreaming, but now certain that she was looking at him, that her friendly smile was for him -- Andy just about melted.

[frywen-bumbles]

The Way to a Man’s Heart Goes Through His... Cat? Ch4

AO3

"Why do you seem so gloomy, I thought your thesis was going well?" Essi asks him.

"It's about cat daddy, isn't it?" Pricilla asks and drowns her second glass of wine.

"No! No, of course not. Roach got the zoomies at four am and I couldn't fall asleep afterwards." Jaskier lies. Well, technically it isn't a lie. Roach did, in fact, get zoomies in the middle of the night but his gloominess has nothing to do with being tired.

"Trouble in paradise then?" Pricilla winks at him.

"There is no paradise!" Jaskier cries out and throws his hands in the air in frustration. Friends, he laments. Can't live with them and can't live without them.

"So it is about cat daddy," Essi concludes and pats his hand. "I'm sorry for teasing you. Please tell us what is it?"

"I... I don't know?" It's definitely the alcohol talking, Jaskier decides as he sinks further into the couch he has spent countless of nights sleeping in. No way he would talk about his stupid crush sober. "I keep thinking about him and dreaming about him and I haven't even talked to him in person!"

"I'm sure you're not the only person who has managed to develop a massive crush on someone over texts." Pricilla tries to comfort him but the huge grin on her face diminishes the effect.

"I do not have a crush," Jaskier says, like the liar he is.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire!" Essi sings and laughs.

"What are you, five?" Jaskier scoffs.

"Yes, that's exactly how old I am."

"You're impossible. Both of you!" Jaskier points at his best friends in mock offence, trying not to laugh.

"And yet, you still love us!" Pricilla winks at him. Jaskier rolls his eyes.

"I will love you if you pour me another glass of that wine and stop talking." Jaskier waves his empty glass at Pricilla, who fills it with all the possible flourish of an experienced bartender.

"You know she won't shut up," Essi says and waves her glass at Pricilla as well. "Although, I might shut up if you play me something?" she gives him a sweet smile and he groans, throwing his head back.

"Please, Essi... You know I haven't had time to practice in forever..."

"So this is an as good time as any to pick up your guitar again," Pricilla says and hops up from her chair, only slightly wobbly on her feet. "Oh, shit, I think all of the bubbles went straight into my head as soon as I stood up!" she giggles and disappears into a walk-in closet.

"Are you sure that closet doesn't lead straight into Narnia?" Jaskier grumbles without any heat as he hears Pricilla dig around. He's well aware the closet is as full as it is because it's mostly filled with his stuff.

"Oh, imagine all of the storage we had if it did..." Essi sighs wistfully and drains the rest of her glass. "Oh!" she exclaims and sits up straight, "Do you think sorcerers have portals in their closets? Can you imagine how neat that would be?!"

"Oooh, that's why the bastards can afford to live in such fancy places, they can have an apartment the size of a broom closet and store all of their stuff elsewhere!" Priscilla says as she emerges from the closet carrying a slightly battered guitar case.

Jaskier takes the guitar out and tunes it carefully, taking a sip of wine every now and then.

Pricilla and Essi make themselves busy getting more snacks and wine out of their kitchen while waiting for him but he hardly notices their hushed whispers and giggles. The guitar feels so familiar in his hands as he runs his fingers along the varnished wood.

 "When you get older, plainer, saner Will you remember all the danger We came from? Burning like embers, falling, tender Longing for the days of no surrender Years ago And will you know

 So smoke 'em if you got 'em Cause it's going down All I ever wanted was you I'll never get to heaven Cause I don't know how

 Let's raise a glass Or two To all the things I've lost on you Ho, ooh Tell me are they lost on you? Ooh, oh..."

It's only 8 PM, Jaskier laments as he heads back home, definitely too much cheap bubbly wine in his system.

But it was good, spending some time with his friends. To have a chance to talk about everything and just relax without any pressure to write or be productive.

Jaskier opens the door only to find Roach right behind it, screaming at him as soon as she gets a sight of him. Jaskier barely manages to step inside before Roach is running to the kitchen, screaming all the while expecting him to follow.

"I'm not that fast, Roach!" Jaskier shouts after the cat, struggling to get his shoes off when everything in his vision seems to wave quite a bit, his steps still unsteady despite the walk back.

Roach runs back to him and screams, vibrating her tail impatiently and runs back towards the kitchen, stopping to wait for him in the doorway.  

"I'm coming, Roach, you'll get your dinner, fuck..." Jaskier stumbles on his shoes and gets an unimpressed look from Roach, "it's not even that late, I never give you dinner this ea- fuck!" He steps on a cat toy and has to take support from the wall.

Roach screams at him again and runs to the kitchen.

"You're going to kill me, you know? Leaving your toys lying around like that..." Jaskier grumbles but follows the cat to the kitchen and digs food for her.

Roach meows and thrills and vibrates her tail stretches against his leg, digging her nails through his jeans into his thigh.

"Ow, ow, ow! Roach! I promise you will not starve to death in thirty seconds, ow!"

Roach doesn't spare him another glance as soon as the food is in front of her.

Nor does she after she has eaten despite her normal insistence of following him everywhere.

One additional drink (one he's sure to regret come morning) Roach is still ignoring him, sitting on the kitchen window with her back on him when usually she sits at the backrest of the sofa or on the cat tree staring at him. Or she sits looking at the door, still visible from the living room, occasionally meowing pitifully.

But today she bristles and runs away from him as soon as he tries to approach, making offended mews.

Jaskier endures being ignored. For an hour (and a few more drinks).

"Roach is angry with me!" Jaskier wails at the phone, "She doesn't even acknowl... ackl... pay attention to me! Whatever shall I do? She's been ignoring me since I got home, I can't take this, I have failed! I'm a hor- horbible... horrible cat sitter. She will never forgive me... it wasn't even her dinner time yet, you know? And still, I'm slighted so terribly! This is a tragedy!"

"Hmm," a deep rumble from the other end of the line makes Jaskier's thoughts come to a screeching halt and he's quite certain he squeaks in shock. "Roach will forgive you in a couple of days."

"Okay, yeah, that's... that's good?" Jaskier says feeling suddenly much more sober than the moment before.

"Just don't do it again tomorrow and you'll be fine," the deep voice rumbles again.

Jaskier is sure he will die.

Of embarrassment or something else, he's not sure. But he. will. die.

"I won't, I promise," Jaskier agrees, probably too fast but he doesn't care. Anything to make the gorgeous man on the other end of the phone to keep talking to him.

"Hmm... she'll sulk in somewhere for tonight. Don't worry about it, she'll be back to pester you first thing in the morning."

Jaskier laughs despite himself. Or maybe it's the alcohol.

"She's not pestering me, she's just very enthusiastic about getting her food on time."

"That she is." The man falls silent for a moment too long for Jaskier to itch to start to babble some nonsense before he continues, "I hope she hasn't caused too much trouble for you. Or tried to bring dead birds inside to eat."

"What? No! Also eww thank the gods not." Jaskier cringes at the mental image of dead birds inside the house.

"That's good. She eats most of them in the yard."

"Okay, I did not need to know that, the cat sleeps in the same bed with me and now you're telling me she eats birds outside? Double eww."

The man has the audacity to laugh. Laugh!

But Jaskier isn't going to complain, he has never heard something as delightful as the deep laugh from the other end of the line.

He wants to hear it again.

And again.

"Um... any other useful tips to please the great beast?"

"Hmm... she likes to be scratched under the chin and behind the ears. But don't touch the base of her tail or she will bite you."

"Duly noted."

"Hmm... Don't feed her too many treats, you'll make her fuzzy."

"I would never- Fiona rattled on me, didn't she?" Jaskier sighs.

The line turns quiet.

"H-hello?" Jaskier looks at his phone but the line hasn't disconnected.

"...You talked with Fiona?"

"She, uh, she texted me first? I've been helping her with her homework?" Jaskier babbles before his brain supplies him with the most important information, "Wait! She told me you gave her permission! Melitele's sake I would have never talked to her if I knew she was doing it behind your back I promise I have no ill intentions I've just helped her with school stuff I swear!"

"Hmm..." a grunt is the only sound Jaskier hears from the other end of the line. He holds his breath. If all comes to worst, he'll be out of work and out of the house tomorrow.

"I'll talk to her. Thank you for helping her with her school, I'm... none of us is very good with that stuff. I guess she needed more help than I realised."

"Oh!" Jaskier tries to contain his surprise but he's not very successful, "No, you shouldn't thank me! Fiona has been nothing but the best student, she's very bright!"

"She is." There is another break at the end of the line and Jaskier is ready to lose his shit. "I'll talk to her about lying. You should sleep the alcohol off."

"I'm not drunk!" Jaskier exclaims offended and earns a laugh from cat dad.

"You're wasted, I can hear it even on phone. Go to sleep, Julian."

"Um... right. I'll... I'll go to sleep, and and try not to get smothered to death by an angry cat," he stammers embarrassed. Hearing his name in that low gravel shouldn't make his heart feel like it'll burst out of his chest. "G-good night, Geralt."

"Good night, Julian."

He will die. He will surely die, of embarrassment or happiness or Roach deciding it's finally time to sleep on his face the whole night, he doesn't know. But he will surely die.

[poor-baby-bangtan]

always, it’s you

By the third time Namjoon smothered a quiet belch into his sleeve, Yoongi was beyond ready to bombard him with questions. They had been lightly revising some lyrics together, showing each other a line here and there, talking and giving feedback. But the younger had been seemingly distant, shifting too-often in his seat and rubbing absentmindedly at his stomach. He was usually the more vocal of the two during these sessions, but now he was letting Yoongi fill most of the silence, only really giving responses when he felt it was due. Yoongi wasn't stupid. He had lived with Namjoon for over a third of his life and knew him better than he knew himself. He had noticed the difference almost immediately but chose not to say anything about it. He wanted to keep his dongsaeng's pride intact if at all possible - there was a very good chance that he had overeaten while working or had drunk too much coffee or something else he tended to do at an embarrassing rate but refused to admit to. But something else was different this time. Namjoon's stomach was always insanely vocal when he overate or consumed an entire pot of coffee on his own. Now, though, Yoongi could only hear occasional slow glugs that had the younger grimacing and rubbing at his stomach for a few seconds. Maybe he knew his dongsaeng a little too well. After a good twenty minutes, though, Yoongi was fed up with his stubborn silence. Namjoon's pride was going to have to suck it up. "Namjoon-ah," he deadpanned, breaking the silence between them and halting the sounds of the younger's pen tapping on a blank sheet of paper. Yoongi looked over at him, arching an eyebrow. "Are you okay?" Said man looked up from his desk, meeting his hyung's eyes with his own dazed ones. "Of course," he smiled tightly, obviously fidgeting underneath the sudden spotlight. Namjoon had always been a terrible liar. "Kim Namjoon," Yoongi scolded, watching the young rapper's first line of defenses crumble at the stern sound of his name. "I have lived with you for nearly nine years, I know when something's wrong with you. So sue me if I'm wrong, but your stomach's obviously giving you some issues. You keep rubbing it like it's personally offended you. So either you tell me what's wrong or I'll call Seokjin and have him interrogate you." Namjoon was slumped down in his seat by the end of it, head down in defeat and mild embarrassment. Yoongi thought it was kind of adorable, not that he would ever admit it. "I'm sorry, hyung," he sighed. "I should have told you earlier. I just didn't want to interrupt our work." "You know that I care about your health more than I do an hour's worth of work, right? Our schedule's light today, anyways, so it's not something you should be worrying about, Joon." Yoongi could feel his heart melt a bit when a light blush appeared on his dongsaeng's cheeks. "So what's wrong?" "My stomach," Namjoon admitted, rubbing at his middle. "It's been off since this morning but I thought it was because I had just woken up or something. I don't know." His stomach gurgled loudly and the younger froze, grimacing. "It's really not happy, whatever it is." "Did you eat anything weird?" Yoongi questioned, internally wincing in sympathy. Namjoon shook his head slowly. "I didn't yesterday and I haven't eaten anything today." Frowning, the older man reached over and felt his dongsaeng's forehead with his palm, frowning even deeper when he felt a little heat there. It wasn't a lot at all, but it was still enough for Yoongi. He took his hand back and stood from his seat, gathering up his coat. "We're going home." "What?" Namjoon sputtered. "It's really not bad, hyung, I don't need to leave." "You've got a fever, Joon. We don't have anything else today and I'm basically finished here anyway." The younger sighed and mumbled an affirmative, standing and shrugging on his own coat. He must have been feeling worse than Yoongi had first thought because of just how quickly he agreed to leave the studio. So he put an arm around Namjoon's shoulders and let him out the door, down the winding hallways, and out into the parking lot. He was glad they finally had their own cars and didn't have to use the same van to travel everywhere, meaning they could each leave when they needed to. The drive to the dorm was short, thankfully. Still, Yoongi went as slow on the turns and avoided bumps at all possible, noticing the way Namjoon continued to burp into his sleeve and how his throat worked around thick swallows. Thankfully, they made it back home without incident. The dorm was unnaturally quiet, suggesting that all the members were out working or doing their own thing. He could feel Namjoon's relief at that - he hated tons of attention at once because of how much it overwhelmed him. Once Yoongi had hung his bag on the doorside rack, he ushered Namjoon to bed. "Bed - right now, stop arguing. You need to rest, okay? I'll make you some tea. Go lie down." Although not very happy about it, Namjoon trudged down the hall and into his room, shutting the door softly behind him. Shaking his head fondly, Yoongi dug around in the cabinets and started a kettle, fishing out the peppermint lavender tea that Joon liked. The water was just starting to boil when he heard the door to the bedroom click open, followed by faint footsteps. Another door clicked open and shut; the hallway was silent afterward. "Joon-ah?" he called, turning away from the stove. "I told you to stay in bed." He was met with silence. "Are you okay?" Yoongi stuck his head over and looked down the hallway. Finally, he had gotten a response, although not the one he had expected. A quiet retch sounded from behind the bathroom door, followed by a series of choking coughs and a splash sound. Yoongi sighed, striding quickly over to the bathroom and going in without knocking. Namjoon was standing crouched over the toilet, hand against the wall as he heaved. Immediately, Yoongi was by his side, rubbing a hand in wide circles on his dongsaeng's back. He felt the muscles on the younger's back ripple as he vomited again. It was mostly stomach acid, proof that he hadn't eaten since the previous day. Another heave had him jutting forward, head nearly inside the toilet, as his stomach continued to eject its contents. Yoongi could feel him shaking against his hand from the force of it. He was really sick, wasn't he? Namjoon was barely rewarded with a full inhale before he was choking on vomit once more, dropping to his knees when his legs became too weak to bear his weight. Yoongi went down with him, brushing his hair out of the way and murmuring short reassurances in his ear. Namjoon found himself clutching Yoongi's sleeve as he was bowing over again, this time dry heaving. Knowing he hadn't eaten enough to have anything left in his stomach, he swallowed back the dry heaves to the best of his ability, trying to get a grip on his rolling stomach. After a few minutes and a few more dry heaves, he leaned back on his hyung with a breathy belch, done for the time being. His stomach didn't feel any better, still cramping and bubbling with nausea underneath his hand. Yoongi ran a steady hand repeatedly through his sweaty fringe. Namjoon was a goner underneath his gentle touch, nearly melting underneath his fingers despite his pain and discomfort. "Are you done, Joonie?" he questioned softly, still continuing with his ministrations. Namjoon nodded, too exhausted and nauseous to say anything else. "Let's clean up and get back to bed." He let his hyung help him up and lead him to the sink, washing his mouth out and wiping up stray flecks of vomit and tears of exertion from his face. Yoongi supported his weight as they trudged back to the bedroom and sat him on the edge of the bed. "Stay there, let me get you some different clothes." It was then that Namjoon realized he was still wearing a semi-formal shirt and jeans, which were now drenched in sweat. Shakily, he fumbled out of his jacket, immediately shivering at the wave of cool air that hit him. Yoongi fumbled through his drawers quickly, passing him a large t-shirt and sweatpants and helping him out of his clothes in silence. Once he was successfully changed, the older man pressed him gently back onto the bed, motioning for him to lie down. "Stay here," he murmured, brushing a final hand through his hair and looking into his droopy eyes fondly. Namjoon nodded into his pillow, rolling on his side and hugging his stomach with both arms. The cramps and nausea were relentless, causing him to puff air heavily through his nose. Yoongi returned a few minutes later with an armful of supplies, shutting the door softly and turning off the lights, leaving the bedside lamp to be the only illuminator of the room. Namjoon blinked at him blearily, already half-asleep despite it only being around four in the afternoon. Carefully, his hyung arranged the items he had brought: a mug of tea, a water bottle, a bottle of pills, a washcloth, and a small trash can that he placed at the side of the bed. "Thank you, hyung," he mumbled, stomach not to keen on letting him say anything more. Yoongi didn't say anything in response, simply cracking open the pills and handing three of them to his dongsaeng, which he took dry. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, the elder rapper passed the mug of hot tea over to Namjoon. He shook his head, arms wrapping further around his abdomen; he was sure it would only come back up later. "Just a little bit, Joon. You need something else in your system to take the meds with or it'll make you feel worse," Yoongi coaxed, tilting his head to look the younger in the eyes. Namjoon sighed. He knew his hyung was right - that and the fact that there was no way getting out of it, not with Yoongi. With the maknae line, sure, but not with his second eldest hyung. So he sat up, wincing at how the movement made his stomach turn. Yoongi guided the mug to his lips, aiding his shaky hands as Namjoon sipped at the beverage slowly. After a few swallows, he pushed it away, a look of disgust on his face. His hyung put the mug back on the bedside table, helping the younger settle back into the bed. "Good job, Joonie. You can go to sleep now." He stayed for a few seconds, watching as his dongsaeng began to drift off, arms tightly around his stomach. Just as he was about to leave, something tugged at his shirt. Namjoon looked up at him, eyes already blurred from the fever, hair tousled, face pale, and eyebrows drawn together in pain. Yoongi again underestimated how bad he must have felt. It was always hard to tell with Namjoon. He wasn't vocal like the maknaes or overly exhausted like the hyung line when he was sick. He only had his subtle signs to show, otherwise there would have been no indicator. The younger always pushed through his work, put on a brave face, and hid illness very well. But even when he did feel bad, he was almost always too shy to ask for comfort. His hand tugging at Yoongi's shirt was a surprise, an adorable one at that. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to that? So he crawled into the other side of the bed, pulling the covers up over the both of them. Namjoon huddled up closer and Yoongi could feel the heat on him. Dismissing it, he pulled his dongsaeng a little closer and draped an arm around his waist, knowing he wanted physical contact but was too embarrassed to ask for it. Namjoon's face was pushed up against Yoongi's collarbone and the older rapper could feel his uneven and labored breathing, another indicator as to how bad he felt. After several minutes, Namjoon couldn't keep still. He felt so uncomfortable, so sick, and nothing was helping. It was too hot and too cold all at once and the only comfort he had was his hyung's fingers drifting through his hair and the gentle shushing sounds in his ear. Yoongi had caught on to his distress immediately, knowing what Namjoon wanted before the other even knew himself. He pulled up the hem of the younger's shirt, fingers reaching for the bloat of its stomach. "Can I?" he asked, wanting to make sure Namjoon wasn't too nauseous to handle pressure on his stomach. Namjoon nodded slightly, settling into a better position for a belly rub. Yoongi started gently, kneading his fingers against the taught skin. The younger squirmed underneath his touch, but in a good and pleasurable way. His hyung could feel Namjoon's stomach churning and moving underneath his hand, still clearly very upset. So Yoongi continued, trying to get the pain to ease up in order for his dongsaeng to sleep through it. After several more minutes, Namjoon went still and his breathing evened out, snoring softly through his nose. Yoongi smiled fondly and ran a hand through his messy hair, watching the younger sleep. Namjoon was really too adorable for his own good. xxx Thank you for reading! Have a lovely day

