#its fucked up ive got like. muscle definition in my arms now in a way i havent probably ever

[grubloved]

flour delivery day again!

[skrittkicking]

charr body types for practice, rambling nonsense under the cut

ive been trying to get better at drawing more varied body types for a while now and i think ive still got a long way to go but im getting there. fat and muscle definition werent something i bothered to learn for a long time because all i wanted to draw was twinks and dragons ... but in the last year or so ive really been pushing myself to do better. i think learning to draw different body shapes is really important and improves your overall anatomy skill by a mile, its also just really fun for me to think about how fat is distributed across the body and affected by gravity and all that stuff. bodies in general are my favorite thing to draw and what i spend the most time sketching

ok enough word vomit lets talk about my ocs

iovitus is supposed to be built more like an athlete, but im not sure i got that across very well. they're still skinny and comparatively twinky next to their fellow cats, but still strong and in good shape. after they left the legions they didnt really bother that much with the upkeep of their figure, but since theyre focusing more on mercenary work again they've been better about it

most of iovitus' muscle is in their shoulder & back, as their weapons of choice -- longbow and throwing axes -- require a lot of strength in that area. theyre very triangular shaped & top-heavy, with a broad chest & shoulders, thin waist and narrow hips. skipped leg day :/

nero is supposed to have sort of a dad-bod type of build. i changed a bit about his design as ive been tinkering around with his lore recently. she was always supposed to have some tummy to her, but i dont think i drew it very well in the past. i think a dad bod is very fitting because she is one after all

i also wanted to make her blind eye more obvious because i kept forgetting about it whenever i drew her so umm sorry babe. still need to come up with an explanation as to why it happened! was considering having him just born with it for a while, but i love scars and scary traumatic events so... sorry nero

in spite of the good layer of fat he's got on his body though, nero is very strong and muscular underneath it all. his warband doesnt do a lot of combat stuff anymore but he's still working most of the time and takes good care of himself. juicy thighs btw

ruckus... i dont have much to say about. i love you babygirl

she's so much taller than everyone else.... its difficult to notice in the line-up as they are, but i wanted to see so i lined them up in front of one another and. well. ->

look at her. and iovitus. why are you so small??

finally, lia! she's still small in comparison to most other blood legion charr, but she makes up for it in her strength. or, well, she might've in her younger years; at her current age she's definitely lost a lot of that muscle definition just by the nature of aging

thats not to say she's weak, though. she can and will definitely fuck you up if you try her

her burned arm is her main weak point. it was burned severely enough where the muscle and nerves were permanently damaged, resulting in a lot of stiffness, uncomfortability, and chronic pain. the movement in that arm is limited and she has to guard it closely if she's ever in a scuffle

i think in general a lot of muscle definition for charr is lost just cause they have fur to cover it up, evident by the fact you cant really see a lot of it on the in-game models. or at least thats my excuse for not knowing how to define muscle with lineart

[bonnvivre]

a funny thing- ch 24/25 word dump

WUAHAHAHA 4AM BABEY YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS

i’ve been cookin low and slow with this one and i mean real slow like. too slow . as in 2 weeks later whoops

this one’s a real doozy so grab a snack

FIRST PAGE ON THE GOSUKU TAG WHEN YOU SORT BY KUDOS LETS GOOOOOOO major rweiser W

———————————————

ch 24

thinking abt yuuji flying down the sidewalk and megumi becoming the equivalent of a flag whipping behind him pls yuuji not everyone can keep up 😭

fred says fuck

mmmmmm crunchy cookies i love me some egg shell

yeah with cooking, you can play around with the measurements and adjust along the way, but baking is whole different beast :[ i made creme brulee for our new year dinner, my first time baking actually, and i was terrified the entire process cus one wrong step and its over (they turned out good in the end, though i wanted to leave it in the fridge longer) 

sukuna and uraume on the same wavelength love that

daww megumi just be a kid its okay 

gojo’s nicknames for toji PLS father-fushi and fraidy-guro

hehehe he technically called sukuna pretty ,, i agree

LMAOOOOO AINT NO WAYY OFC HE SABOTAGED HIM 

i feel like toji would actually do well in getting sales (if he had the proper cookies) considering he’s “a pro at freeloading off women” which leads me to believe he’s got hella charisma . 

“Fushiguro stops just before the table, one hand balled into a fist so tight, the muscles of his arm are easy to see, flexing dangerously beneath his skin.” uwwheheheerhfbud sorry

OH SHT THE GIRLIES ARE FIGHTING YOOOOOOOO AND SUKUNA JUMPING IN FOR GOJO ???? in front of the kids in a school fundraiser is crazy lmao

pinky

gojo taking bets on who’s gonna win reminded me of mei mei betting on the gojo-sukuna fight

i had a crazy amount of secondhand embarrassment going thru that hhhhhh yknow that feeling when you just wanna curl up and cover ur eyes and you’re fighting to even look back ? yeaaaaa

“Hurting people is bad. And you’re not bad!” ohh yuuji ughhh he has no idea of what sukuna was before, that he’s done more than hurt people .. children really only see the side of their parents that they’ve allowed to show them. it’s why kids usually think the highest of them, so yuuji saying that sukuna’s not bad gets me cus he’s known and seen only the best of him. but it makes me feel gooey inside cus, while everyone else sees the former king of curses, yuuji sees his dad and when he does eventually find out, he’ll still always be his dad before anything else (does this make sense i hope it makes sense im trying to make my thoughts coherent)

oh hey they’re talking abt it !

I GASPED OH MY GOD PLEAS EOLASOE APLEAS EPLAS EPALEAPSLEAPSH NOOOOOOOOO FFGGHGBBVV HITTING MY BED GRFGHJVNGRRAAGGHHFEG

im being tortured i thinj you’re trying to kill me here this is the worst case of edging ive ever had in my life (no not like that) 

post-chapter notes:

IM ALREAYD RIOTING YASTOP BLUE BALLING ME

id read real housewives of jujutsu sorcery

————————————

ch 25

GRADE 1 ?? AS IN ONE ?? AS IN  O N E  ?? AS IN, YUUJI IS NO LONGER A PRESCHOOLER

when you said small time-skip, i thought you meant a few months later . i was wrong

aight time to update the time board: yuuji’s in first grade so he’s 6 yrs old, we’re in 2013 now (i think), gojo is 24 yrs old  23 yrs old (chap takes place during summer, bday not passed yet)

it’s 2013, he can get a 3ds now :D im gonna get him on smash bros . OR KID ICARUS UPRISING IT SHOULD BE OUT ALREADY

they should totally name the potential pet after me (jk)

OKAYYYY THATS A START HE KISSED HIM ON THE HEAD !! WE’RE GETTING SOMEWHERE :O now go lower. preferably on the li

oh yeah yeah definitely not together whatever helps you sleep at night man

im gonna need the bad bitches birthday bash one-shot someday with the way shoko’s bringing it up

the fact gojo’s heard the threat so many times before that he can finish it and brush it off

CANDY CRUSH  !!?!??