[dreamchester67]

Alone- Chapter 1

Characters: Dean Winchester (mentioned), Sam Winchester, Reader, Castiel (mentioned), Jack Kline (mentioned)

Relationship: (past) Dean x reader, (future) Sam x reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of a death, sexual themes (not into much detail in this part), alcohol abuse

Summary: The reader and Sam both have just lost the most important person in both of their lives: Dean. Now that they are alone in the bunker together, what may come about between them? How will the rest of Team Free Will react, and what happens if Dean once again comes back unexpectedly? Who will the reader choose?

Authors Note: Hey y’all! This one took me a bit longer to write than originally anticipated. I plan on having 2 or 3 total parts to this, so it’ll be a very mini series. I hope y'all enjoy it :) Feedback is always appreciated! This is unbeta’d, so any and all mistakes are on me. xoxo

“You don’t have to be alone, you know.”

The amount of times that you had heard that sentence through your life was almost uncanny. You heard it when your mother passed, then again when your father passed, then again when Bobby passed. You didn’t want to hear it anymore, especially now. You had just lost Dean on a messy wendigo hunt, and Sam wouldn’t get off of your case about venting your emotions. Yanno, something ‘healthy people’ do.

   “Y/n, are you even listening to me?” Looking back over at Sam, you rub your bloodshot eyes and mutter a sorry. Why your eyes burned so much, you were unsure. Whether it was from crying, the smoke from the pyre, or the lack of sleep, it really didn’t matter. What mattered was the date you had with a bottle of Jack for the rest of the night back in your room. Realizing that Sam had been talking the entire time, you tune back in right as he says, “Dean wouldn’t want this for you.” Feeling your anger boil over, you stand up and face the younger Winchester with fire in your veins.

    “Well Dean isn’t here anymore, is he?!”

    Pausing at your words, Sam hangs his head in shame. “Y/n, I didn’t mean it like that. I just-” as Sam takes in a deep breath, you realize the state of mind he has to be in at the moment; bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair, bloodied clothing, and alcohol laced breath all served to the point that you were just coming to understand: the man just lost his older brother. The man who raised him, who practically never left his side through the entirety of his life, was gone and not coming back.

    “Oh, Sammy.” Walking over to where Sam was sitting, you leaned over and pulled his head to your stomach, him wrapping his arms around your waist. Both of you stayed there for what seemed to be an eternity, cradling each other, mourning the loss of someone you both loved dearly.

    “He’s not coming back this time.”

    “I know, Sammy.”

    Pulling out of the embrace with a sigh, Sam looked up at you impossibly darker bloodshot eyes. With a defeated sigh, he stood and carried his bottle of whiskey into his room, closing the door behind him. This was going to be a long healing process.

    It had been an entire week since you had lost Dean, and it wasn’t getting any easier. Cas popped in from time to time to check on you two, but it was mostly a ghost town within the bunker. You and Sam were the  only ones there, and stayed within your respective rooms. You wanted today to be different, though. If you were going to mourn, then you wanted to do it together. Heading over to Sam’s room with a bottle of Jack, yo raped your knuckles on the door before poking your head in the room, smiling when Sam noticed you from his bed. “Got room for one more, big guy?”

    Three hours later, here you were getting shit faced drunk with Sam in the library of the bunker, sharing your favorite stories you two had of Dean.

    “Do you remember when Dean had the ghost sickness? The cat jumped out at him and he went nearly three feet in the air,” laughing at your past memories of your late boyfriend seemed to ease the pain for both of you, and this was the most you had smiled since even before Deans passing took place. Taking another swig of your drink, you took notice as to just how Sam’s hair fell around his neck, his now rosey cheeks, and the way he licked his lips after each drink…

    Stop it, Y/n. Just the alcohol talking. Shaking your head at yourself, you tuned back into the story Sam was telling about Dean as a child. Something about how he got his first concussion from riding on the handlebars of a kids bike. Truth was, you began to pay more attention to how Sam’s adams apple bobbed as he took drinks, and the way his lips wrapped around the glass each…   

    “Y/n?”

    Snapping out of your daze, you look at Sam and shake your head. “Sorry, alcohol must be getting to me. What were you saying?” His hazel eyes searched yours for a split second longer than what was necessary before he decided to continue. Clearing his throat, he began again. “I was just saying I was always jealous of your guys’s relationship,” he admitted. “Don’t get me wrong, I was happy for him, but there was always something that bothered me.”

    Taking in what he has said, you tried to wrap your head around the confession before formulating a reply. “Maybe because you’ve always wanted the domestic lifestyle,” you suggested, searching his face for any clues as to if he agreed with your thought process or not.

    “Maybe. But I always wanted that, the feeling only increased when you two started seeing each other.” Sam stared straight into his whiskey, which he was now swirling around. While the confession came across as genuine, it was clear that he felt guilty, as if Dean was still around to hear what he had just told you. Maybe it was Sam’s sudden bashfulness, or the alcohol, maybe even both, but something compelled you to stand and make your way to where Sam was sitting, taking a seat directly next to him. Looking the younger Winchester in the eye, you had to work up your nerve before making your next move.

    “Kiss me, Sam.”

    He didn’t waste a second; crashing his lips onto yours, he wrapped his strong arms around your waist and pulled you onto his lap, allowing you to straddle him and begin to explore his body. Running your hands over his shoulders, your fingers barely graced the tips of his hair. Lacing your fingers into the soft brown locks, you gave a slight tug which provoked a guttural sound that erupted from deep within his chest, and something awakened within both of you. Tilting your head back, Sam attacked your throat with nips and delicate kisses while you worked on unbuttoning his flannel. Just as you reached the bottom of the shirt, Sam grinded his hips up into yours, earning a gasp from you. Taking his chance, Sam kissed you deeply once again, trailing his fingertips to the button of your jeans, popping them open. Pulling back, he gave you a sideways smirk before standing, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carrying you back to his room.

    A night of nothing but moans, begs, and the sound of skin slapping skin later, you awoke with a groan. Rolling to your side, you quickly became very aware of the fact that you were very naked. Closing your eyes, you rubbed your temples and cursed yourself for drinking to the point that you did. There isn’t enough advil in the world to even put a dent in this hangover. A sudden, deep snore made your eyes shoot open, and you began to wonder what kind of trouble you got yourself into last night. Shifting to your left, you peeked through the side of your eye to get an idea of who you ended up spending the night with. Okay, long torso, broad shoulders, shaggy brown hair- oh god.

    Flashbacks of the night you two shared began to infiltrate your mind; tracing your fingers over his anti-possession tattoo, fingertips digging into your hips as you were lifted off the bed, the feel of his hair in between your fingers as he did unspeakable things to you with his tongue. Shivers ran down your spine as you relived the previous nights events, while a familiar heat pooled between your thighs.

    “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

    Smiling to yourself, you glanced over to the wide eyed Winchester propped up next to you. “G’mornin, handsome.”

    Taking his hand and trailing his fingertips up and down your arm, Sam cut straight to the chase that you were hoping to avoid for a little while longer, “Do you think we made a mistake?” A sudden intake of breath caused Sam’s eyes to meet yours, and for a split second you could see the guilt, disappointment, and fear hiding in the murky depths. Leading your hand towards his, now stagnant on your arm, you let out a sigh before answering.

    “I think we did what we both needed to have happen.” Nodding in response, Sam sat forward and began to gather his clothes, still strung about from last night. As he stood, you took the time to admire the way his muscles contorted just under the skin; dragging your eyes down his back, you eyed red scratch marks at the base of his spine, a blush creeping up from the base of your neck, spilling into your cheeks. Pulling the sheets around your body, you followed Sam’s lead and began to search for the clothes that were scattered around the room. Letting out a huff when you were unable to find your bra, you decided to go to your room for an entirely new change of clothes. If this morning was any indication as to how things would be, then today was going to be unbearably awkward.

    Heading down to the kitchen, the smell of waffles and bacon captivated your senses. Tip toeing into the doorway, you came across an array of food on the counter, Sam whistling while working with the food on the stove. Not wanting to interrupt, but also not wanting to get caught watching Sam, you moved up closer behind him, “something sure does smell good.” Looking over his shoulder and smiling at the compliment, he turned his attention back to the stove.

    “Yeah, I figured neither of us has eaten a sincere meal since Dean…” Clearing his throat, he scraped the eggs that he was cooking before continuing, “yeah. Anythays, I thought it’d be nice to actually have something to eat.” Making his way to the table, he took a seat before glancing up at you and gesturing to the open chair next to him, “take a seat.” Complying, you sat and took in the arrangement in front of you: fruit, eggs, waffles, bacon, the works. You should be starving by now, you really hadn’t consumed much other than alcohol within the last week; something was on your mind though, and because of the thoughts plaguing your mind, you were only able to nibble.

    A few minutes after you started scrolling through your phone, distracting your mind from any more intrusive thoughts, Sam stood and began to clear the dishes. “Here, Sam, let me.” When he dismissed your offer, you placed your hand on his wrist and insisted, “really. You made breakfast, it’s the least I can do.” Taking the dishes and placing them in the sink, you glance over to Sam who is now leaning against the counter. Rinsing the pans that were used and placing them into the dishwasher, you glance back at Sam once again. “So, I know we both have been going through our emotions, but have you happened t talk to Jack lately?”

    Thankful for something to talk about, Sam hopped up on the counter before answering, “Yeah. he’s handling it relatively well,” kicking his feet out in front of him, he continued, “better than we have been taking it, at least.”

    “That’s good.”

    “Yeah.”

    “Look, Sam, I don’t want things to change between us,” looking at the younger Winchester, there was a twinge of hopefulness in his eyes. The context of said hopefulness, you were unaware of; but you considered it a step in the right direction. Calculating his movements, Sam slid himself off of the counter, sauntering up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, grazing your earlobe with the tip of his nose.

    “What if I want things to change?”

[mayrinchen]

The Truth Untold | BTS AU Part 3

Jimin x Reader | Jungkook x Reader

prev | Part 3 | next

Genre: Fluff, but mostly Angst, maybe Smut, who knows

Words: 3,6k

A morally wrong love story, you’d definitely want to read to feed your thirst for angst and drama… and Jungkook.

(A/N: Yes, it took me an eternity to update again. But here I am, finally getting my shit together. Hope you enjoy.)

You woke up at 9 am. Turning to your side, you saw Jimin sleeping peacefully with the whole blanket wrapped around him like a burrito. The painters would soon arrive at your house, so you had to get ready to leave, resisting the urge to cuddle into Jimin’s side.

“Morning,” Jungkook’s voice echoed through the kitchen, making you jump and almost drop your phone.

“Oh, hi. I didn’t see you,” you responded. “Do you know which bus I could take to get to our house?” you asked him as he opened the fridge and scanned it.

“Why do you want to take the bus?” he asked as he reached for the orange juice. His gaze met yours as he closed the fridge.

“The painters are coming today and someone needs to be there. Jimin is still knocked out,” you said, rolling your eyes, making Jungkook snicker.

“No, I mean why do you want to go by bus? I can drive you,” he stated. You watched him as he poured himself a glass of orange juice. Being alone with Jungkook still made you feel uneasy.

“I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” you trailed off. He shook his head. “You aren’t. I offered you a ride.” You sighed internally. You didn’t want to appear rude by turning his offer down. For the first time ever, it seemed like he put effort into being nice to you.

“Alright. Thank you. Can we leave in 15 minutes?” He nodded and you slid off the bar stool to go back to your room and change into casual clothes.

***

Jungkook was scrolling through his phone when you joined him in the soon-to-be living room after explaining to the painters which wall was supposed to be which colour. He stopped when he heard your footsteps and looked up, his big doe eyes watching you as if he was waiting for you to say something.

You cleared your throat. “Can you help me carry the furniture for the bedroom which arrived today upstairs?”, you asked, feeling bad having to bother Jungkook when Jimin should be the one helping. He knew the painters were coming around but still decided to get dead drunk and sleep until noon.

“Sure,” he said, dropping his phone onto the only couch in this house and jumping to his feet. He seemed to be very enthusiastic and not annoyed at all, which made you feel slightly better.

“Thank you for your help, Jungkook. Really. You don’t have to do this. I’m sorry for bothering you,” you panted as you carried the mattress up the many stairs.

“You’re not bothering me. I can’t let you carry all this heavy stuff by yourself, now can I?” he smiled brightly at you, his forehead glistening from beads of sweat. The next hour was spent by putting the furniture together in silence. From time to time you couldn’t help but argue over whose strategy was right. Of course, it was only playful and in the end, you could always compromise. You were surprised that this usually frustrating process turned out to be fun. Jungkook and you couldn’t help but laugh over how helpless you were in assembling the pieces into one item of furniture.

After you were finished, you started to sort your and Jimin’s clothes into the wardrobe. You were a bit embarrassed to put away your underwear in front of Jungkook. Some of those pieces were supposed to be seen by Jimin only. He seemed to notice your unease and turned away, searching for his phone.

Shortly before 1pm, you received a text from Jimin, asking where you were and if you wanted to go out for lunch.

About half an hour later, you found yourself sat beside your boyfriend in a booth at a small restaurant. Jungkook was sitting opposite of you, sipping on his coke.

“Thanks for the help, Jimin,” you said, while waiting for your food to arrive. The sarcasm was evident in your voice. He scratched the back of his neck and grinned at you.

“I know, I’m sorry. I feel very bad, babe,” he pouted at you, coming in for a kiss. You instead turned your head to look at Jungkook, who watched you intently.

“I’m just glad Jungkook was there to help. I wouldn’t have been able to carry all the stuff by myself,” you stated.

“Thank you Jungkook. I can always count on you,” Jimin patted him on the back as he leaned over the table. He only hummed in response.

As the food arrived, you felt your stomach rumble. You hadn’t eaten all day. Five minutes into digging into your food, Jimin began rambling on about the weird dreams he had that night. Jungkook seemed to listen attentively while chewing on his food. You on the other hand were too busy watching people enter and leave the store. After a while your eyes landed on Jungkook. You wondered what was going on in his mind when he was with you. If he viewed you as a friend or just his best friend’s girlfriend who he had to get along with one way or another. But then again you weren’t even sure how you felt about him. You wouldn’t consider him a friend but neither as nothing more than your boyfriend’s best friend. He was somewhere in between. Thinking about it, you didn’t know a lot about Jungkook. What he liked, what he disliked. What his history was. Whether he was a cat or a dog person. You were definitely a cat person. He was the same age as you, but in your eyes, he appeared more mature. Probably due to the fact he was at least taller by two heads. Furthermore, his buff shoulders made him appear even bigger and his sharp features, like his jawline-

His eyes suddenly moved to look into yours, making you avert your gaze. Great, now he caught you staring at him like a creep. Heat shot up your neck and into your cheeks. When you glanced at him again from the side, he was back to looking at Jimin. Although you could’ve sworn he had the slightest hint of a smirk on his face.

“I need to go now. I’m meeting up with my brother. He might be able to get me a job. You guys get along without me, right?” he looked at you knowingly. With a nod of your head, you showed him that it was okay. He smiled before saying goodbye and leaving. The silence between you two soon became suffocating. You desperately tried to grasp a topic to talk about. Unsuccessfully.

“Must be lonely. Moving so far away from your family and friends.” You were surprised Jungkook took the initiative. His statement was oddly empathetic.

“Yeah, no… I mean, I have Jimin,” you stuttered, clutching onto your mug. He laughed.

“Sure, you have Jimin. But that’s about it.”

“He was away from his family and friends for almost a year as well. I’m not in the position to complain,” you trailed off, while swirling the spoon in your hot chocolate.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean it’s not scary,” he tilted his head. “I’ll show you a place. Come on.”

He slid out of the booth and stood up, waiting for you to do the same. You watched him with confused eyes before getting up yourself. He left money on the table before leading the way outside and into a park not far away.

After five minutes of walking, you reached a river, surrounded by trees. It was a calm place. The only sound was the water streaming and birds chirping. To your surprise, you were the only people there.

“I always come here when I feel stressed or lonely,” he scratched the back of his head. “Which happens quite often,” he laughed nervously. You turn around and smiled at him. Above you, little rays of sunshine sparkled through the thick tree crowns. “How did you find this place?”, you asked.

“I took a long walk once and this crossed my path. I come here ever since.”

“Is no one else ever here?”, you questioned further while inspecting your surroundings.

“Barely. I don’t think many people expect a place like this not so far from the busy streets,” he answered.

“That’s true. I wouldn’t.”

As you turned around, Jungkook was taking his shirt off. Panicking, you covered your eyes and twirled back around, not knowing what was going on.

“What are you doing?”, you asked. Your voice was higher than anticipated.

“I’m going swimming. You should too, or you’ll regret it. You’re not in a hurry, are you?” he questioned. Before you could respond, you heard a loud splash and felt cold drops of water hitting your skin. A squeal escaped your mouth as you backed away. He can’t be serious. Right? Your hands dropped from your face to your sides, your eyes landing on Jungkook happily swimming and enjoying the water. You followed his body with your eyes as he dived towards you. He pushed his hair back when he emerged in front of you.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me?” he snickered.

“I didn’t bring any swimwear,” you mumbled while scratching your arm.

“But you’re wearing underwear, right?” he asked. You blushed but nodded. He had never been this bold with you before. In fact, he always seemed very shy and reserved in your presence.

“Same thing. Come on. The water is so nice.”

Damn you, Jungkook. You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this as you started taking off your shirt. Your eyes met Jungkook’s when he glanced at your bare stomach before his head disappeared underwater. You took the opportunity to swiftly take off your clothes and sit on the edge off the river. Your feet dangled into the water - the coldness of it, making you shiver. Maybe this was a bad idea. Would Jimin be okay with this? After all, you didn’t have any kind of feelings towards Jungkook, so it was fine, you told yourself. But some of his glances made you feel uneasy.

After a minute of sitting there in complete silence you decided to dive into the river. As your whole body was underwater you were surprised to find out it wasn’t as cold as you had thought. Emerging, you almost screamed when Jungkook was only a few inches away from you.

“You almost gave me a heart attack!” you scolded him. He grinned and continued to stare at you.

“What?” you asked as he still didn’t speak. He came an inch closer, then tapped your shoulder.

“Tag, you’re it!” he shouted before scurrying past you. You stood there dumbfounded for a second.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, turning around sharply and fighting your way through the water. It seemed as though it was pushing you back, wanting you to fail against Jungkook who seemed to have beamed himself miles away. How did he move so fast in water? One minute of swimming felt like a full-on workout.

Out of breath but in no way out of willpower, you noticed the river was leading to a small waterfall. You didn’t know if this could be considered a waterfall, but it was still high enough that there was no way Jungkook would be able to get on top of it without leaving the water. Confident in your victory, you smirked to yourself and used your last energy to pick up speed. Stopping in front of the barrier, he turned around. Upon spotting you, coming closer by the second, his face showed panic. His eyes darted between you and the free space next to you before he began swimming again. This time towards you. There was enough space on either side of you for him to hurry past, but you were determined to not let him escape. He chose the right side. You caught on and tried to block his way. He smirked, thinking he made it as he was almost past you. Having none of it, you splashed water into his face, taking him by surprise. He stopped, making it possible for you to slap his shoulder.

“Got you!” you giggled, trying to push yourself away from him. But before you could succeed, his hand grabbed your forearm and pulled you back. You crashed into his chest and for a split second you could feel his other arm around your waist. You scurried backwards and his arm left your body. He squinted one of his eyes and blew droplets of water from his mouth. His hair was dripping wet and almost covering his eyes.

“Unfair,” was all he said as he grinned at you. But you were too distracted by his arm which had rested on your waist just a few seconds ago. Although it lasted for only a second, it felt too intimate to you. Considering you were only in your underwear.

“Now it’s your turn again,” he laughed. You rolled your eyes at him and shook your head.

“No, I’m too tired. My whole body hurts,” you grimaced as you stretched your arms in the air.

“So… you’re giving up, huh?” The stupid smirk on his face made you regret your decision. You were a sore loser to say the least. You scoffed, not wanting to boost his ego even more, as you turned around and made your way towards the meadow in front of the river.

“That means I won,” he cheered as he followed you. “Say it,” he demanded.

“No.”

“Say it,” he pressed even more. You were about to refuse again, when you felt his hands tickle your sides. Squealing, you scurried away. As hard as you tried to keep it in, you started laughing uncontrollably.

“Ok, ok. You won! You won, but please stop now,” you shouted in between laughter. Jungkook grinned like a proud idiot as he let you go. Once you reached a nice spot, you laid down, eyes closed and breathing heavily from the tickling. You felt Jungkook lie down beside you. A few minutes of comfortable silence passed, before you opened one eye and peaked at Jungkook. He had his eyes closed himself and his head was resting on top of his hands.

“It’s kinda weird that you’re my boyfriend’s best friend and yet I barely know anything about you,” you spoke up. He opened his eyes and glanced at you, eyes big and eyebrows raised.

“Tell me something about you.”

“And what exactly do you want to hear?” he asked. He seemed to be confused about your sudden interest.

“I don’t know. What’s your job? What do you do for fun? That stuff,” you trailed off. He leaned on his forearm and stared at the sky, thinking about what to say.

“I’m 22. I work in an advertising agency. In my free time I like to draw, listen to music or come here to wind down. I love cats and I’d love to travel the world, but money and time are tight. I smoke, which is something I’ve always wanted to quit since I’ve started three years ago when my mom left me for her boyfriend who is closer to my age than hers.” You grimaced and he seemed to notice as he laughed.

“I’m sorry that was too deep. I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m sorry to hear that though. Must be difficult.” He shrugged.

“Should I tell you something about me now, or do you not care?” you asked while laughing. Jungkook snickered and shook his head.

“I believe I know almost everything about you already,” he stated. Confused, you knitted your eyebrows while looking at him.

“Jimin talks about you all the time. You are 22, just like me. A few months younger, though. You have an older sister. You studied graphic design, so I assume you worked in that field back home. You met Jimin when you studied abroad here in Seoul for a year. You don’t like coffee. You are slightly allergic to cats, yet you still love them to death and are always talking about adopting one even if it means your death. In your free time you love to dance, read and write,” he rambled on. Your mouth was agape as you watched him tell you your life story. He was about to go on but you decided to cut him off.

“I’m impressed,” you told him. “Does Jimin really talk about me that often?”

“Quite often, yeah. Not all the time though,” he explained.

“I’m so sorry. Constantly hearing about my life must be boring.”

Jungkook chuckled as he threw his head back. “It’s isn’t actually. It’s cute how excited he gets when he talks about you. His whole face lights up. It shows how much he loves you.”

You couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. You were lucky to have a boyfriend like Jimin. Trusting him was never a problem. In the next moment Jungkook stood up and started putting on his clothes. You did the same as your underwear was almost completely dry from lying in the sun.

“What do you want to do now?” Jungkook asked you. Thinking about it, you quickly realized that you didn’t know anything about this part of the city. You shrugged and felt your homesickness kick in again.

“I have a lot of time since I yet have to find a job. But I have no idea what you can do around here. Or which places to visit,” you replied.

“That’s it! I’ll show you around town,” he exclaimed. “What do you want to see? Food places, cinema, libraries?” he asked.

“All of the above,” you grinned and he returned it before turning on his heels and motioning for you to follow him.

Two hours later and you now had a rough overview over the area you lived in. Jungkook had showed you the cinema, public means of transport, the best places to eat burgers, pasta, breakfast, dessert, etc, as well as the nearest shopping/entertainment centre. Last but not least was the local library. It looked just like the ones you see in movies. In the middle was a long corridor. Standing there, you could see the second floor and all the way up to the ceiling of the building. The book shelves were a beautiful dark brown and almost three times your height. Even though the library appeared huge to you, the little reading areas created a cozy and warm atmosphere.

“This is one of my favourite places to be, right after the park. It almost feels as if the books are whispering their stories to you,” Jungkook ripped you out of your thoughts. This was going to be your favourite place. You have fallen head over heels with it the second you stepped into it. You had always dreamed of having a library like this nearby.

“Do you want to make a library card right now?” he looked down at you.

“Definitely,” you nodded eagerly. He smiled and made his way to the reception desk.

“Jimin just texted me saying he is home now and hungry so we better come immediately and bring food with us,” Jungkook told you after he took his phone from his pocket and unlocked it. You laughed as Jungkook typed his answer.

“We better hurry then. He gets hangry very easily. Besides I’m getting hungry too,” you flashed your teeth as Jungkook agreed with you.

***

“Honey, we’re home!” Jungkook shouted as we entered through the front door, making you giggle.

“Oh thank god!” Jimin shouted back. You heard rapid footsteps coming your way. Then he stood on the other end of the hallway like a deer caught in the headlights. His big, confused eyes stared at you as he took a step closer.

“Where’s the food?” he asked softly. You bit your lip. He could be so damn adorable sometimes. As you revealed the bag full of food from behind your back, his mouth immediately turned upwards into a smile and he ran towards you. His lips met yours for a quick peck before he ripped the bag out of your grasp and fled to the kitchen. You rolled your eyes but followed him, just like Jungkook behind you.

After having dinner, the three of you decided to watch a movie. The choice fell on ‘The Greatest Showman’.

“What I forgot to tell you was that the mattress has already arrived but the bed itself hasn’t. Jungkook and I built up most of the furniture. And the painters have to come over one more time,” you told Jimin, who was lying with his head on your lap, shortly before the movie started.

“That’s great. I hope we can soon move into our new house. I can’t wait,” he replied. “Did you two have a nice day?”

“Yes, we did,” you answered while smiling at Jungkook.

“I showed her around town,” Jungkook added.

“I got a library card!” you exclaimed and clapped your hands together. You felt Jimin’s throat vibrate in your lap as he laughed. He watched you before speaking up again.