AWWWWWW THATS ADORABLE ;____; sukuna wanting to do something to surprise gojo’s first day as a teacher and yuuji suggesting to make a cake cus he knows his daddy loves sweets AND they spent the whole day prepping awawawawaw so cutee

they called on uraume for help too LOL poor them 

yuuji being a snitch HA i can’t help but think of my siblings

you can’t be serious gojo, not after that? people also don’t usually sleep and cuddle the homies cmon man

mother is mothering and mother is leading the herd (no but i love how he adapted to the role very easily, likely to prior experience)

whuh the fundraiser was last year ? am i overthinking the timeframe … ok im back after going thru the calendar that makes sense 👍 carry on wait hold on first semester of first grade ended so they’re on break ... summer break ?? unless this is going off of a different schooling system (oh yeah duh japan lol)

ohhh please let them meet mama-guro i can imagine the absolute shock on their faces trying to comprehend how someone like toji managed to marry someone like her 😭 bonus points if toji is much more softer around her too and the sheer whiplash of seeing him having ANY sort of loving side is enough to send gosuku into a spiral

“It’s exactly the type of thing Sukuna would never be caught dead wearing, which means Satoru must do all in his near-infinite power to make him wear it.” real

THESE THREE ARE RIDICULOUS LMAOOOOOO sorry kids your fathers are busy trying to one-up each other

“But, then again, these are just go-karts; how much damage could he really do?” famous last words before disaster

oh no

hey sukuna’s living life at least he’s having fun and that’s all that matters 🥰

not the pyramid projectiles

CONICAL AMMO !?$&7)-)26 MARIO KART IRL GONE WRONG oh my god its too late for this i need to sleep

OH MY GOD ?????? 

WHADDYA MEAN THEY’RE GONE ??????

post chap notes:

what just happened

no really what jusr happened

the amount of times i’ve said oh my god throughout the entire go-kart scene i was clutching my pearls

he recreates his reign in the silliest ways, all while wearing nice little red bow :3

nah i get it the entire first arc was dedicated to how messed up he was abt suguru so i understand the doubts but they’ve also near kissed multiple times .. unless they were super down with kissing the homies 

“I sure hope nothing bad has happened to them...” STOP

[giorno-plays-piano]

Vicious

Part IV

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, all characters are adults.

Words: 1880.

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

Part I

Part II

Part III

_________

After you came back to your room, you got a message from Steve about changing the locks on both you door and your locker. You were so taken aback by today's conversation in the student council room that you had completely forgotten about it. Apparently, Steve had already requested the change of locks on your behalf through email, and you were really grateful to him for that: you dreaded coming back to the room that had been forced open. Of course, tonight you would have to move your dresser to the door so that nobody could enter when you'd be sleeping.

Shit. It was absolutely crazy.

"I'm not sure about all this, Steve." You texted him while laying on your bed and staring at your phone in the darkness of the room. "It doesn't seem right."

Naturally, you meant the fake dating thing. It felt horrible thinking of what others would think after seeing you with five different guys. Would they be calling you a whore in the open? Make some nasty jokes behind your back? Report you to the school administration for immoral behavior? Remembering those bigots from the student office, you cringed at the thought.

Besides, it still didn't make sense to you why you had to date all five. Sure, if they were around you at all times like your friends, these unhinged bastards who stole your things wouldn't do anything funny again, but it wasn't like that. What could one guy do against a group of other students?

"Listen, I didn't want to talk about it in class, but I'm worried it won't end with a stolen lingerie."

You didn't like his message.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. They might attempt something much worse than a theft."

Oh no. Was he talking about rape? Seriously? Did he anticipate others were so crazy they would do something like that?

But then again, girls were being raped in colleges even if it weren't the all-boys schools. A shiver ran down your spine.

"But if several people attack me, just one of you won't be enough." You typed with your shaky fingers, trembling beneath your blanket.

"It's not about the pure force. Each of us has a certain reputation, and others wouldn't want to cross us over because of it."

Wait, this was interesting. What on Earth did he mean? What kind of reputation was that to prevent people from messing with them?

"Thor is a good athlete and a great leader, his basketball team is ready to beat people to death for him."

"Loki's father is one of academy’s main sponsors, and he can have this school turned upside down if he wants to."

"Bucky is a threat by himself, but he also have a company of loyal friends."

"I don't think Peter is serious enough to scare anyone, but with his computer skills he could easily blackmail others, I’ve already seen him doing it. Students would be wary to cross him over just like any of us."

Steve was writing you a bunch of messages with a terrifying speed, and you could barely read the first when he was already sending you the second. It felt absolutely insane. Did he choose every guy because the more powerful admirers you have, the less others would intervene? Well, at least in case of Bucky and Thor who could beat people to near death, it was wise. You preferred not to think of Peter - you had no idea someone as sweet and caring as him did something as disgusting as a blackmail.

“But what others will think? 5 boyfriends? Others will think you are dating-” you paused, chewing your lips to bit, “- a whore. Nobody gonna stood up for me.”

"Imagine if each of us tells our friends that other four guys were just asked to watch over you, but you date only one.”

Oh. Yes, this was slightly better. Then you wouldn’t have to do something as bold as kissing every guy in public, instead maintaining the mystery who you were really dating. 

Damn, how Steve even came up with this plan? Why was everything so complicated?

“It’s getting late. Good night.” Your phone vibrated again, and you huffed with irritation. You hoped you could ask him a bit more - about what you were going to do with the thieves Steve found, for example - but he was probably getting tired with all your questions. It was better to ask him tomorrow.

___________________

The next morning you were restless: since you were starting to going out with guys, you felt like you needed to look better than you usually were, so you spent your morning working on your hair and makeup. It was like fake dating, right? You had to pretend you wanted to look pretty for them.

What else did you have to do? Cook something sweet for them? Yeah, probably, but not at the start of your relationship. Going to cafe together? Helping each other study? Loki also mentioned the cinema...

You felt dumb. Of course, you dated guys before, but now you realized you had no idea how to act not to cause any suspicion. Oh boy, it was going to be a tough day.

Thor nocked at you door thirty minutes before your first session, but you woke up so early you were more than ready to go. As you opened the door, first moving the dresser back to its place, the guy looked at you with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Hey, what was that?"

"The dresser. I can't leave the door just like that until the lock is changed."

He blinked at you, watching the door and then probably remembering somebody forced the lock open to steal your underwear.

"These guys are batshit crazy." He mumbled and nodded you to go with him, putting his hand on your shoulder. "Don't worry, they won't do it again."

You wanted to argue they definitely would, but, seeing his warm smile, you thought Thor simply wanted to cheer you up and smiled at him in return. In the end, he was here only to make you feel safer: you didn't doubt he was very popular with the girls every time he went out to the city.