“I knew you would love the library. If I ever lose you I know where to find you now, I guess,” you grinned at him and nodded.

After the movie had ended, Jimin said goodnight to Jungkook and practically dragged you with him. You stopped, telling him you would join him in a minute. He pouted but nodded before leaving the room.

“Thanks for today Jungkook. It was very nice. And I’m happy that we talked more than usual and got to know each other a little bit better,” you paused. “Well, that I got to know you better,” you laughed and he did the same.

“Today was a lot of fun. I hope you feel a little bit less stressed about the moving now. Goodnight, Y/N.” You wished him a goodnight as well, then turned on your heels and went to your room.

[lovemesomesurveys]

Do you have pets? If so, what kind? If not, why not? Yep. I have a 1 year old German Shepherd/Lab mix named Princess Leia. She takes the princess part very seriously. haha.

Who do you live with? My parents, younger brother, and the Princess herself.

Are there any family members you never get along with? It’s not that we don’t get along, but we do bicker and butt heads sometimes.

What is the saddest thing that has happened to you? What about the happiest? I’d have to say the incident that made me a paraplegic at just 7 months old would be the saddest, but I’ve had a lot of other things happen as well throughout my life with health stuff and obstacles along with that, loss of loved ones, heartbreak, etc.  As for the happiest... I have a harder time pinpointing something. I’ve had happy times, like my childhood was great despite some obstacles. I look back on my childhood very fondly. Many happy memories with family like vacations, holidays, and just times together. Getting my dogs, Brandie and Princess Leia. Graduating. Getting accepted into the college of my choice. Stuff like that is what comes to mind.

How many years has it been since you graduated high school? It’s been 10 years. D:

What was the last new drink you discovered that was delicious? Hmm. I haven’t had a new drink in a long time, so I don’t recall.

What are five things you are good at? 1. Taking surveys. 2. drinking coffee. 3. Pushing people away. 4. Putting myself down and being my own toughest critic and enemy. 5. Overthinking everything.

What are five things you are bad at? 1. Doing some things that would really be beneficial for me. 2. Being a functional adult. 3. Not pushing people away. 4. Masking my emotions. 5. Math.

Do you have a YouTube channel? Yes. I don’t upload videos, although I actually did upload a few years ago. Those videos will never see the light of day again, though. lol.

Do you have trouble letting things go? Yes.

What was the easiest subject for you in school? English.

Do you decorate for holidays? Yep. I especially love to decorate for Christmas.

Do you dress up for holidays? I used to sometimes, but nah not anymore.

Did your high school have a strict dress code? I don’t think it was different than most high school’s dress codes.

Were you happy as a teenager? I struggled with low self-esteem and depression, but not like how I do now.

What do you do for your mom on Mother’s Day? I take her to breakfast or lunch and buy her some gifts.

Do you know anyone who follows a raw vegan diet and lifestyle? No.

Have you killed a bug this week? No.

What was the first food you learned how to cook? Top Ramen.

Do you have a Bachelor’s degree? If so, what in? Yes, in psychology.

Can you go see a doctor alone or do you like to take someone with you? I always go with my mom.

How long is your average shower? 30-45 minutes.

What color is your soap? Like a peachy color.

What is the most awful thing about the world today? There’s a lot.

Have you ever been arrested? If so, what for? No.

Have you ever been in court? If so, in which role? No.

Could you go a day without talking to the last person you kissed? We’ve gone like 3 years now.

Would you die for someone you love? Yes, but my favorite counter question to that, which I think says even more in my case is, “would you live for someone you love?” The way things are going right now in my life with health stuff and me not taking care of myself like I should be, plus the fact that I’ve let my health consume and take over... I’m not really living. I’m letting my life pass me by as I just waste away I feel like. My family worries a lot about me and they’re stressed out and also frustrated. They don’t want to see me this way. They of course want more for me than this.

Would you have sex with someone of the same gender as you? No.

What do you identify as? Like my name or gender? I’m a female named Stephanie.

Have you ever been addicted to something? Yes.

Have you ever gotten drunk? Yes, a few times.

Have you ever dealt with an eating disorder? I feel like I have something of an eating disorder, but I don’t know. It’s not anorexia or bulimia, but something is going on with me and food.

Have you ever stolen a street sign? No. I don’t get why people do that.

Have you ever eaten a piece (even just a small bit) of paper? No.

Introvert or extrovert? Introvert to the core.

Trump or Hillary? Blah.

Have you ever stepped in something disgusting with bare feet? No, but I’ve ran over cat and dog poop on accident *BARF* SO disgusting.

Have you ever had a concussion? No.

How many dresses do you own? Like 5.

When was the last time someone scared you? Yesterday. My mom came running out of the bathroom towards me with a Scream mask on and I screamed bloody murder lol. It was too real cause the way she came rushing out was just like how it’s does it in the movie slkjskdlfjlds.

Have you ever thought someone died when they didn’t? Yes! Such a weird thing. I had a dream and I wasn’t sure if I really did dream it or if it was real, so I ended up looking this person up on Facebook. They were very much alive, thankfully. It was just random, too, because it’s not even someone I’m friends with. It was someone from elementary and high school that I haven’t seen or talked to sine then.

Can you crack anything besides your knuckles? I sometimes crack my neck by just moving my head side to side. I don’t like do the whole, grab my chin and twist my head as far as I can. That freaks me out. I also stretch out my arm sometimes if I feel like it needs it and it cracks.

Do you know anyone who has a pet gecko? No.

Would you ever go bear hunting? No.

When was the last time you sang along with a song? Which one was it? It was recently, but I forget what song it was at the moment.

Do you prefer drawing or painting? Any particular reason why? I only color and that works for me.

Name something you thought was cool when you were younger but don’t now: Hmm.

What was the last book you read? I’m reading, “The Lonely Girl” by Gracie Wilson.

Do you like raisins? Chocolate covered ones are better.

Do you have a printer? Yeah.

Did you like the movie Antz? I’ve never seen it.

Is it okay to have crushes while in a relationship with someone else? I wouldn’t be okay with that. I mean, unless it was like a celebrity crush.

What do you think of sexism and double-standards? Do you believe in double-standards or do you think we should stop doing stuff like that? (ex. women can wear skirts and pants, but guys can only wear pants or they’ll get made fun of if they wore skirts): Uh, I think that they suck.

What’s your age range when it comes to dating? I think I’d go a year younger, but I’d really prefer them to be my age or older up to like 5 years.

If you had kids, would you want them to look like you? I’m not having kids.

Were you born with hair on your head? Yeah.

Would you rather have a home birth or hospital birth? Hospital.

If you could go back to your senior prom, what would you do differently? My prom went fine.

Do you currently live in the house you grew up in? No.

Do you remember your locker combinations from high school? I didn’t have one.

Who were your best friends in high school? Derek, Gabby, Gage, and Amanda.

Would you rather sleep on the top bunk or bottom bunk? It’d have to be the bottom bunk for me.

Are you close with your cousins? I used to be with a few, but not anymore. :(

Are you close to any aunts or uncles? One of my aunts and I are pretty close.

Are you close to your grandparents? I was very close to my maternal grandparents, especially my grandmother. I have a good relationship with my paternal grandparents as well, but again especially to my Nana. It’s not the same how it was with my maternal grandma, though.

Who betrayed your trust? Meh.

Who was your first best friend (apart from a sibling)? These 2 girls, Crystal and Starr, in preschool.

What’s the name of the gas station you last stopped at? *shrug*

Is there a topic that gets you really heated when it’s brought up? I avoid ones that would.

Do you forget to flip the page of your calendar at the start of each month? No, I’m pretty good about that.

Would you ever agree to an open relationship with someone? No.

Who is your least favorite actor? I don’t know if I really have a particular least favorite.

When is the last time you had a cigarette? Never.

Was babysitting your first job? It’s been my only one, if you want to count it since I only ever babysat my younger brother and a couple of my cousins. I need get money for it sometimes, though.

Do people always say you’re too thin? Yes, I hear that a lot from family and my doctors. I’m very well aware of it.

Is there something that you could never give up? Coffee, it would seem. ha.

Do you prefer piano music or violin music? Piano.

Would you ever get a tattoo on your collarbone? No. Have you ever showered with someone? No.

Are you racist to any race? No.

Have you ever intentionally hurt an animal? No.

Do you like being hot or cold better? Cold. I like cozying up under a blanket, wearing a hoodie or sweatshirt,  enjoying a nice hot beverage, and/or sitting near the fireplace. Being hot is just absolutely miserable to me and there’s nothing enjoyable about it.

What’s the best thing about school? I liked the learning part and some of the assignments/projects for the most part, but I could have done without all the stressed. I got so overwhelmed and burnt out so easily.

Do you watch independent movies? Have a favorite? Not usually.

In relationships, are you obsessive? No.

Have you ever auditioned for American Idol? Ha, no. I can’t sing at all. I mean, I can, technically, but I can’t sing well.

What’s your favorite Dr. Suess book? Hmm. Not sure I really have a particular favorite.

Do you dot your “i"s will little hearts? No.

Do you own any autographed memorabilia? No.

Have you ever dated a twin? No.

Do you own any expensive designer purses? No.

Do you look like a boring person? Probably. They’d be right to think that.

Oreos or Chips Ahoy? Oreos.

Do you have a better body or a better face? Neither.

Is it hard for you to admit when you’re hurt? No.

Have you ever considered being a cop? Nope.

Name the strangest game you’ve ever played (video game or real game): Life is Strange. ha.

Do you like sitting in the front, back, or middle of the classroom? I had to sit in the front.

Do you know anyone who has been struck by lightning before? No.

What’s your favorite superhero movie? The Avengers films, Deadpool 1& 2, Guardians of the Galaxy volume 1 & 2.

Do you struggle with acne? Not really. I get a little now and then. I did when I was a teenager and through my early 20s, though.

Have you ever fostered an animal? No.

Do you have a back pack in a shape of an animal? Yeah, I have a giraffe backpack.

[benandmatthew-blog1]

Easter Brunch

Let me introduce you to my OC couple Ben and Matthew, and their roommate Aline. Thanks to @ginger-and-mint for betaing this for me! The story can also be found on AO3.

Easter Morning

Aline is watching her two best friends/roommates closely as they all get up from the table. The previously white tablecloth is now marred with marmalade stains, breadcrumbs, used dishes and empty wrapping papers that once covered small chocolate-nougat eggs. They’re leaving behind a bit of a mess but thankfully cleaning it up isn’t their job. It’s included in the price for the Easter Brunch Package.

As she reaches for her coat that hangs over the back of her chair, she hears a grunt. Looking discreetly to her right, she sees Ben with an uncomfortable expression on his face. His left hand is holding his stomach while his other one fumbles with his jacket. Aline’s eyes travel to his belly and she hides a smirk when she sees that his normally slim frame is disfigured by a distended stomach. She’s not in the slightest surprised by it because she’s seen the amount he’s eaten. But she keeps quiet. Instead, she watches him struggle to slide his arms into his jacket.

“I ate way too much,” Ben mutters quietly under his breath when his boyfriend Matthew wordlessly helps him slide his arms through the sleeves. He’s almost whispering but Aline can hear it. She bites her cheek and pretends not to listen as she puts on her own coat and grabs her handbag.

When they leave the restaurant, she watches Matthew put a comforting hand on Ben’s lower back and lead him to the exit. She catches Matthew saying, “You can take a nap at home” before he kisses Ben’s temple and runs a hand through his boyfriend’s blond hair. Her heart melts a bit at that. They truly are an adorable couple.

Once outside, Aline pulls her jacket more tightly around herself. While it’s no longer snowing, it’s still freezing cold and the sky is a depressing shade of gray. She’s already looking around for the fastest way to the bus station when Ben speaks up again, “Is it okay for you if we walk home? I need some fresh air.”

Aline flicks her gaze over to her two best friends. She watches Matthew step into his boyfriend’s personal space and cup his face. With his 6 foot 2 he’s about three inches taller than Ben. “Are you feeling sick?” Matthew asks quietly, thumbs rubbing Ben’s cheekbones.

“A little,” he admits, followed by a quiet hiccup. “Got a bit of a stomachache.”

Aline feels a little hot. Both of Ben’s hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jacket but she’s sure that he’s holding his belly under the fabric. He looks uncomfortable and she feels bad about that but she also feels a tiny bit excited. “We can walk through the park. It’s not that far,” she suggests.

Matthew nods. “Sounds like a good idea,” he agrees. He’s holding Ben closer now, has one arm wrapped around his shoulders and lets him lean against his chest. Aline loves how protective he is of Ben and all the other people he cares about. She remembers the first time she got really drunk. He was there to hold her hair back when she threw up and even carried her back to her room after. He’s the most loyal and caring person she’s ever met.

Aline falls into step next to her friends. They walk slowly to avoid upsetting Ben’s stomach even more. Aline keeps stealing glances at the couple and hears Matthew mutter things into Ben’s ear. But this time she’s too far away to hear anything.

Ten minutes into their walk, Ben groans suddenly and almost doubles over. Matthew grabs his arm. “What’s wrong?” he asks worriedly. Aline steps closer and puts a hand on Ben’s shoulder.

“Stomach’s cramping,” Ben grits out through clenches teeth.

Aline rubs his shoulder. “You really did eat too much,” she states, wishing she could actually see his belly again. But the jacket covers it all up.

“Let’s go sit down,” Matthew says and leads them over to a bench that’s overlooking the partly frozen lake. The park is almost empty, which must be why Ben slumps down with a loud groan and lets out an impressive burp. “You’re disgusting,” Matthew grimaces but sits down next to his boyfriend nonetheless and slips an arm around his back. Aline takes the empty spot to Ben’s left.

Ben drops his head to Matthew’s shoulder, hands still buried deeply in the pockets of his jacket. By now, Aline is one hundred percent sure that he’s not just doing that because of the cold.

“How much did I eat?!” Ben moans. “I’m on the verge of exploding.” With that, he pulls one hand out of his pocket and start fumbling with the zipper of his jacket. Aline holds her breath as he unzips it all the way down, letting it fall away from his middle. Her eyes instantly travel to his belly. Although he’s wearing a loose, gray sweater she can clearly see the outline of his distended stomach. She takes a shuddering breath.

“What are you doing? You’re going to catch a cold!” Matthew warns.

Ben rolls his eyes and shifts a bit so he can arch his back. His swollen stomach strains against the sweater. “Relax. I’m not going to catch a cold. The jacket feels restrictive. And hot,” he explains. He hiccups again and the jolt shakes his entire body. With a grunt, his left hand goes to the hem of his sweater. He pushes the fabric up over his navel, letting the cold air touch bare skin.

The way he now rubs back and forth over his naked, distended stomach is almost mesmerizing to Aline and she has to remind herself not to stare. She clears her throat and looks away, hoping the heat she feels inside isn’t showing on her face.

They sit in silence for the next couple of minutes. The only sound is caused by the wind that rustles the leaves of the nearby trees and Ben’s occasional hiccups. Aline tries not to stare at her friend as he pokes and prods his swollen belly. She runs a hand through her long, blonde hair and tries to cover her eyes a bit with it.

After five minutes, a loud gurgling sound interrupts the otherwise quiet park. Aline’s gaze snaps to Ben. But, surprisingly, she realizes that it wasn’t his stomach that made the noise. “Sorry…” Matthew mumbles. He wraps his right arm around his middle and flushes.

Aline blinks. Suddenly, her mind flashes back to brunch. She’s seen how much Ben had managed to put away. It was a lot. But now she also remembers what Matthew had eaten. The guy usually sticks to a very healthy diet. Lots of fruit, vegetables and water. Today, though, he’d loosened his tight food regime a bit. Croissants, bacon, sausages, orange juice and even some dessert and chocolate; that must have an impact on a stomach that’s usually not used to all that.

Ben seems to come to the same conclusion. “Are you okay, baby?” he asks and puts his hand on top of the arm Matthew has wrapped around his middle.

“I’m fine,” Matthew replies. However, his voice sounds a little strained and Aline guesses that it’s not just Ben who has overindulged. She winces in sympathy when his stomach gurgles again. It sounds sickly and now that she’s aware of that she sees that Matthew’s usually tanned complexion is rather pale.

“Of course you are,” Ben sighs and rolls his eyes. He keeps his hand on Matthew’s arm and runs the tip of his thumb over his boyfriend’s wrist to offer at least a little bit of comfort for what Aline assumes is a bad case of indigestion. The gurgles continue and she sees the way he suppresses burps and hiccups.

“Just let them out, Matt. You’re gonna give yourself an even worse stomachache if you don’t,” she blurts out before the rational part in her brain can stop her.

Matthew looks away. “I said I’m fine,” he insists but the arm he’s still got clamped around his belly belies his words.

“Cut the bullshit,” Ben snaps. “I can hear your stomach making all kinds of funny noises. And the way you keep pressing on your gut isn’t doing you any favors either.”

Matthew drops his head to his chest and blows out a breath. “Fine,” he mutters and lets his arm fall away from his middle. Instantly, Ben reaches for the zipper of his boyfriend’s black leatherjacket and opens it. Aline follows every single inch of the zipper’s downward movement until the slightly distended bulge of his stomach comes into view. Matthew’s jacket is a tight fit. Usually, it sits like a perfectly fitted glove on his muscular body. However, today it must have caused him quite a bit of discomfort. No wonder his full stomach is so unhappy. It didn’t have anywhere to go.

“Is that better?” Ben asks once the leatherjacket is open. Aline almost chokes on her spit when Ben puts a hand on his boyfriend’s stomach and rubs a little. Matthew’s known for being stoic and unwilling to let others comfort him. He’d rather suffer in silence while he takes care of everyone else. All the more surprised is Aline when Matthew allows Ben to touch him in such an intimate way.

“Maybe I ate a bit too much as well,” Matthew admits reluctantly and runs a hand through his dark brown hair. His stomach gurgles in agreement.

“You and me both, baby,” Ben admits and pats his own belly with his other hand.

Aline watches them, fascinated. There’s nothing she’d love to do more than to touch both their bellies. Ben’s, which is more swollen and probably harder, and Matthew’s, which is smaller but more delicate. She swallows. “Maybe I should get both of you home so you can lie down a bit,” she says, trying to make her voice sound normal.

Ben burps again. “That’s a great idea. You ready, Matty?” he asks, patting his boyfriend’s stomach lightly.

“Yeah,” Matthew replies and slowly gets to his feet. His hand hovers over his stomach for a second or two but he doesn’t touch it in the end. Aline assumes he’s not quite ready to give into the pain yet. He just wants to ignore it.

Aline and Matthew help Ben to his feet. He grunts and clutches his stomach. “Still too full for this,” he complains and hiccups. Matthew kisses the top of his head and wraps his arm around him again. Aline smiles.

Slowly, they make their way back to their apartment where Aline is going to make them both a hot-water bottle and some tea. Then, she’s going to watch them disappear in their room while she locks herself in her own across the hall where she can only picture them curling up in bed together with their full bellies digesting the heavy brunch. She sighs.

End

[amnachil]

The High School Game Part 15

Hi everyone ! I know the story is kinda long and it’s hard to follow... But I want to post it until the end anyway x) Don’t worry, we already exceeded the halfway point !

Gregory DAY 109 Saturday

Exceptionnally, Finn organized a party depiste not being an after-match saturday. The dark-haired boy went his head full of expectation. The 3rd week of January ended and depiste some setback, his plans were working well. His own popularity started to rise again. They all had forgotten his dramatic "perverse" attitude, from now on, and with his new behavior he attracted sympathy. Plus, with his bulk-up, he would soon be better than Raphaël, and took his place. By the way, Gregory had found a new partner in crime : Kim. They had been talking lengthily. The girl had been expelled from her last school because she had insulted and assaulted physically a schoolmate. But she had big expectations for her new high school. Raphaël and Shirley were exactly the kind of people she hated. She planned to humiliate them, one after another, with his help. And Gregory was happy to help, of course. Plus, tonight, she prepared something for another bitch he hated. But right now, the lad was eating joyfully at the buffet with Sam. Shirley's boyfriend, despite being the fatty, was quite popular among the 11th grade. Several student still respected the ex-right arm of Raphaël. Gregory hated Shirley, but he learnt to appreciate Sam. His advice were usefull, after all. And while he’s with me, he isn’t with his fucking girlfriend. She was not here, by the way, and Sam told Gregory she was busy, without details.

"Jeez, it was a good meal." whispered the fatty while patting his belly.

Gregory looked at him with a glint a challenge.

"Are you seriously stuffed ? I can eat at least a whole pizza by myself because of my bulk-up."

Sam smiled.

"Do you imply you can eat more than me ? Man, you already tried to overfeed me, and you never succeed."

"We'll see."

I know I’ll not gain weight, by the way, while you will balloon even more... Stupid cow. They both dug in wishing to win this food contest. Gregory took a slice of pizza, then a can of beer, and then a slice of pizza. He repeated the little game several time, only taking break to belch loudly and evacuate the air. After a while, feeling bloated, he discreetly unbuttoned his belt and jeans in order to let his expanding belly breathe. Sam smiled while swallowing a big slice of pizza.

"Are you stuffed little boy ? I'm only starting, you know ?"

Liar. His opponent's paunch was bloated, hard, and pushing against his shirt, and he rubbed it with his free hand. Gregory took a can of beer, and gulped.

"I'm, buuurrp, not finished yet. Burp. You'll be.. buuuurrp, surprised."

He began again to stuff his face. He could feel his shirt button having an hard time holding the pressure, but did not care. He ate again a whole pizza, while drinking beer. Sam was right on his heels, but he did not care. He swallowed again a slice, burping loudly. I can't lose this again. No way. He rushed another pizza and polished it as fast as possible. He bloated belly was heavy now. He had some difficulties to walk, but he did not care. Eat was his only aim. After a while, he took a break and sighed, overstuffed. His belly gurgled, in pain, and he rubbed it slowly. Woah... However, Sam smiled, himself rounder and bigger, but still eating.

"Do you give up ?" he asked.

"Nah... buuuuurp... I know I can.... buuuuurp.... eat more."

His opponent pushed a big container towards him.

"This is chocolat mousse. Easy to eat. Let's see if you can do this."

Gregory nodded, took a big spoon and swallowed. Wow, this is tasty... Slowly, under Sam eyes, he ate spoon after spoon. His belly, gurgling, was pushing against his shirt. Oooh. Sometimes, he drank another beer and burped. After a long time, he succeeded to finish the container. He was so stuffed he could barely move, and certainly not get up. His both hands rubbing his belly, he closed his eyes, be prey to a succession of belch. He was near to a food-coma, and unable to speak. Did I won ?

"I think, burp, you did a good job." whispered Sam. "But I'm, brup, still better. Maybe you should try, burp, again later."

A clamor woke Gregory up. His friend were gathered in Finn's garden, and laughing. What’s happening ? Slowly, he stood up. Wow... He felt his belly, still complety bloated, heavier than usual. Sam was sleeping on a chair next to him, but he ignored him. Groggy, he headed towards the gathering. He glimpsed Raphaël, sat on a corner, his legs spreaded while speaking with Liam. Otherwise, the room was wasteland : they all were in the garden. Gregory arrived and watched what triggered this laughs. Barbara, the class delegate he hated, was in the pool, half-naked, trying to wash the vomit covering her hairs and clothes. Kim, apparently drunk, was yelling :

"I'm sorry ! So sorry ! Please, let me help you !"

She dived into the water and reached their schoolmate while screaming like a pig. My god, she's so funny. I love her. Finn gave him a beer and laughed :

"She's awesome ! Just watch her Gerg !"

The supporting striker agreed. He took a mouthful of his can and laughed when Kim, pretending to help Barbara, took this one pants off. The class delegate shouted :

"Stop it ! Stop it ! You're drunk ! Let me alone !"

Holy shit... They all were in stitches. Kim threw up her diner on Barbara, who screamed with horror. My fuckin' god ! Barbara headed towards the edge and got out of the pool, only with her lingeries, soaked. Kim yelled :

"I'm sorry ! Really sorry ! Can I help you ?"

"Hell no ! You did enough !" retorted the class delegate.

She looked for Jessy, but Liam's girlfriend was too busy laughing to help her. Consequently, Barbara left them running towards the exit. Gregory drank the rest of his can, patted his still bloated belly with satisfaction, and came near to the edge. Kim smiled. He loved this. She was ready to humiliate herself in order to beat her opponent. And she was perfectly serving his interest by doing so.

"Did you liked this ?" she asked, not in the least drunk.

He opened his mouth and belched loudly.

"Yeah, I kinda liked, buuuuurp. You know what ? I think you're my favourite... buuuurp... evil girl."

I need another beer, by the way. She smiled spitefully.

"I guess you're me favourite burping man. Did someone already tell you that you were good at belching ?"

Again, he burped loudly, and shook his head. Except you of course, because you already understood I'm the best for everything.

Liam DAY 111 Monday

Last monday of January came with a good new : snow. The entire town was under a covering of snow. Cool ! This morning, Liam woke up earlier, excited like a kid, and rushed outside in pajamas despite the cold. He ran in circle during at least 5 minutes, before his sister shouted :

"Brother ! Come here before getting sick !"

"Chloe ! It's snow !!!"

"Yeah, I saw !"

He made a snowball, and watched her with a smile. (Okay, he maybe grew in height, but his mind was still 10 years old). She screamed when he threw his missile.

"Seriously ?!"

Liam nodded. Suddenly, he glimpsed Raphaël, in sportwear, running next to them. Hum... This was a terrible idea. A bad idea. But boy with a 10 years old maturity would probably do it. However, he did not have time to attack, because a big and soft snowball hit him in the belly. His captain smirked.

"I know what you were thinking, dude."

" How ?"

Raphaël smiled, but Chloe, who took his winter jacket and was now making a snowball, answered :

"You did the same thing last year brother. And the year before. I think we are used to it, now."

"Remember, do not hit under the belt." ordered Raphaël.

Liam spirit was suddenly excited like for christmas. Oh yeah ! He rushed a tree to hide and collect his munitions. This is the best day of my life ! (Okay, not the best, but as every 10 years old kid, every day was the best day of his life). Anyway, it was time to win a battle.

Latter, during the afternoon break, Liam sneezed. I think I caught a cold... Obviously, playing in the snow in pajamas was probably the cause, but he had a lot of fun, and it was worthy. The goalkeeper ate slowly his donut (this donut was supposed to be eaten by Jessy, but whatever) and sighed. With the snow, the heated spirits were gone, and everyone just enjoyed the day, without any complaint. Raphaël, sat on the bench, stared at him and frowned.

"Why aren’t you with Jessy, by the way ?"

"She is comforting Barbara... They decided to stay together today, even if my love didn’t help our delegate during the party... I wonder if Kim apologised."

"Probably..." replied softly Raphaël. "Are you bulking-up, or somethin' ?"

Liam turned his head towards his friend, surprised.

"No. Why ?"

"Well, you just eat more than before, but it's not a big deal I guess."

Oh... well... this food is supposed to feed Jessy... To be honest, Jessy ate enough by herself, and she was gaining weight by being lazy and gourmand. However, Liam did not realized he was becoming like her.

"Do you fear I gain weight ?" he asked prudently.

He knew his captain was a sport addict. Workout was his religion. And Liam feared his judgment. (Not only his judgment, by the way...).

"Absolutely not." replied Raphaël with a smile. "Firstly, you just did a growth spurt, and your weight have to catch up. Secondly, you have a fast metabolism to help you, and I'm sure indulging a little is not a big deal. Thirdly, you're our goalkeeper, not our supporting striker. You could have some meat on your bones you know, we're not playing at national level."

Liam nodded silently. This reaction was unexpected. Raphaël noticed, because he laughed.

"Being a workout passionate don't mean I will oblige my friends to do the same, you know ? As much as you respect the rules, I'm fine with you."

The rules. The team captain often spoke about the rules. However, the goalkeeper was not sure to understand well.

"Well, you gave up Sam because he was not respecting the rules, so ? I thought it was because he became fat."

"That's funny, because I never gave up Sam. He left by himself, convinced I would abandon him, but I never intended to. As far as you're conforming to the rules Liam, I have nothing against you. Sam could be a little overweight, I did not care until he decided to encourage this way of life. He became a deviant. Do you get it ?"

"Not really, but don't worry. I'm not becoming fat, and I'm not a chubby chaser."

(A little lie from time to time was not serious... Okay, it was serious, but Liam refused to lost Raphaël's friendship only because they had a different point of view).

His captain nodded, and they went to the class, as close as ever.

Shirley DAY 113 Wednesday – 114 Thursday

This evening, the girl sat nervously on the couch. She was alone, for now, and stressed. According to her mother, Dan would be back today, only for the night. He had been sleeping at a friend's flat, still according to her. Tonight, I will apologise... Shirley did not see him since their argument, and each day, she felt more pathetic. Plus, she tried to offer Kilian some food, and help for his homework, but he always declined. Sam supported her in this initiative, but still, their schoolmate was too afraid about his family's reaction. She heard the door opening. Dan was there. Quite stressed, she waited him. Her brother dressed with a black jeans and a tigh white shirt (the buttons were compressing his belly), looked at her. He is mad...

"Hi brother. I waited you to talk." she hesitantly said.

He ignored her, put his bag on the floor and then opened the cookie box (they had a cookie box in the living room). While eating, he turned towards her. He knew I was here... Mum likely told him before going at the restaurant.

"I'm sorry." she proclaimed. "I was selfish and blind. I did not understand your feelings. But I do now, and I want to help you with all this stuff."

"Do you know what is an erogenous zone ? And how it could be weak with some people ?"

"What do you mean ?"

He was eating a cookie, patting peacefully his belly, but his tone was cold. And she glimpsed a glint of rancor in his eyes.

"You want to help me ? Apologise to Raphaël for everything you did."

"What Raphaël is doing in this stuff ? Who care about him ?"

"I do. I knew you disliked him, but I did not expected you would kick him in the balls and then punch him like a barbarian !"

Shirley did not understand. She felt her rancor against the devil growing inside. Jeezus, I need to control myself. Dan is my brother, not one of his minions... And Kilian told me Raphaël did something good for him.

"Look, I don't really get it, but I think he lied to you and told some bullshits about me. I just want to help you. I'm not a bad sister."

"Can you, for once, stop thinking only about you ? You said you're selfish, and again, you proved this. I'm just asking you to apologise."

This is the best. She skipped the restaurant in order to make up with him, and he came here, insulting her and speaking about the devil ?