"You look great today!" He said sheepishly, walking in the dorm's corridor while other students were staring at him silently, obviously surprised to see you two together. "I mean, not that you looked bad yesterday, I just..."

Watching his face suddenly getting crimson red, you couldn't help but giggle at his expression. You could never think Thor was actually bashful around girls. Yeah, at your old place he'd definitely be one of the most popular guys around.

It was lunch time when you two could actually talk, sitting together at the same table and being watched by everyone around. Strangely, with Thor constantly talking and often rubbing your hand with his, it didn't feel suffocating, and you held your head high: regardless whether those pricks were looking at you, you weren't going to run away to your room and cry there like a little girl. Loki was right: you weren't a silly little sheep, scared of your own shadow. You wouldn't let anyone spoil your time in the academy you dreamt studying in.

Funny enough, Thor turned out to be a talkative type when he was speaking about basketball and his team in particular. He loved sports: while you were more into hockey, the way he talked was so enthusiastic it made you listen to him with a genuine interest. Thor's love for basketball was infectious.

He seemed a simple man, this giant bag of muscles who was laughing so loud people around him flinched; Thor wasn't the exact type of a guy you would encounter on your own, but he seemed nice, sincere, and surprisingly softhearted. You felt at ease talking to him, and soon you too acted like you'd known each other for long.

It was a pity you'd only met under this circumstances. It felt like you two could became friends.

But then when Thor absent-mindedly put his arm around your shoulders, you remembered Loki's warning: they would try to gain your favors. Was it the reason Thor was so nice to someone he just met? Wasn't it suspicious of him? You couldn't let your guard down after just one lunch together. In fact, you knew nothing of the man sitting in front of you.

"I knew something like would happen." Some guy to your left sighed loudly, catching your attention. "They were fucking crazy."

"I'm not surprised either. I just wanna know who they got in a fight with to be beaten like that. Have you heard they broke Gray's both legs?"

"Woah, both? That's brutal, man."

You shivered, trying not to listen to them.

"It'd happen sooner or later anyway. They were completely wild."

A word caught your attention right away: that was what Steve called those students who were stealing your things. Could it be a coincidence? Surely, in an all-boys school the students were fighting each other constantly.

But to the point of breaking both legs of someone? Really?

As you sent Thor a nervous look, he gently patted your shoulder, lowering his voice so no one would hear him, "I'm sure it's nothing to do with you. These things happen here from time to time because the guys have no idea what to do with all that testosterone."

You hoped he was right.

The rest of the day went as usual aside from Thor walking the corridors with you and chatting about sports: he managed to convince you to come see the game next month when they would be having a tournament. You were grateful to him for helping to ease your mind because the news of guys being sent to the ambulance made you shook. Steve also mentioned something about his and other's friends ready to beat anyone to death, right?

By the middle of your last class you couldn't think of it any longer and quickly typed a message to Loki. Of all people, right now he seemed the most sincere to you.

"Hi. Are the guys who were beaten last night are the ones who stole my things?"

Waiting was a special torture when you held the phone in your arms beneath your desk, hoping to see your screen lighting up with a message. In five minutes you got your reply.

"Yes." The message said simply, but it was enough for you to stare at your phone with horror, wishing you didn't ask Loki anything.

Oh shit. It wasn't a coincidence, right? It's impossible. Somebody did it on purpose. But who of the five?

"Do you know who did it?"

Next time he answered pretty fast, "No."

A part of you felt relieved. Maybe it wasn't related, finally. Maybe they got beaten by somebody who was fed up with their attitude because they were crazy as the guys in the cafeteria said.

But what if it weren't true?

"Who's the most brutal among you five?"

Biting your lips, you started rocking in your chair a little, making the guy on your left to roll his eyes in irritation.

The phone's screen flashed again.

"Barnes."

Part V

_________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @stupendouslovegardener @goodgodimaweirdperson @frontmanash @freya-heya @yandematic

[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?”

[toosicktoocare]

Prompt:  this might be too vague but how about sick dick or jason (your pick, i'm fine with either) hiding it from bruce on patrol bc things are really bad between them at the moment

Catch me flying with the typical Jason is still A+ Bitter at Bruce

With the recent rise in aggravated incidents in Crime Alley, Jason’s been forced to share his patrols with the bats, an idea he violently fought against until Alfred stepped in, the calm, steady voice of reason, and insisted it was necessary for his safety.

Monday he had Dick, and things were... okay. Dick’s face is plastered beside the definition of “handful,” but he knows how to respect Jason’s patrol strategies, following wordlessly and only helping when needed. On Tuesday, Tim proved similar to Dick, his maturity blossoming. Though, he asked more questions, weirdly curious about Jason’s lingering effects of the Lazarus Pit. Jason answered each, hoping his short, clipped replies would hush the replacement because his head was starting to pound along each question.

Jason wasn’t surprised to see Damian on Wednesday, but he was definitely annoyed. He had woken up with a splitting headache that seemed to bleed down to his muscles, pushing against them. He thought, at first, it was a migraine, but the pain in his head was different and accompanied with a flushing fever heat that colored his cheeks. He said nothing to Damian, and Damian merely scoffed and disappeared to navigate Crime Alley areas alone. Jason let him, going off on his own as well, and they met up to one-word debrief before parting ways for the night.

When Jason shoots his grapple hook to the edge of a rooftop on Thursday, he expects to find Dick again. Maybe Cass. What he doesn’t expect is to see the unwanted, annoyingly familiar, brooding shadow of Batman standing atop the roof, arms crossed, mouth flat.

Jason’s stomach drops, and he stumbles his landing, catching himself with a hushed curse. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Bruce sighs, fingers visibly digging a little harder into his arms. “Language, Hood.”

“This is my territory,” Jason spits back. “I’ll say whatever the fuck I want. Why are you here? Doesn’t Batman have bigger things to do?” Saying ‘Batman’ aloud leaves a sour taste atop Jason’s tongue, a bitter word that plays with the dull burn of the Lazarus Pit.

Since Jason’s return to Gotham, Bruce has been trying to reconcile, but Jason’s not willing to forgive and forget. He’ll try with the others, more so because they are annoyingly persistent, but not with Bruce. He can’t wrap his mind around forgiving Bruce for letting him die, for letting the Joker continue to breathe while he took his first last breath.

“I want to be here.”

“That’s fucking gold,” Jason rolls his eyes and turns away, absently coughing into his fist as he scans his rapid departure. The coughing’s a new development, only just testing his lungs when he woke this morning, but the headache’s remained, a steady, pulsing thump that his repeated consumption of pain killers can’t seem to touch. He doesn’t need a thermometer to know he’s running a fever; he’s got the inconsistent jumping from boiling hot to freezing cold to supply that for him.

“Jay-”

“Code names, Batman,” Jason growls before he shoots his grapple hook to a rooftop adjacent to them, moving along the sudden pull of weightlessness until his feet are thumping atop the next roof. He breaks out into a run, falling into a pattern of leaping over smaller gaps and grapple hooking over larger ones, all to ditch Bruce. His muscles are trembling from the sudden exertion, but he feeds off of the pain, pushing himself harder and harder when he hears Bruce not far behind him.