"I will not apologise to him, brother. He lied to you, I swear. Yes, I kicked him, but it was not that violent or..."

"Shut the fuck up Shirley. You're a fucking disappointment. I thought we were inseparable, but it seems I was wrong. You only think about your person, and you don't care about the other, including me."

"That's a lie !" she shouted. "How can I prove you I'm not selfish ? You're just blinkered ! How can I convince you ?"

"Not by yelling on me." he whispered before taking his bag.

He went upstairs, leaving her alone and tembling. How the fuck it degenerated like this ?

The next morning, when she woke up for her daily workout, Dan was already gone. Her mother told her he was not coming back for a while, feeling uncomfortable here. The most ironic ? Mr and Ms Vince, as her twins sisters all accepted kindly Dan's coming out. I'm the only one being so selfish. She felt even more pathetic. But, in order to do the right thing, she could not feel demoralized. Sam was busy with Gregory, trying to fatten this asshole. And by the way, it was slowly working. His high consumption of energy drinks and beer made his belly slightly round the whole day. Sadly, it was hard to say if he was gaining weight or only bloated. Anyway, Sam was working on it, and she was useless, Gregory hating her. She decided to focus on another problem. Raphaël being out of range, and Barbara too cautious since the last party, Shirley tried to help Kilian. But today, she needed to shift into high gear. She did her workout, showered, and then left the house. In 15 minutes, she reached her schoolmate's home (being the only De Beauchêne in town, it was easy to find him). Feeling brave for once, she knocked. A giant opened. Kilian's father was really tall (like 200 cm) and Shirley needed to look up in order to see his face. Futhermore, he was quite muscled, and she gulped, suddenly less brave. Behind him, two guys exactly like him, tall and impressive, stared at her. Holy shit... I start to understand... In comparison, Kilian was like a tiny little kid.

"Who are you ?" asked Mr. De Beauchêne with a booming voice.

Oh wow... Maybe this was not a really good idea after all...

"I'm Kilian's friend, and I went to pick him up." she eventually say timidly.

The father scrutinized her like if she was for sale. The tow brothers were smiling maliciously, and she seriously considered running (despite their physics, at least she was pretty sure to win a race).

"Have you a boyfriend ?" asked Mr. De Beauchêne suddenly.

She nodded, and the atmosphere relaxed a bit. Kilian was serious, about this anti-gay and lesbian stuff. His schoolmate showed up, and stared at her with a glint saying "you're mad Shirley" in his eyes. I'm here now, so please, come. Slowly, he came closer.

"She pretended to be your friend." proclaimed his father. "Is that true ?"

Kilian nodded carefully. Then, he went in the street and intimated her to follow. She felt Mr. De Beauchêne and his sons staring at them until they disapeared behind a house. At this moment, Kilian sighed loudly.

"I did not know you wanted to die, Shirley." he whispered.

She smiled. I'm not committing suicide. I'm proving to myself I'm not selfish. They went to Ms. Liliano's bakery (where she glimpsed Gregory buying his donuts, just before they entered).

"Choose somethin', I will buy it." she said.

Kilian stared at her, amazed.

"You sure ?"

"Well, I did this for Sam before he decided to buy it by himself because I was not providing enough, so yes, I'm sure. I guess you have no breakfast, and everyone need a breakfast."

He smiled like a kid. Behind the plaster, his black eye (apparently, his brothers made sure he always had one) and his hood, she glimpsed his cute face. The face of an happy man. And this was all she wanted right now. Someone happy and thanksful.

Gregory DAY 116 Saturday

"Come on, it's like protein shake you know ?"

The lad watched the mixture with reluctance. I don't know, I already ate a lot and drank a lot too... He patted his bloated belly, convinced he had already enough energy. But Kim, who offered him this mixture, was insistent.

"You know, it's not a drug or something. It's a protein mixture, in order to have a good condition during your match. Don't be silly, for god sake."

"Are you sure it will work ?"

"Sure. And no one need to know. You and me, that's all. You said you wanted to surpass Raphaël, don't you ?"

Well... I guess I can take it, after all. He prudently took the mixture, and injected it himself. He felt his whole body shaking when his musled recieved the excess of energy. Kim smiled, satisfied :

"Are you ready to win like a superstar ?"

"Hell yes !"

They suddenly heard clapping. Surprised, Gregory tunerd towards the sound : it was Jessy, proudly holding her phone.

"I wonder what I will do with those photo..." she laughed. "I bet Raphaël will expell you from the team."

Gregory rushed her and stood in front of her, menacing.

"You'll not do that, fucking bitch."

"Why not ?" she asked.

This asshole. Fucking slut. Come on, we already humiliated you...Do you really want to do this again ?

"Barbara will be pleased to finally punish you Kim. She did not like you, in case you care."

The chubby girl smiled.

"Neither do I, little girl. But I know you will ask something for yourself before all."

Gregory gave her a dirty look. No way. We don't negociate with this bitch. She's a fucking defeated slut.

"Delete those photo, Jessy, or I will." he threatened.

She stared at him, smiling.

"You'll not. Because you're a coward Greg." she looked at Kim. "I want your help for a plan I made."

"Why on Earth do you think I will agreed ?" asked the chubby girl.

Did they are negociating ? We don't negociate. Fuck off. Fuck off. Gregory tried to took her phone, but Jessy moved backwards easily.

"Come on Kim. You're a nuisance. I'm a nuisance. We can do something big together. But firstly, you should join the team Gregory, I heard the signal of the beginning of the match."

The lad hesitated. Fuck you. Both of you. I'm trapped now... He left them, enraged, and ran towards the field.

Embolden by the mixture, Gregory did quite a good match. He scored two time, as much as Raphaël, and their team won 4-1. However, he was worried about Jessy and Kim alliance. They were both fucking bitches, and he feared a noxious plan. During the party Finn organized for the after match, he felt a little paranoid. Plus, his body quivered, demanding more energy than usual to hold on his feet. Jeezus, I consumed more than I expected during this match. The montlhy check-up was Monday, and he was convinced he gained a lot of muscle mass. But right now, he needed some supply. Drinking beer after beer, he was constantly eating, until 3:00. Then, he left the party bloated, feeling heavy and sick. Holy shit, what is happening to me ? His belly was gurgling in pain, and he had some difficulties to walk. Moreover, he felt exhausted despite his stuffing session. Slowly, he headed towards his house, but did not reached it. Groggy, he fell onto the sidewalk. What is happening ? My stomach hurt so much... He vomited without even noticed. His whole body shivered. I need help. His thoughts was clouded. He never ate and drank that much. And he never consumed a mixture like Kim's one before. His hands tried, with much effort, to rub his distended tummy. Around him, there was nothing. The city block was sleeping. In a food-coma, drowsy, he tried to get up, but failed. It hurt. Please, help me. He cried, like a stupid kid, afraid. He was alone, in pain, and nobody would help him. He fell asleep, despite the pain. The only thing he heard was Raphaël cold tone, telling him how much this mixture was harmful for his body. And then, he reached the realm of the dreams.

To be continued

Gregory met the badest girl of them all... Where it will lead ? In the same time, Shirley is struggling with Kilian (I like this kiddo) and Dan... At least there is Liam, without any problem, who help us to understand a bit more Raphaël. I think I love them both ! :) See you soon (I hope) for the next part !

[lickstynine]

Relapse

This is the follow up to Say it Ain’t So and Regrets. It’s super angsty, so you’ve been warned.

T/W: drugs

Minato sat on the couch in his pajamas, crying quietly. Takao’s cat, Kyu, purred and rubbed up against his leg. He leaned down, giving Kyu a gentle pat on the head. “Hi…”

“Meow.” Kyu hopped up onto Minato’s lap, sitting down and purring quietly.

Smiling faintly through the tears, Minato leaned back, slowly petting the cat. It was at least one in the morning; Takao had gone to bed forever ago. Normally he would have been asleep by now, too, but he was anxious. Kazuhiro had been gone for over a week now. Was he coming back? Why had he even left? Was he stuck somewhere, hurt or worse? Minato had never known Kazu to be gone for so long without saying anything, but he had gotten up last Wednesday to find his husband missing. No note, no trace of anything. His phone, his car, and all his stuff was still at the house.

Had he done something wrong? Was Kazu involved in bigger criminal workings than he’d let on? Why just fall off the face of the earth? Minato sighed in frustration and confusion, falling onto his side on the couch and pulling a blanket over himself. Kyu meowed in protest and found a new spot to cuddle up, now by Minato’s feet. Min buried his head in blankets, sighing quietly and trying to get some sleep.

The beep of the microwave woke Minato in the morning. He sat up to see Takao reheating some of last night’s curry. “Oh, hey.” The brown-haired boy turned to wave at his dad. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” Minato climbed off the couch and followed Takao into the kitchen. “What time is it?”

“Like eleven, I think. Want some curry?” Takao offered.

Minato shook his head. “No thanks. It’s all yours.” He instead grabbed a bag of jumbo marshmallows and got to work making himself a cup of hot chocolate. His clothes were still huge on him, as he had always been ridiculously thin, but he could tell his stomach was filling out a little. He was well aware that he had a bad habit of stress eating, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it right now. He had been cut off from his special interest, and his husband had vanished. He had every right to be stressed.

“So I guess dad’s still not back, right?”

“Nope. Still missing.” Minato sighed, shoving a whole marshmallow in his mouth. “Don’t you have school?” He asked, looking at Takao.

Takao sighed. “Dad, it’s Saturday. And summer.”

“Right. Sorry.” Minato sipped his chocolate before shoving another marshmallow in his mouth. He didn’t even bother to sit down, he was just leaning against the counter, eating his squishy comfort food by the boatload.

“Do you wanna like… go out, and do… something? Anything?” Takao offered. Minato wasn’t normally a total shut-in, but he’d only left the house once since Kazu vanished, when they’d run out of groceries.

The tiny blond shook his head. His hand that wasn’t holding marshmallows was shaking absently, causing the sleeve of his sweater to flap. He didn’t want to go anywhere. He didn’t want to do anything. He just wanted his husband back. “If you want to go out, you can.” He mumbled through a mouthful of marshmallow.

“Nah, I’m fine…” Takao turned down that offer, mostly cause he had no friends or social life, but also a little bit because he was worried about Minato.

Minato nodded, barely registering what his son was saying. When he ran out of marshmallows, he grabbed another bag, made himself more hot chocolate, and retreated to the couch. At this point, the fluffy white cylinders didn’t even taste good. It was just a compulsion. A comforting, repetitive action that he could use in a pathetic attempt to fill the void where his old routine would be. He had been on edge before Kazuhiro even left - his diagnosis of occupational asthma had meant he was no longer able to bake. At least when Kazu was here, though, he still had the comfort of his favourite person, as well as his favourite dick to ride.

Turning on some mindless K-drama, Minato stared through the TV, completely zoned out. An earthquake could have swallowed his house whole, and he wouldn’t have even noticed. Takao was worried to see his dad still sitting on the couch, eating junk food, when he came out to grab dinner at seven-thirty.

“Have you like… moved? At all?”

“I got up a couple times.” Minato insisted. It wasn’t a lie, but he’d only moved from the couch to grab more snacks from the kitchen.

“Alllrighty then…” Not knowing what else to do to help, Takao just sighed and went back to heating up his instant ramen.

He didn’t get any reply from Minato, who had already zoned right back out. Takao sat with his dad on the couch to eat, but failed to make a single conversation that didn’t trail off after two sentences. Having lost the will to try any more, Takao gave up and retreated to his room to finish his ramen. Meanwhile, Minato continued watching soaps and eating snacks until he dozed off, marshmallow in one hand, TV remote in the other.

Kazu stumbled into the house around four in the morning. He was a disheveled mess - dirty, dizzy, and damaged. He’d been wearing the same clothes since he vanished, and he clearly hadn’t shaved in awhile. He was visibly thinner than when he’d left, and there were cuts and bruises on his face and body, like he’d gotten into a couple fights.

Minato had been asleep, but the slam of the front door woke him, and he sat bolt upright, his heart racing. “Kazu!” He scuttled over and wrapped his arms around the taller man’s waist. Immediately, he realized how thin and battered his husband was, and he frowned, pulling away to look him over better. “Where have you been?”

“Heyyyyyyyyy baby… I’m doin’ good… How ya been?” Kazu gave a goofy smile, much more ditzy and light hearted than usual.

“I… I’m okay… Where have you been?” Minato looked up at Kazuhiro. Something was off. He had to figure out what.

Kazu shrugged casually. “Out.” His eyes seemed even more ghostly pale than usual, his pupils tiny pinpoints in a sea of ice blue.

Minato was growing indignant. “Out? You were gone for over a week! That’s not out! That’s falling off the face of the earth.”

The taller man frowned and flopped onto the couch. “Babe, babyyyyy… relax. Don’t… don’t stress. I’m here. It’s all good. Just… c’mere. Let’s take a nap. We can talk later…” He held out his arms, trying to pull the tiny blond closer.

Minato stood over Kazu, looking down at him with eyes wide, brows furrowed, and lips pouted. “You’re high as a kite.”

“Naaahhhh…” Kazuhiro shook his head, his fake laugh and pseudo-sincerity completely unconvincing. Sober Kazu and even drunk Kazu were skilled liars. High Kazu… less so.

“You are! I can’t believe it!” Minato’s eyes welled up with tears. “I thought we were past this…” His voice was wavering and quiet as he sat on the edge of the couch. “Have you been hiding somewhere shooting up this whole time?”

Kazu paused to think, scrunching his face. “I think so. Pretty much, yea… But I’m back now! So it’s… it’s all good… right? You… you’re not mad at me… are ya?” He now seemed a little nervous, looking at Minato apprehensively.

Minato quickly shook his head. “No. No, honey. I’m not mad at you, I promise. I was afraid. I thought you were hurt, or you didn’t want to be with me anymore.”

“Of course I wanna be with ya!” Kazu grabbed Minato, pulling the tiny blond into a tight hug. Min squeaked in surprise, but smiled slightly at the familiar embrace. He was glad Kazu was back, even if he wasn’t in good shape.

“Okay…” Minato nodded, trying to collect himself and figure out what to do. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and to bed.”

Kazu seemed fine with this plan, climbing to his feet and following Minato to the master bathroom. With a bit of tugging and coercing, he stripped, tossing his dirty clothes aside to reveal a shockingly thin frame. His ribs were protruding pretty noticeably - had he eaten at all in the time he was gone? A collection of nasty bruises decorated his abdomen, and his arms were covered in track marks and half-healed cuts, some of which looked to be infected.

Sighing deeply, Minato started running the hot water for a shower. He didn’t even know where to start with this; Kazuhiro hadn’t come home in such a state in years, and even back then, he’d seemed to have his wits about him way more than he did tonight. Was he slipping mentally? On the verge of a bigger breakdown, beyond just relapsing? Would he ever be back to his normal health, mentally or physically?

“Come on, into the shower.” Minato nudged Kazu into the warm water, climbing up on the edge of the bathtub so he could be eye level with his husband. Once Kazu was thoroughly soaked, Min grabbed the shampoo, working through the knots in Kazu’s thick, messy dark hair. Normally sleek, today it was frazzled and dirty, as disheveled as if he’d just crawled through the jungle. This part was something Minato was familiar with, and it didn’t take him long at all to get Kazu’s hair clean and tangle-free. Working in some conditioner to restore the shine, Min got to work scrubbing the rest of his husband in the meantime. He was working very carefully with a soapy washcloth, trying to clean up all the wounds without being too rough. Even though Kazu was way too high to feel any pain from it, Minato still worked delicately by default.