He only stops when he hears a woman scream from below, skidding to an unsteady stop and peering over a roof edge just as Bruce lands heavily beside him.

“Muggers.”

“No shit,” Jason grumbles, already bracing to leap off the building. “Do me a favor? Stay the fuck out of my way.” He jumps to the sound of Bruce’s strangled “Jay,” ignoring it as he grabs a fire escape to soften his fall. He lands strategically between the two muggers and a young woman.

“Today’s your lucky day, gentlemen.” Jason smiles sharply under his mask. “I’m in a really shitty mood, so I’ll make this quick.” His fist moves on its own, and he allows the aggravation to bleed to a dull rage that pushes his punches, plants his feet, and pulls his dodges. In just a minute, the two muggers are unconscious at his feet, and the woman’s running from the scene, stopping only when Batman drops to the ground in front of her and talks her into staying to give a statement to the GCPD.

Jason’s already shooting back up to the next rooftop, and his lungs quake against a bursting fit of coughs the second his feet make a rough landing. He coughs into his helmet, his chest shaking, but he forces a steady breath when Bruce drops beside him. Though, it takes more blinking then he expects to clear his wavering vision.

“Do you plan on following me all night?” Jason questions, tired and far too hot under his suit. “I don’t need my territory associating the Red Hood with Batman. I have a reputation, and you’re going to fuck that up for me.”

“I’m here to help.”

“You can help on the East side of Crime Alley,” Jason mutters, a few, weaker coughs slipping past his lips. “I’ll handle the rest.” He drops to a landing below him, leaping over to the roof of a convenience store, and his legs buckle on the landing. He falls to his knees, his vision swimming faintly, and he unconsciously taps into the deep-rooted burn of the Lazarus Pit when Bruce drops beside him, one hand frozen mid-reach toward Jason’s back.

“What part,” Jason growls, coughing hollowly around each word, “of fuck off isn’t clicking in that empty skull of yours?” He’s shaking despite the heat gripping at his bones, and he clumsily undos the lock on his helmet, sucking in a ragged breath when his burning face is exposed to the cool wind.

“Jay?”

“Jesus Christ, B,” Jason spits out, forcing himself to his feet and slapping Bruce’s hand away. “Just fucking go.” His throat’s burning, and his head feels oddly heavy despite the absence of his helmet. The skin across his face is so hot it’s practically itching, and he rips at his domino, squeezing it in his fist when Bruce frowns deeply at him.

“Jason? What’s wrong?”

Jason laughs, and his laugh gives way to a few, chesty coughs that rattle his lungs. His vision is graying at the edges, and he hastily rubs at his eyes. “What’s wrong is I’m tired of you and the fucking peanut gallery clinging to me like fucking leeches!” He’s faintly aware that he’s breathing too fast, and he’s impossibly hot. He swipes at his eyes again, but his vision only darkens. He’s fading, and yet, his body is mingling with panic.

He feels Bruce slip and ungloved hand across his forehead, and he tries to jerk away from it, but Bruce keeps him in place with his other hand wrapped tightly around his arm.

“Jason, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say?”

Bruce’s classic growl, Jason thinks, is wavering? He’s not sure because his ears are ringing. “Because it’s not your fucking busin-” Jason stops, his mouth forming a round ‘oh’ right as his vision goes black.

***

Bruce catches Jason as he falls, and he swallows back the panic threateninng to cripple him as he taps his comm, rattling off his coordinates. “Who is closest?”

“I am,” Dick chimes in after a moment. “I can be there in five. What’s up?”

“I need to get Jason back to the manor. Do you think you can cover the Alley alone tonight?”

“Of course, but what’s up, B? Is Jason okay?”

“No,” Bruce whispers, smoothing a shaking palm to Jason’s burning forehead. “But he will be.”

***

Jason’s entire body feels impossibly heavy, so heavy that he struggles to open his eyes, mind briefly flicking toward panic at the unfamiliar surroundings.

“You’re at the manor.”

The ceiling suddenly makes sense his mind, as does the voice at his side. He drags his gaze to see a Bruce sitting in a chair at his bedside. He frowns, briefly glancing to the IV in his arm before turning back to Bruce, a silent question in his eyes.

“You fainted on patrol. You were running a fever of 103.3 degrees, and you were dehydrated.”

Shit. Jason knew he was sick, but he hadn’t realized he let it get that bad. He wants to talk, even opens his mouth to, but Bruce holds a single hand up, shaking his head.

“Save your strength. You’re on the mend, but not as quickly as we’d like.” Bruce slips to his feet, his eyes colored in dark pain that Jason catches onto.

“I’ll give you some time to yourself now that you’re awake, but I’ll be back, and you are just going to have to deal with that.”

Jason’s mind is fuzzy, confused, pained, but he feels a fraction lighter along the knowledge that while he blacked out, he woke back up this time, safe, alive. He stares at Bruce’s back headed to the door.

“B?”

Bruce stops, and he whips around, one brow arched.

“Thanks. I guess.”

“Of course, son.”

Bruce leaves, and Jason decides that, just for tonight, he’ll take muted comfort in the single word that carries an impossibly heavy amount of weight.

Son.

[hale-13]

Airway

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 29 Prompt - Control

The only real drawback of the current iteration of his suit, Peter thought, was its lack of air filtration. With the tools and workshop space that Mr. Stark provided him with Peter was able to make a Spidey suit that was top of the line in every aspect except for the ventilation; for all intents and purposes Peter was really just breathing through high tech spandex. The tightly woven fabric did, minimally, protect him from inhaling smoke and other harmful chemicals but not enough.

Words: 2407, Chapters: 1/1 (complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Bruce Banner

TW: Medical Procedures, Panic

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

The only real drawback of the current iteration of his suit, Peter thought, was its lack of air filtration. With the tools and workshop space that Mr. Stark provided him with Peter was able to make a Spidey suit that was top of the line in every aspect except for the ventilation; for all intents and purposes Peter was really just breathing through high tech spandex. The tightly woven fabric did, minimally, protect him from inhaling smoke and other harmful chemicals but not enough.

Which is what landed him in his current situation of sitting with his mask pulled up to the bridge of his nose and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth as he took shallow, wheezing breaths.

The apartment fire that he had responded to still had a surprisingly large number of people stuck in hard to reach places that left Peter exposed longer than he would have liked. His throat felt like it was on fire and his lungs felt tight the way they used to feel when he had an asthma attack. The fire fighter that had passed him the oxygen mask earlier crouched down in front of him with a worried look on her ash stained face.

“I still think you should let us take you to the hospital,” she said worriedly as she adjusted the flow of oxygen. Peter shook his head..

“I’m good,” he croaked, trying not to wince at just how destroyed his voice sounded and display as much confidence as he could. She still looked dubious.