Even in his drugged-out state, Kazu was thoroughly enamored with Minato. The entire time his husband worked, Kazu’s eyes were locked on the tiny blond, a genuine, if slightly dopey smile, softening his battered features. When Minato finally finished, he hopped down off the edge of the bath. “There we go. Rinse off, and you can get dressed and sleep.”

Kazu nodded, rinsing the conditioner from his hair and hopping out of the shower. He planted a kiss on Minato’s forehead. “Thanks, baby. You’re the best.”

Minato couldn’t help but smile a little. “You’re welcome. Here, I brought you some pajamas.” He offered up a t-shirt, and some loose, comfortable pants for Kazu. The dark-haired man grabbed them and pulled them on, only taking three tries to get his arms in the right holes of the shirt.

When the two walked back into the master bedroom, they were surprised to see the door to the hallway open. Takao was standing there, tired and confused. “What the hell’s with all the no… you’re back.” He looked Kazu up and down, pulling out his phone flashlight to better scrutinize his younger father. Immediately, his expression morphed from tired confusion to disgust and anger. “Are those track marks? Are you fucking kidding me? You deadbeat piece of shit! Falling off the face of the earth for twelve fucking days and then coming back high off your ass?”

“Ey, I ain’ tryna -” Kazu’s mumbled defense got caught off by Takao yelling again.

The younger boy took a shaky breath before continuing, “I always used to think ‘hey, Kazu’s an asshole, but at least he’s not a junkie piece of shit like my dad was’, but I guess I was fucking wrong! You’re just as bad as my dad! You strung-out, selfish, family-wrecking piece of shit!“

Kazu paused for a moment, trying to process everything that had just been thrown at him. He took a deep breath, his icy gaze boring into Takao as he ranted, “Are you trying to tell me how to live my life? What the fuck do you know about livin’ in the real world? Ya don’t know my life, ya don’t know my problems. Ya have no fuckin’ clue why I do what I do, and it ain’t your business, neither. Ya don’t know shit, and you ain’t done shit! Your whole fuckin’ life is sittin’ in the room I pay for, playin’ games on the TV an’ shit I bought ya, jerkin’ off an’ whinin’ about how fuckin’ hard your life is! You ain’t seen hard! Have ya ever robbed somebody so ya could afford a single fuckin’ candy bar to eat? Have ya ever fucked somebody so ya didn’t hafta sleep on the street? Have ya ever killed somebody cause ya got in too deep, and it was either kill that guy, or get ya own ass killed? No? Didn’t fuckin’ think so! So how about you shut right the fuck up, and quit tellin’ me off like ya know better than me. Ya ungrateful, whiny, lazy, no-friend-havin’, jerkin’-off-to-victoria’s-secret-magazine, gettin’-your-ass-kicked-by-ten year-olds-in-call’a-duty, little shi -”

A fist to the jaw shut Kazu right up, and for about a quarter of a second, he was surprised, even impressed, that Takao had even considered standing up to him like that. Of course, a milisecond after that, his self-defense instincts snapped into gear, and he right hooked Takao into the nearest wall.

Minato yelped in alarm, now looking between the two, shocked and torn. Takao was sitting on his ass in the hallway, stunned and defeated and still very angry. Kazu was standing in the doorway, trembling with rage, eyes glinting with a violent intent. He was clearly ready to swing again if Takao so much as twitched in his direction.

Trying not to panic, Minato moved so that he was between the two, knowing neither of them would dare hit him. “Okay, I… I need you both to go to your rooms. You don’t have to stop being mad or anything, just… get… get away from each other. No more fighting. G… go. Now.” He nudged Kazu into the bedroom and closed the door before helping Takao up and turning to talk to his son. “I am not about to defend him for hitting you, but you need to know that it’s not okay to talk to your father like that.”

“Bullshit! He’s not my dad. He’s just another junkie asshole.”

“He is legally your father, and he works his ass off so that we have a place to live and things to enjoy! I don’t care if you don’t approve of his addiction. It’s a disease, and it has to be treated. You can’t just scream at someone until they sober up and then everything’s fine. Go to your room. We’ll talk about this more tomorrow.”

“So you are defending him. Fine. Fuck both of you.” Takao stalked off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Minato sighed, trying to fight back tears, and went to join Kazu in the bedroom. His husband was perched on the edge of the bed, with his arms wrapped protectively around himself. He looked drained and stressed more than pissed off, and there was a distinct tinge of self-loathing in his eyes. “Babe? Can… can we go to bed now?”

Nodding quickly, Minato hopped onto his side of the bed, lightly tugging on Kazu’s arm until the taller man laid down with him. “Get some rest. We can talk more in the morning. Okay?”

“O… okay.” Kazu rolled over so his face was in a pillow, sighing deeply and closing his eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back.

[hopeishappinessff]

Chapter 28

I awoke to a soft and warm sensation inching slowly up the side of my thigh. I was drunk with sleep and could barely comprehend what was going on. This thing, this hand, continued to creep further up the length of my leg and I squeezed my eyes shut with hopes that the feeling would go away. Eventually, I felt a body straddle me and I held my breath as whoever the person was leaned forward and aligned their face with mine then placed their lips just centimeters from my ear “Merry Christmas Hope. Wake up and let’s go see what Santa left under the tree.”

The voice was deep and sounded disturbingly familiar and I could no longer resist the urge to snatch my eyes open. I stared into a pair of striking emerald orbs and jerked my body up to get Destani off of me. She fell backwards on my bed and laughed hysterically along with Tameka who emerged from her hiding spot at the foot of the bed. I tried to maintain a straight and irritated expression, but failed miserably and couldn't help but laugh “Dez, why would you do that?” “Oh my… girl! That was too funny… I had to do it. Me and Meka was up planning that shit last night and I just had to do it.” She huffed. “And you can’t lie,” Tameka chimed in from the edge of the bed through her hearty laughter, “She sounded exactly like Chris, I mean exactly. She was up all night tryna imitate that nigga and she finally got it. That was good boo!” She slapped her hand together with Destani’s and they both continued to cackle.

I shook my head and climbed out of bed, reaching down to grab my pajama pants from the floor. “Damn girl, that ass lookin right though!” I swung around, caught off guard once again by the sound of that voice, but frowned and squinted at Destani as she doubled over with laughter against Tameka who laughed right along with her. Once I finally managed to calm the two down, we were finally on our way out of my room and down the stairs to the den.

Much to my surprise, Ms. Joyce, Tootie, Desean, Ms. Cynthia, and Imani were all in the den each with bright and shining faces. They were all sitting and conversing, waiting for the three of us to come downstairs so that we could open gifts. My eyes roamed throughout the den and I promptly spotted Chris perched comfortably on the arm of the loveseat with Desean planted on his knee and Imani cuddled up next to him on the couch. He seemed to be deeply engaged in conversation with them and I couldn’t help but smile at the sight. The kids were both absolutely thrilled about the plethora of gifts Santa had left for them under the tree. Chris seemed more than excited to partake in their banter and he bounced lightly in his seat as he spoke, with Desean giggling at his every move.

As if on cue, Chris raised his glossy eyed gaze from his discussion with the kids and instantly locked eyes with me. He stared with a curious smirk before turning his attention back to the kids as they both tapped at his shoulders, searching desperately for his attention. “Alright ya’ll… are we ready to start opening these gifts?” My aunt asked as she stood from her spot on the long couch. Forgetting all about their conversation, Desean jumped down from Chris’s lap, Imani leapt from the couch and they both bolted toward the gifts, only to be halted abruptly by Chris’s hands latched onto the backs of their pj’s.

“How about you two calm down before you either hurt yourselves or tip the tree over.” He said with a tone full of mirth. “Boy you know you used to do the same thing when you were little, up until about last year. You probably about ready to take off for them gifts too… you just don’t want everybody in here to see you acting like a little boy.” Ms. Joyce said, resulting in a son with blushing cheeks and a room full of laughter. Chris continued to pull the kids back until they were sitting on the couch and he walked over to retrieve a gift for each of them..

--

Later in the afternoon, everyone was dressed and ready for the day as more people began to arrive at the house. My aunt, Ms. Joyce, and Ms. Cynthia had all ventured off to the kitchen to prepare the feast, leaving Destani, Tameka, Chris and I in the den to entertain the kids and our guests. I found myself deeply absorbed and focused in a race against Desean with a race car set that his uncle had gotten for him. He happened to share a passion with Chris that I would never really understand… they were both infatuated with cars. And of course Chris thought the most sensible gift to get for his nephew was the Carrera Evolution Porsche GT3 Challenge set that I’d helped him pick out months ago.

With it costing well over two hundred dollars, I was skeptical about playing with it at first, but because Desean had inherited the persistent and convincing habits of his uncle, I couldn’t help but give in to his charm. The two of us had even drawn spectators with the commotion of the race. “Yes! I beat you again Sy! You owe me five dollars.” Desean shouted, bouncing up and down on his knees and throwing his little arms around in the air after his riotous defeat. Playfully rolling my eyes, I crossed my arms over my chest and smirked “Whatever De… you cheated anyway. I saw you move your car up right before we started.” “Nuh-unh… don’t be a sore loser. Just give me the money and I won't rub it in your face that I won two times.” He exclaimed with two fingers held high in the air. “Fine,” I sighed exasperatedly, “Just remind me to pay you later because I don’t have five dollars right now.” “Okay… I won’t let you forget.” He said somberly, causing us to all laugh.

“Man chill, you know you cheating!” Within seconds we’d all turned our attention to the entertainment center, where Dontay and Chris sat nearby on the floor engaged in a pretty serious game of Madden on Chris’s new Play Station. I laughed at the sight of Dontay pointing frantically at the television screen and yelling in Chris’s face, as Chris sat there smirking innocently as if he hadn’t done a thing wrong. “Nobody is cheating Don,” He stated calmly as he turned to face Dontay,” You… just… suck.” Dontay tossed his controller down on the floor and crossed his arms over his chest with a deep scowl “And you owe me ten.” Chris added, still staring at him with a victorious smirk.

“No I don’t B… for what man?” Dontay whined. “Dude, you know we made a bet right before we started this game. Don’t sit here and play like you forgot… just run me my money and we won’t have no problems.” He placed a hand against Dontay’s shoulder and shook it before pushing himself up from the floor and walking over to the race track. “Uncle C, look,” Desean hopped up from the floor and rushed toward Chris, jetting a finger out behind him to show off the evidence that he’d won his race against me, “I won and Diyah owes me five whole dollars!”

With a glance in my direction, Chris swiped his tongue out over his bottom lip and smirked “I told you. If you just listen to your uncle man… you’ll always win.” “You really told him to sit here and beat this girl out of five dollars like that?” Destani asked as she stared at Chris with her mouth agape. “No, I taught him how to be a winner. He won… so now he gets his money.” He smiled impishly and reached out to slap hands with Desean before turning and walking out of the den.

--

The sound of the doorbell nearly went unheard over the commotion from the dining room table as we all enjoyed the lovely Christmas feast. Excusing myself from the table, I quickly made my way to the front door because I had a small inkling of who it was… I didn’t bother to bite back my grin the moment I opened it to find Trey standing handsomely on the porch totting a box and gift bag. “Hi,” I squealed, throwing myself halfway out the door to grip him into a hug, “I didn’t think you were coming.” “Why wouldn’t I baby girl?” He whispered as he plunged his face into the side of the bushel of curls atop my head. “I don’t know. I just didn’t think you would.” I blushed. “Well no need to worry… I’m here now.” He pulled away to peer down at me and quickly leaned forward to deliver a quick, sweet peck to my lips.

“Do you want these now or later?” He asked, trailing along behind me into the house. Once I locked the door, I turned to see that he stood only a few feet behind me holding up the box and the bag. “Oh, um… later. I still have to get your gift… it’s up in my room.” I said before directing him into the den and showing him where he could place the gifts. Once he placed them in their rightful place, I showed him to the kitchen and didn’t slow down for a moment from my eagerness to consider just who was sitting at the kitchen table...

With Trey standing proudly at my side, we marched into the kitchen and he instantly caught the attention of my aunt who rushed forward from the table to greet him. “How you doing sweetheart? Have you eaten anything today, are you hungry? We got plenty of food here, go ahead and help yourself to whatever you want.” She placed a hand against his shoulder and tenderly pushed him forward toward the food, barely giving him time to reciprocate her greeting. There was an unmistakable burning glare coming from the other side of the room and I instinctively raised my gaze in that direction, immediately regretting it the moment my eyes landed on those piercing golden orbs.

Chris had just rotated his blank stare from Trey to me, all the while remaining cold in his posture. I could sense the resentment in his glare and if looks could kill, Trey and I would have been out the moment we crossed into the kitchen. Unable to bear the heat of his stare, I turned my attention to my aunt as she giggled with Trey and happily situated a plate for him. Through my peripheral I could see Chris rising abruptly from his seat. My hands became clammy and my heart started to race as he sauntered toward me. Guilt suddenly set in as he silently walked past me, so close that his shoulder brushed against my own.

“Hey, where do you want me to sit?” Trey asked, breaking me from my shameful daze. “Oh, um… you can sit in here.” He trailed along behind me as I made my way to the table, nearly sitting him in a secluded corner. The following minutes felt like hours and I could feel sporadic glances from Destani across the table. I was entirely too afraid to look at her… I knew she was confused by Trey’s presence in the house and I couldn’t bear to see even a slither of disappointment on her face. I soon turned my attention to the entrance of the kitchen when I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Chris rounded the corner fully dressed in a black skully, his jacket, and his boots with his keys dangling from his right hand.

Not bothering to turn his attention to Trey or I, he bee lined straight for his mom and cleared his throat “Aye ma, I’m about to head out.” “Why you leaving so soon baby?” She asked, rising from her seat. “I have to go take care of some things… I may come back later or something.” “Well alright baby. You sure you don’t wanna stay a little longer?” She urged, concern masking her tone. “Nah, I have to go.” The fact that he was so persistent prompted Ms. Joyce to zip her lips and give up her argument. She took a hold of his arm and together they headed out of the kitchen and to the front door.

Feeling the strongest urge to take a moment to myself, I excused myself from the table and quickly made my way upstairs to my room to retrieve Trey’s gift. I stepped into the room and flipped the light switch on, making my way to my closet to grab the gift. On my way out, a light blue object in the center of my bed caught my attention and I stopped in my tracks to further investigate. Easing down onto the edge of the bed, I squinted at the scripture on the side of the bag and gasped as I made out the words Tiffany & Co... Completely confused by the sudden presence of the bag, I reached for the tag dangling from the side...

To: Hope From: Charlie

[fearofaherobrine]

Roleplay Server Log #193

“Cp Drunk, Steffan's Rude Awakening, Jean Returns”

[CP] - Sam, bring me that Polish shit

[Sam] Makes a cheerful salute and gingerly gives Cp the rather small bottle.

[Magnolia] Turns a bit more red at the sight of Steve- Winston...