“Is there anyone you can stay with tonight?” She pressed. “You shouldn’t be alone just in case.”

“I’’ll be okay,” he promised, removing the oxygen mask and pulling his own down to cover his face. It immediately became harder to breathe and he regretted giving up the clean air but he knew if he didn’t get out of there soon he would have a much bigger problem. “Thanks for the help!” He called as he swung out, his breathing becoming more labored as he webbed away.

His HUD fizzed out for a second before directing to the Tower and Peter rolled his eyes at Karen but obliged. May was working a late shift and Peter did feel pretty shitty. It probably wouldn’t hurt to hang around the Tower with its fully stocked and staffed MedBay for the evening. He had to stop a few times on his way to catch his breath but he made it to the landing pad with few issues.

“You stink,” Tony greeted him as he walked in, pulling his ashy mask off his face and letting it drop on one of the many end tables. “You committing arson now?”

“Ha ha,” Peter said hoarsely with a slight cough as he ventured into the kitchen to Fran a bottle of water to gulp down. Tony narrowed his eyes over his cup of coffee in judgement and concern.

“Karen said they put you on oxygen,” he said accusingly and Peter groaned and dropped his forehead to rest on the cool counter top, taking aborted breaths through his mouth. The smell of smoke still on his suit was making it hard to take deep breaths in.

“Only for a couple minutes,” Peter answered, coughing again and taking another swig of water.

“Go take a shower,” his mentor ordered. “Leave your suit in your room and I’ll send it down to FRI for deep cleaning although at this point it might be worth it to just toss it and start again from scratch.”

“But I just broke it in,” Peter whined, trudging off to the room Tony had set aside for his use. He may be right though – smoke was a notoriously hard stench to get out of fabric.

The hot water felt heavenly on his skin and Peter spent probably too long under the strong spray but, unfortunately, his chest still felt tight and heavy when he got out. He paused in front of the mirror, trying to take deep, even inhales and he squinted his eyes in confusion. He had helped out on a few burning buildings and had never felt this way before. Deciding he probably just needed some rest, Peter left the bathroom and joined Mr. Stark back out in the common room.

He only got about halfway through his soup and an episode of The Office before he passed out, head leaned back against the cushions.

——————————————

The room was lit only by the glow of the projector when Peter woke up unable to breathe.

He gasped and flailed as he woke up, smacking Mr. Stark in the face and causing him to yelp as he tried to inhale through what felt like a straw. “Lights up to fifty,” Mr. Stark barked out and Peter snapped his eyes closed against the blue-toned overhead lights snapping on over him. “Fuck Peter,” his mentor said, scrambling of the couch and scooping Peter up in his arms.

Peter felt dizzy and his vision was spotted with black dots as he was carried to the elevator. He could hear his mentor yelling something but couldn’t comprehend what was being said as he lifted one shaky hand up to clutch at his, now swollen, neck and he could feel panic bubbling up in him.

‘Don’t black out,’ he told himself as he tried to calm down and even out his breathing. ‘It’s fine. You’re fine.’

“Bruce!” Tony shouted as he deposited Peter on, what must have been, a bed in one of the exam rooms in the Tower MedBay. “He can’t breathe!”

An oxygen mask was shoved over Peter’s face but it did little to help him but he gripped it with a weak hand anyway, gasping into it and squinting his eye open. “Hey Peter,” Dr. Banner said in his usual calm voice, raising the bed up so Peter was sitting and grabbing a light and a tongue depressor. “I need you to open your mouth for me.”

Peter shakily nodded and dropped the mask to open his mouth, gagging on the tongue depressor and swaying a little at the loss of the little oxygen he was getting. Bruce swore and placed the mask back over Peter’s face, pressing a blue button on the wall and lowering Peter back to lie flat. “His airway is closing!”

“What!” Tony said, panicked and grabbing Peter’s hand to squeeze as the room burst to life with medical professionals. A nurse grabbed him and bodily pulled him from the room as he yelled for answers. Peter could feel his own panic bubbling up in his gut but he also felt like he may pass out and didn’t have the energy to explore it.

“Peter,” Bruce said firmly and calmly from directly above him as a nurse cut off his shirt and another placed an IV catheter in his arm. “Your throat is full of soot from the fire earlier and is causing your trachea to swell and close. We’re going to knock you out so we can place an endotracheal tube to help you breathe. It’s going to be jarring when you wake up later but it will be okay. I need you to trust me.”

Peter could feel tears welling up in his eyes and spilling over his face from the stress and effort but didn’t get a chance to respond before his muscles relaxed like wet clay and his vision spun into darkness.

——————————————

“I’m on my way,” May Parker’s wet voice said through the phone as Tony paced up and down the hallway outside the room where the medical staff was working with Peter. “God Tony fuck!” She said, sounding out of breath as if she were running.

“Happy’s on his way to get you,” Tony promised her, trying to control his own racing heart and tensed nerves. “He’ll be there in ten minutes and he’ll get you back much faster than the bus. I’ve got him May. I promise I’ve got him.”

May let out a sob into the phone and Tony felt his heart clench. “If anything happens to him,” she said and Tony nodded. He knew. He understood.

“Just focus on getting here safely,” he told her as he stopped to stare at Peter’s door. “I’ll let you know when I hear something.”

“The very second you find anything out,” she told him firmly before hanging up the phone. Tony rubbed a hand over his face and dropped into one of the chairs that were spaced throughout the hall, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and closing his eyes.

Waking up to Peter panicking, pale and with blue lips was probably going to be in the top five worst experiences of his life and would definitely haunt his nightmares for weeks to come. Bruce hadn’t told him anything before ordering him removed from the room and his imagination was, most likely, worse than anything that was happening to Peter but he didn’t do well not knowing what was going on.

“Update FRI?” He asked his AI hopefully, tapping on the comm link he kept in his ear basically all of his waking hours.

“Sorry boss,” she said remorsefully. “Mr. Parker’s condition is classified.”

Tony’s stomach knotted further and he stood back up to pace again, unable to sit down and needing to work out his restless energy as he waited for an update on the kid. About fifteen minutes of nail biting later, Bruce slipped out of the room and gestured to Tony to sit back down.

“He’ll be okay,” he started out, making Tony sag in dizzying relief. His throat was filled with soot from the fire earlier and it caused his trachea to swell closed. We knocked him out to place an endotracheal tube until the swelling went down but it was already to severe so we had to perform a cricthyrotomy to establish a viable airway instead.”

Tony felt the blood drain from his face and he felt a little faint. “Talk to me like I’m an idiot Bruce,” he said, desperate and hoping it wasn’t what he thought it was. “I need you to lay it out for me.”

Bruce looked worried and reached out a hand to grab Tony’s wrist to take his pulse. “I need you to calm down,” Bruce said firmly. “Yes, this is scary but Peter is fine. With his healing abilities he’s going to make a full recovery and he’ll probably be back on his feet in just a couple days alright? Peter is out of danger but it isn’t going to help his recovery if you have a heart attack okay?”

Tony nodded, making a concentrated effort to do his four-seven-eight breathing and calm down. It took a couple minutes but Bruce was patient. “Better?” He asked and Tony nodded, gesturing with his hand for the other scientist to continue. “We had to make a small incision in Peter’s neck and trachea and insert an endotracheal tube through that incision since his upper airway was too swollen to allow it to pass. He is able to breath on his own with this in but we have him on supplemental oxygen just to support him. He is on a ventilator just to give his lungs a chance to recover but he can breathe on his own – its just supplemental alright? We’ve started epinephrine and steroid therapy to reduce the swelling and we’ll probably be able to remove the tube in twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

“He’s okay though?” Tony asked a little desperately. “He’s fine?”

“Yes Tony,” Bruce told him with an indulgent smile. “He’s okay and he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Can I see him?” He asked, staring at the closed door.

“In a few minutes,” Bruce promised. “The nurses and respiratory therapists are getting him settled but then you can go in. Do you want to call his aunt and I can update her in the meantime?”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, passing his phone over to Bruce and feeling his muscles unclench just the smallest amount.

The kid was okay.

———————————————

Peter woke to the clicking and popping of artificial air and immediately panicked at he felt his chest rise and fall against his volition and he grasped at the loose gown resting over him before a gentle hand took his and pulled it away. “Hey kiddo its alright, you’re okay. You can breathe the machine is just helping a little.”

Peter cracked his eyes open and made eye contact with his mentor who was seated beside him. May was loosely gripping his hand on the other side, her head resting next to his arm on the bed and soft puffs of air hitting his skin as she slept. The machine clicked again and it took everything in Peter not to fight it. Tony ran his fingers over his knuckles in a soothing gesture.

“We’re going to have to work on your suit,” the man said with a little smile. “It’s getting a full respirator and oxygen tank. It’s going to be a challenge since its so sleek but I think, between the two of us, we can figure it out.” Peter let his brows furrow in confusion and Tony sighed. “Your throat closed up because of the smoke,” he said. “You’re going to be fine though.”

The ventilator clicked again and Peter squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep calm. He had never done well with loss of control and he could feel his Spidey sense making his hairs raise and his adrenaline spike. He wanted to panic but the artificial breaths wouldn’t let him and it just made it so much worse.

“Hey hey,” Tony said soothingly, rubbing his free hand through Peter’s hair in a calming gesture. “It’s alright.” He gave Peter a considering look then hesitantly offered: “Want me to have them put you out?”

A thrill of relief shot though Peter and he squeezed his mentor’s hand in desperation as he pressed the call button. Peter couldn’t see the nurse but he heard Tony ask for the sedation like he was underwater, not calming until he could feel the cool rush of drugs in his veins.

“I’ve got you buddy,” the man said, a thumb rubbing over Peter’s cheekbone once before settling back in his hair. “You just check out for a while.”

The darkness was welcoming as Peter fell into it; feeling safe with his aunt and mentor watching over him.

[drabblily]

Bad Confessions

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, of course. Fluff. 

Word Count: 2.1k

Synopsis: Y/N seems to have fallen in love with a certain hotheaded blonde, might as well confess and get rejected to move on with it, right?

A/N: First Post! Hope you enjoy <3

------

Falling in love was scary.

There was nothing gentle about it, hence the “falling” part of it. You were either all in or not in at all. You could be pushed, you could take that jump, or you could accidentally take one certain step and fall to your impeding doom.

And it was so, so fucking terrifying to you. When you fall in love there is supposed to be someone waiting for you at the bottom to catch you, that was the fortunate option. The unfortunate side was that when you fall in love, that person could move at the last second to let you splat to the ground.

You guess, that’s what made you so scared of it. That someone would move to let you die. To be manipulated. To be used like that. It scared the hell out of you.

That was probably why you never noticed the signs when you were in it. The constant checking of a text message to see if he texted you, the sweaty hands and speedy heart whenever he walked by, the overthinking about him, trying to grab his attention by looking pretty.

It was torturous and you thought nothing of it, perhaps you were going crazy, though. Because you definitely should not be feeling like this.

So, you visited the school nurse, Recovery Girl, in hopes that she would cure your unknown disease.

“Hello? Recovery Girl?” You knocked on the open door to alert her that you were there before stepping in.

The old woman turned towards you with a smile on her face, “Hello, Y/N, are you hurt?”

You gulped, fiddling with your fingers, what if she weren’t able to help you? What if it was a fatal deadly disease and you couldn’t be cured no matter what??

“Well…actually, not really. I just think I might be feeling sick and wanted to ask you for your advice on how to help me out with it?”

She patted the hospital bed she had, implying for you to take a seat, so you did.

Recovery Girl silently grabbed her thermometer, going across your forehead to see if you had a temperature. You didn’t, normal temperature. She grabbed a stick and told you to open your mouth and say, “Ahhh…” With her gloves, she felt around your throat to see if there was anything that could hint at you being ill.

Unwrapping her gloves and throwing them out, she finally spoke with that constant smile of hers, “Well I did the minimum and it doesn’t look like you are sick. You don’t have a fever or any signs of a sore throat. Are you sure you feel sick? What are your symptoms exactly?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, there was no way you couldn’t be sick. Oh my god, what if you were right. What if you were uncurable!! Leg slightly bouncing in anxiousness, you told her, “W-well, actually, I think my mind is all fuzzy. I’ve been getting urges to check my phone when we are out of class…I sometimes get really feverish around people and it feels like my stomach is twisting when around somebody…do you think a villain could’ve used their quirk on me to make me feel like this?”

Your elder slightly chuckled, as if she knew a little secret, smiling even wider with a slight tint of pink to her cheeks, “Oh dearie,” She patted your bouncing leg to calm you down, “you sound like you’re in love.”

Your eyes widened, blood rushing throughout your entire face, “What! With who?”

“With whoever you want to be around, or whoever you think about most.” She clasped her hands together, nodding her head to convince you further. You couldn’t believe it though. You? In love? Doubtful, you were a future pro-hero! You had no time for love!

The bell rung, hinting you should be at your first period class soon, “Well, dearie, you better get to class now. You know how your teacher acts when you are late.”

You numbly nodded, jumping off the hospital bed and walking out of the nurse’s room. On your way to class, you felt heavier, your mind racing with ideas of who exactly you could be “in love” with. No one came to mind. It was torturous.

Finally, you made it to class, opening the door—luckily Aizawa-Sensei wasn’t here yet—and walking to your seat. Eyes scanning the chatter filled room, you made eye contact with mean crimson eyeballs, your heart picking up pace and your tummy feeling nauseated again.

“Got somethin’ to say, damn extra!?” His rough voice asked you loudly, looking to pick a fight.

Your bottom lip quivered in realization, breaking eye contact and sitting down in your chair. You put your head on the table between your arms, “No no no no no no…him?? Really? That cannot be true, he’s an asshole for crying out loud, what is wrong with you??”