[Winston] - Don't attack

[Steve] Hey it's a little kid! Did you bring more of your creepypasta's family to visit Cp? - Kneels near her- Hey kiddo, what's your name?

[Magnolia] Huffs- My name is Magnolia, and I am a general

[Steve] Oh! Sorry! My bad. I'm Father Steve- sticks out his hand with a big smile.

[Magnolia] Shies away-

[Steve] Withdraws. - If you don't like being touched, that's cool too. Nice to see you again Winston.

[TLOT] Same. Whats's new Winston?

[Winston] - Likewise, not much has happened, other than todays fiasco that is

[TLOT] Is it a fiasco? I feel like we fixed at least one problem.

[Doc] Two maybe, I think Blake will think twice before starting anything now either.

[Winston] - I'll be swamped with training a new general for the ghasts

[Doc] You know, Gk really will do it if you let him. He won't want to be over there all the time, but he'll keep them in line until you have a permenant replacement.

[Winston] - But the generals deal with the day to day need of their mobs, it's sort of necessary that they be there

[Steve] To Magnolia - I think you're about to see something rare, so watch close.

[CP] Is downing the vodka-

[Sam] Brings Lie a Capirinha, it's full of fragrant lime chunks.

[Lie] Reaches for it and accidentally knocks out the bar under all of CP's empty shot glasses causing most of them to shatter when they hit the ground- Shit!

[Sam] Jumps in alarm.

[Doc] Lie! Be careful!

[Lie] - I'm sorry Sam

[CP] - How the Nether?

[TLOT] She's in creative...

[CP] - Oh for fucks sake why?

[Sam] Looks sadly at the broken glass.

[Doc] It's okay, I'll clean it up. - Xe runs a hand above the glass bits, making the pixels melt and run into a large blob of irregular glass.

[TLOT] I found one intact. I'll make some more.

[Lie] - I'm so sorry!

[Magnolia] Gives Steve a confused look-

[Steve] That teeny bottle will actually get Cp blind drunk.

[TLOT] It's okay Lie.

[Doc] Is playing with the glob of glass, and rolls it into a carrot shape, curling the thin point into a delicate curve.

[CP] Downs the entire small bottle and thunks it onto the bar block next to him, he's already swaying-

[Lie] - CP?

[TLOt] Ah, he's had a hard day, let him have his fuzzy head.

[Winston] - Oh dear, he may skip over some of his usual stages if he's already this woozy

[TLOT] What's the worst that can happen? He passes out? So what, it's okay. There's beds downstairs.

[Doc] Heck I could carry him home if need be.

[Winston] - He has different stages when he get's drunk, first is more aggressive, then comes lust, then more anger, and then he gets cuddly...

[Doc] So we're going straight to.. what?

[Winston] - I'm not sure...

[TLOT] watches Cp curiously- You okay Cp?

[CP] Barely manages to flip him off-

[Doc] Is making little bumps on the glass now.

[Lie] - Having fun there Doc?

[Steve] Sits next to Cp, and motions for Sam to bring him something.

[Sam] Brings him a mug of cocoa that smells strongly of peppermint and alcohol

[Doc] Hmm? Oh, yes. I should do this more often, it's rather relaxing - Xe pulls the glass out a bit longer and adds a little curve to the fat part.

[CP] Slumps against his mate-

[Lie] - Ah! CP!

[TLOT] Leans over Steve and fixes the bar, just in case.

[Winston] - Hmmm, looks like we jumped straight to cuddly

[Doc] Finishes what's obviously a glass dildo and slips it into Lie's inventory from behind, before taking out some cake for Yaunfen.

[Yaunfen] - BURP! BURP!

[CP] Wraps his arms around Lie, a lot purr escaping him-

[TLOT] Gravitates to a window, - what a lovely night. Seems like even the mobs are relaxing. It's too hot to fight.

[Winston] - Magnolia and I are probably the only mobs here used to this sort of heat

[Doc] is breaking the cake into chunks and hand- feeding Yaunfen- it's nice for a change

[Lie] Yelps as CP pulls her into his lap-

[Steve] Someone's feeling love- dovey

[Lie] - Yeah, although he hasn't been this clingy for a long time

[CP] Is just holding Lie close-

[TLOT] he hasn't been this drunk or stressed in a long time either. I'm sure Doc's little irritations are background noise at this point.

[Doc] Hey!

[Lie

Reaches back to run her fingers through his hair- If only he'd let someone help him with this coronation stuff, that would at least alleviate some of his stress...

[Steve] I can help!

[Lie] - But you know he won't let you

[Steve] Pats Cp's arm- but it's the thought that counts. Right big guy?

[TLOT] What actually needs to be done?

[Lie] - I don't know, I can't make heads or tails of his paperwork since he's writing most of it in short hand

[Doc] People still do that?! It's practically a dead language!

[CP] Mumbles- Picked it up from Slender

[Doc] But he's a demon right?  I would've pegged him for a Latin enthusiast when it comes to encryption.

[Cp] - He's learned a lot and his proxis don't usually last long enough to learn latin

[Doc] Ouch.... I see. Did you pick up your predilection for making paperwork from him too?

[CP] - He helped me set it up since I was having a lot of difficulty keeping everything straight without it

[TLOT] that's such an odd thought, him organizing your mobs and stuff, since he couldn't actually enter your world directly.

[CP] - Yes he could, if he's in a good mood and I set it up like I did when Splender first arrived, then there's no pronblem

[Doc] chuckles lightly-

[Lie] - Well, at least Slender seems like a good teacher when he wants to be

[CP] Glares at Doc- What you laughin at?

[Doc] I'm imagining a bunch of Endermen crowding around him like he's their dad,.

[CP] - Endrea hadn't been made at that point...

[Doc] You should have seen her throw down earlier for Enderbro, he was really touched.

[Lie] - Awwwww, she did?

[Doc] Bro got nuzzles and the under the wing hug, I think she would have eaten Grayson if he'd persisted.

[Winston] - She normally will just toss him around like a rag doll

[Yaunfen] Baps Doc's arm, wanting more food- Burp!

[Steffan] Stirs uneasily in his sleep-

[Ashe] Lifts his head- Mama!  He's waking up!

[willow] -wiggles on top of steffan-

[Steffan] Opens his eyes with a groan-

[Ashe] Leans over his face- Hi!

{Steffan] AAAAAAAAA!!!

[willow and oak] -fall off the bed in surprise of the loud noise-

[Endrea] Enters the room- Ashe, that's rather rude

[Enderbro] Comes dashing in - Yay! We can play now!

[Steffan] One eye is sort of twitching- What the hell happened?!

[Endrea] - Hera gave you something which made you fall asleep, I brought you to my home for your own protection

[willow] -is patting ashe-

[Steffan] Your home? This doesn't looks like....

[Enderbro] Awed whisper - We're in the End!!!!

[Steffan] Goes white with fear-

[Endrea] - It's alright, no harm will come to you here, and once the heat wave passes in the Overworld I will take you home

[willow] -keeps patting ashe-

[Steffan] O-okay.... don't worry, I won't set one square toe outside on my own...

[Enderbro] So many bros outside!

[Ashe] Looks at Willow- What is it?

[oak] -climbs back into the bed-

[willow] bo... bo... k... bok  BOK!

[Endrea] Gets a very proud expression-

[Ashe] - MAMA!  Willow talked!

[Steffan] Uhhhh..

[Enderbro] Chicken dragon!

[Endrea] - I think she wants you to read her a book Ashe

[Ashe] - Okay!  Wait right here Willow!- He rushes off to find a book to read to her

[Steffan] OH book! That's way more likely bro.

[Enderbro] WE GET STORYTIME TOO?!

[oak] -stares at steffan while his on the bed-

[Endrea] Chuckles- Yes little one, you will get a story time as well

[Enderbro] Leaps into Steffans lap-

[Steffan] MY LEGS!

[Ashe] Runs back in with a book and climbs onto the bed, taking his more human shape- Okay, come here Willow, I'll read now

[oak] -jumps on to steffan at well-

[Steffan] ARGH!

[Endrea] Leans her neck over and gently picks up Oak- Now now Oak, you can sit with me

[Steffan] Bro!

[Enderbro] Rolls over like a cat and squishes him- what?

[willow] -curls next to ashe and pats the book- bok

[oak] -wiggles playfully in endrea's grasp-

[Ashe] Begins reading, he's reading Treasure Island-

[Endrea] Puts Oak down in between her front legs-

[Enderbro] Pulls out some paper and makes several origami hats. He uses his noodly arms to put one on everyone, including Endrea.

[oak] -paps one of endrea's legs-

[Endrea] - What is it Oak?  Are you hungry?  And thank you Enderbro

[oak] m... ma MA!

{Endrea] Lets out a deep rumbling purr, she's so very happy right now-

[oak] -curls against endrea- ma

[Steffan] Awwww... Your kids are totally cute Endrea.

[Endrea] Nuzzles her child, giving him a loving lick- Thank you, I'm so very proud of them

[Steffan] Yeah, I wonder how Brogon's doing....

[Enderbro] Waves his arms - I bet they're HUUUGE now.

[Endrea] - I can travel to other Ends if you wish to see, not right now obviously, but if you ever want to

[Steffan] Oh no! Please! Jean would mop the floor with us! She forbade us from ever going near her again because we had her kid for a while. She's the one that beat the crap out of GK for months too.

[Endrea] - GG...  Was beaten up?

[Steffan] Yeah... the time before last that he tried to kill me... and bro... our NOTCH banished him to the End. Jean was terrible to him. That's why he hated me so much.

[Endrea] A growl is starting to form in her throat as she thinks about anyone harming anyone important in her life- Where is your seed?

[Steffan] I don't know? I'm not able to seedhop on my own. But the seeds called... ASSBUTTS

[Enderbro] Pffft!

[Endrea] - I see- She picks Oak up and puts him down next to his siblings- Please, keep an eye on my children...

[Ashe] - What's an assbutts?

[Enderbro] Two words for butts!

[Steffan] It's nothing...

[Ashe] Giggles-

[willow] -flops on the book- bok

[Endrea] Gives each of her children a nuzzle before walking out of the room-

[Ashe] - Willow!  I can't read if your on the book!

[willow] -gets off the book-

[oak] -comes curl around ashe as well to listen-

[Endrea] Strides outside and tears open a way through the void, searching for the End of the seed Steffan mentioned-

[Jean] Is playing with junior, [aka Brogon] who is now just as big as she is-

[Endrea] Enters the seed, searching for the other dragon-

[Jean] Is surveying her wandering Enders with a smug air-

[Junior] Is trying to playfully lick them as they run from him-

[Endrea] Releases a challenging roar-

[Jean] Snarls at the scent of another dragon- Show yourself intruder!

[Endrea] - I am here!

[Jean] Narrows her eyes and shoves her baby behind her - Why are you here? Who are you?

[Endrea] - My name is Endrea, and you have angered me

[Jean] I don't know you, I think you are mistaken.

[Endrea] - I am not, we have never met, but you have brought harm to someone very close to me- As she gets closer, the size difference between her and Jean becomes more obvious

[Jean] Is protecting her baby and bristles visibly- Begone or I'll call down the wrath of Notch on you!

[Endrea] - Do so and I shall call several brines more powerful than your own!

[Jean] .... there are more Herobrines?

[Endrea] - Many, more.  Of which YOU harmed one I'm rather fond of!

[Jean] Backs away in a crouch, she's keeping her baby sheltered behind her as best she can - I had no choice! I obey my god!

[Endrea] - What god!?  They are nothing more than annoying pricks!  I broke free of mine because he tried pulling similar shit!

[Jean] He created me. He would delete me and leave my baby defenseless if I defied him!

[Endrea] - Mine created me as well, and my brine has since protected me!  My NOTCH also made the mistake of making me in a sense unkillable!

[Jean] I was tasked to torment the brine as punishment for trying to kill his son Steffan and his friends. I did as I was coded to do.

[Endrea] - Do you know what GK actually is?

[Jean] No. He is a Herobrine. That's all I know.

[Endrea] - He is a dragon!  Forced to take the form of the player until either the player dies!  Or you are killed!

[Jean] But the player is gone. The boy and the girl alike. The seed is empty. And if they are gone, then I and my child are safe.

[Endrea] - You stupid little bitch, you'd rather your child grow up knowing only this instead of the rest of the world

[Jean] Better then not growing up at all.

[Endrea] Lunges at Jean-

[Jean] Scuttles backwards, snapping and hissing-

[Junior] Gives a mewl of alarm, he's big but obviously still a child mentally-

[Edrea] Glances at Junior- At least my children are educated and growing into adults

[Jean] He's special! Leave him alone!

[Endrea] Scoffs- And you think any of the baby dragons I've rescued are not? Eggs rescued from the brink of death because the player never took them?

[Jean] I did not know others even existed until you arrived!

[Endrea] - Oh they do, and are flourishing together as a massive flock

[Jean] perks slightly- For what purpose?

[Endrea] - For them to be able to live freely.  The multitude of babies there are being tended to by two more adults of our kind

[Jean] Has a sudden hopeful look- But if I run... I may be pursued....

[Endrea] - Not to there you wouldn't be, none can enter unless special permission is given.  Not even the NOTCH's can force their way in

[Jean] I... I cannot fly....

[Endrea] - That matters not, I know there are at least a few that cannot fly either, and I can create an opening directly to the seed

[Jean] You swear safe passage for us? You were ready to harm me moments ago.

[Endrea] - Oh, I still do not like you, but if it will anger your NOTCH, then I am willing to at least help with that

[Jean] Stands up - Fine. The guard dog will flee her master. I do this for my child. We should go quickly, in case he gets the notion to check on his toy.

[Endrea] Quickly creates an opening to the sub seed- Go right through here

[Jean] Hestiates and then rushes through with her baby-

[Endrea] Follows, closing the way behind her, she can already hear Thunder and Tsunami getting closer-

[Jean] Is grooming Junior nervously, she's never been out of the End before

-Thunder and Tsunami circle overhead, wary of Endrea because she is so much bigger, a small baby dragon stumbles forwards from the underbrush-

[Junior] Toddles over, his long tongue flopping loose like a panting dog-

-The baby squeaks and tries to initiate play-

[Junior] Prances in place like a happy horse and matches the smaller dragons enthusiasim-

[Jean] Is watching everythign with wary eyes.

[Endrea] - There are a few rules to this place, do not attack any humans, EVER.  There is a group of them who are recovering from trauma's not far from here.  And do not panic if brines visit occasionally, they are friendly

[Jean] Is in a bit of a ball, her eyes are slitted to nearly nothing now because she's never seen the sun- I will harm no one.

[Endrea] - Good, otherwise I will return with a fury and kill you

[Jean] Makes a very submissive posture - I understand....

[Endrea] Creates another opening to return to her End- Now then, I shall be returning to my own children

[Enderbro] You went out! Was it fun?

[Steffan] where did you go?

[Endrea] - Not exactly, and I went to your seed

[oak] MA!

[Endrea] - Hello Oak, oh and Steffan?  I would suggest avoiding the sub seed for at least a little while

[Steffan] I've never been there... I'm kind of afraid of all the NOTCHs. Mine's always been like a distant god and I'm okay with keeping them at arm's length.

[Endrea] - Very well, but you should know that your dragon and her child are now there too

[Steffan] very small voice- One of these days I need to learn to shut the fuck up... Gk is gonna kill me....