You felt a loud slam on your table, “Hey! I’m fucking talking to you, dumbass!”

Your head jolted up at the suddenness, your big eyes staring up at your crush and classmate, Bakugo in confusion and sudden fear. Your cheeks flushed and you licked your lips, feeling thirsty out of nowhere now, “I…”

You noticed a deep red dust his ears as he opened his mouth, “Nevermind.”

Heart skipping a beat at his unexpected calmness, your eyes trailed his body as he stomped away to his chair with a slouch in his posture.

You felt a tap on your right shoulder, your close friend, Mina leaning over to whisper to you, “Bakugo’s never that nice to anyone, he’s totally got the hots for you!!” She squealed in excitement.

You choked on your air, sputtering out words, “N-No! I doubt that’s it, he probably just didn’t want to deal with Aizawa-sensei, he could’ve walked in at any second after all…”

The pink alien playfully punched your shoulder whilst giggling, “Hah! Yeah right, he doesn’t care if he gets in trouble, he totally has a crush on you, I can tell!”

You opened your mouth to respond when your teacher walked in with a ‘dead inside’ expression plastered onto his face, the entire class going silent so they wouldn’t get in trouble.

----

Ever since you found out your crush on your hotheaded classmate two weeks ago, you’ve done your best to avoid him as well as possible. No eye contact, no walking near each other, no talking—which meant also doing your best to not piss him off so you wouldn’t have an excuse to talk to one another. You did whatever you could in hopes of your stupid crush on him to fade away.

But nothing was working. So, you could only come to one reasonable conclusion.

Confess to him. You knew rejection was coming and you just wanted to get it over with so you could wallow in self pity instead.

Maybe that’s why you were here, standing in front of Bakugo Katsuki’s door, a rather large lump caught in your throat as you raised your hand to knock on the door. Swallowing it down, your fist quivered, hesitating to actually knock.

You couldn’t do this. It was way too nerve wracking and you were too much of a coward to actually do it. Placing your hand back down to your side in defeat, you pressed your head on the wall next to his door with a sigh.

“Why can’t I just tell him…” You murmured to yourself, looking down at your hands, imagining his rough ones holding yours. Which was stupid, considering it would never happen, you told yourself, pushing the silly daydreams away.

“What the fuck did you just say, damn extra?”

The sudden voice made you yelp, jumping away only to trip on your own foot and fall straight onto your ass. You groaned at the impact your palms and butt just got, both in extreme pain. You brought your hands up to your line of sight, inspecting how they were red and felt like it burned.

The man above you clicked his tongue in frustration before offering you his hand, “Dumbass. How did you hurt yourself from that?”

“I...” You started, grabbing his hand hesitantly; staring at your hands connected made blood rush to your face, “You scared me. I didn’t see you there.”

The blond snorted, “Idiot. How are you going to become a hero if you just jump from hearing my voice.” He mocked, narrowing his eyes at you before tugging you up and off the ground.

You flushed, reluctantly pulling your hand away from his to cover your face in embarrassment, “Shut up…”

“What the fuck are you doing in this hall anyways?”

“I just, um, you see…”

“Spit it out already, idiot.”

You peeked through your fingers, making eye contact with him, and taking a deep breath, “I just…wanted to tell you something.”

Bakugo crossed his arms—which you couldn’t help but admire how his muscles tensed and moved—raising one annoyed eyebrow at you to signify to continue.

Okay. You had to do this now or never. If you didn’t do it now, youd be a failure, a disgrace. Maybe rejection was what you needed! Maybe if he rejected you, your feelings for the hothead would dissipate and you could focus on more important things, like being a hero. Not fantasizing what kissing your classmate would feel like in the middle of a test.

‘Okay, just spit it out. You can do this’ You told yourself, putting your hands together and gulping.

“Alright, just listen,” You glanced towards him, seriously, hoping he wouldn’t interrupt you until you got your words out so you wouldn’t feel like a fool midway, “I, well to put it simply, I think…I think I like you, a lot. And its terrifying because ive never felt this way about anyone before. But I know you don’t feel the same way, so…please—”

Before you knew what was happening, Bakugo pushed forward, uncrossing his arms to grab ahold of you.

This was different. A lot different than how you expected.

Soft lips captured yours, passionately. You froze up, your mind going haywire trying to figure out what the fuck is happening right now. You noticed two things, does this mean he liked you back? It had to be right? That thought made you dizzy, there was no way this man liked you back. Bakugo fucking Katsuki, no way.

The man in question pulled away, taking note of your flustered expression, smirking at it waiting for you to speak again.

You reached up to touch your lips, still unbelieving that just happened. The second thing you notice was that his lips, oh god. They were heaven. You expected them to be chapped, rough, but it was far from it. Of course! This man would be perfect like this, after all he did seem like one to take care of himself.

Suddenly snapping up to your senses, your eyes widened, “W-what was that!? I said not to interrupt me!”

Katsuki snickered, “Seriously? I just fucking kissed you and you’re thinking about how I interrupted your stupid confession?”

“N-no! The kiss was nice!” His smirk widened. “No! It wasn’t nice, that’s not what I meant! Well, it was nice, I mean I liked it of course! B-but—”

“You’re stupidly cute when you ramble, you know?”

Your breath hitched before reaching over to smack his arm for teasing you, his strong hand catching your wrist and tugging you into his arms, his free hand coming to grip your waist.

“Stop teasing me!” You whined, struggling against his grip to leave your embarrassment.

“Hell no. Its fun to see your expressions when I do.” Bakugo grinned, his grip tightening for a second, “Your confession was ass though.”

You placed your head on his chest, squeezing your eyes shut. You knew it was bad, but he didn’t have to point it out for crying out loud!

You felt the pressure on your wrist disappear only for it to show up on your chin, “Hey, look at me.” His vermillion eyes surprisingly gentle, his tongue coming out to lick his lips.

You were the one to lean in this time, tilting your chin up to kiss him, after all, you didn’t exactly reciprocate it when he did. However, Bakugo immediately responded, his mouth moving against yours with a passion.

After what seemed like an eternity to you—which in reality was about thirty or so seconds—you pulled away, speechless and breathless.

His forehead leaned against yours, his eyes snapping open to make eye contact with you, “I like you too dummy, don’t forget it.”

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Hurt S/o! | Shikamaru + Kiba + Shino | ANGST + Fluff | HC’s

Request: This is my first request so please forgive and correct me if I do something wrong. I was wondering if you could maybe do an angsty headcanons for Shikimaru, Kiba, and Shino from Naruto’s reaction to their S/O getting seriously injured protecting them. If the S/O recovers or dies and the enemy is all up to you, I’ve just noticed a real lack in content for them and I’m craving it hard. Please and thank you!

Word Count: 1953 words

Page Count: 5.5 pages

A/N: i got so caught up in writing this it became way too long lmao. im sorry i forgot about naruto :( but i hope you do enjoy the rest! i made sure to end everything well. i have a shit ton of angst requests so i thought id leave this on a happier note :)

Tags: @bipolartryingtosurvive

Shikamaru Nara

- I could see this being during the Hidan fight.

- Hes set the plan in motion at that point.

- And you’re to make sure Hidan is distracted for the time being .

- Hidan may be an ass, but he isn’t dumb.

- He notices how you are keeping him from Shikamaru.

- Fucking LIVID

- You notice how hes shifting your fight closer to Shikamaru until he gets to the point where he definitely can get a deep slash into the Nara.

- You knew he was trying to get to him.

- You were fast, one of the fastest in the village, but that was because you were fairly weak when it came to strength.

- You tried to zip around, gaining speed and momentum, and within seconds- right when Hidan was going to bring his scythe down on Shikamarus neck, you slammed your body to his side.

- Shikamaru flew away as Hidan managed to get a large and deep slash into your body; you felt it start from under the right side of your ribs, curving across your stomach, and finally finished above your left knee.

- You didn’t feel it until you fell to the ground- shock really is a bitch.

- And then you felt the dull sting grow and blood dripped from the wound.

- The stinging grew into a pulsing and unbearable ache, and you knew for a fact he cut through each muscle in the way of his scythe, but your organs were nipped ( at best ) in the process.

- You couldn’t hear what was going on.

- You heard your heart beat in your ears, it was deafening, but you focused on your breathing and trying to keep calm.

- You trained for this- having a close friend beat your ass near death so you could focus on remaining in a state where you could prolong the inevitable.

- Yeah you thought of the most wild scenarios, and managed to prepare for them- turns out it worked out well.

- Once Hidan is buried Shikamaru went straight to you, managing to help out with Ino and Choji, stopping some of the bleeding while getting you to the village.

- You’re passed out at that point, so Ino cauterizes the wounds ends, the part under your ribs and the entire thigh.

- Shikamaru starts freaking at this point, he almost passes out, and Choji has to get his ass back together.   

- Once you get back to the village Tsunade is ready to go, with Sakura by her side your ass isn’t ending up on that stone.

- It takes about four hours to get you all settled, and into a private room, out of critical.

- He’d stay by your bedside, your hand in his till you woke up.

- “Shika…?”

- “Oh my gods, [ Y/n ]!”

- “Hi”

- Your soft giggles helped ease this poor boys heart.

- “You look awful.”

- “Don’t look too hot yourself.”

- “Wow. Okay.”

- “Get up here, you need some sleep. And don’t even deny it.”

- He took off the bulky clothes, only in his pants and tank top, climbing in next to you as you settled your head on his chest.

- “Thank you for taking care of me,”

- “Thank you for not dying.”

Kiba Inuzuka

- Being in Anbu had its ups and downs.

- But mostly downs.

- Okay. Only downs.

- But you managed to find your light, in a childhood friend and now lover.

- Though- he managed to act more like a puppy than a boyfriend at times.

- You didn’t mind though, and you lived your life peacefully after having to leave Anbu due to an injury that limited your eyesight greatly and it hindered all sight starting at arms length.

- Though, when in Anbu, its always- ALWAYS expected to have an old rival or two come back for more, even when one is retired.

- And here you were, walking through the forest with Kiba and Akamaru, talking about his past mission with Hinata and Shino.

- He got so excited to tell you that he didn’t notice the shift in scents in the air, and you couldn’t see ahead or through your peripheral.

- It happened so fast.

- Too fast.

- One second you were smiling with his arms around your waist, his chin on your head as you both laughed with Akamaru yipping.

- The next you were slipping from his arms, and blood was pooled at his arms, the slash at your neck was gruesome.

- Your hands went to your neck as Kiba yelled, Akamaru going after the person who came from the shadows.

- “No. No. No. No. No. No. [ Y/n ], NO!” He was panicking, picking you up quickly as a hand wrapped around your throat, gripping it so tightly you almost couldn’t breathe.

- Almost.

- You learned to stay calm in situations like this, and with Kiba’s harsh grip you didn’t have to waste any energy to help with the bleeding, so you focused on breathing and not getting your heart to pump too fast.

- “Tsunade! Fuck- get a medical nin! Now!”

- He yelled, running into the village again, where many were coming to help you out.

- Akamaru had come back by then, his mouth bloodied as well, but nothing else- indicating he got a good bite on the fucker.

- You made it to the hospital before you lost consciousness, making Kiba worry even more, because THAT was never a good sign.

- He had to be the one to lay you down on the table and his grip never wavered, getting into a sterile room and waiting for some instruction.

- He was freaking out inside, he wanted to cry and let go, just hold you- but you would die if any of that were to happen.

- He had to stay calm for you.

- He wasn’t going to let you die.

- The tell him to let go quickly and all hands go to your neck, working quickly to stop the bleeding, while a nurse came to get Kiba cleaned up and situated.

- His mom even came to help the boy, who looked dead while staring at your room, not even wanting to go in.

- “Boy." 

- Oh did she go off, telling him to go to his girlfriend and be a man.

- He did want to go, but he couldn’t help but feel so… helpless.

- "Helpless? Helpless! Boy, you do understand you just saved your girls life? That if you weren’t there she’d be laying there dead?”

- Kinda rocked his shit, but thanks mom.

- He went into your room alone first, your neck was bandaged and you looked pale, with blood and other IV fluids being attached to your arms.

- He noticed the especially dark bruise on your neck.

- It could have been either from his hand or the surgery, but he still felt bad.

- His mom came in and sat with him on the other side of you.

- They both held your hands and visited you till you woke up.

- “I lived bitch.”

Shino Aburame

- I honestly can’t see his S/o getting hurt so bad.

- Because when you think about it his bug control is OP AF.

- Like he can essentially control you with a bug.

- I would go with someone would be after him, but since they can’t get to Shino- you would be the best option.

- Get hurt him physically so lets do it mentally and emotionally :)

- Poor boy

- I could see this being when your both adults, and teaching the younger generations, including your kids :)

- And you’re chilling on your house rooftop, that you’ve decorated with couches and tables and such, even hanging lights around.

- You had Shino build a retractable sliding glass on top in case it rains.

- If you’re having trouble imagining this- think Fast and Furious ending where everyone is eating dinner together.

- Yeah that’s ya’ll with the rest of the group :)

- You’re relaxing, reading a book and curled into the couch and drinking some tea or coffee or hot cocoa ( THEY’RE ALL VALID ) 

- You had gotten up a second to go to the large chest you had near one of the tables, to pick out a fluffy blanket.

- You never noticed how someone had mixed a poison into your drink, because they were gone before you could even decide on a blanket.

- Your kids would have been home soon, and they knew you liked to hang out up here, especially Shino since he kept the bees up here.

- You settled down and read some more, before taking sips of your drink.

- You noticed it tasted weird, and you had gotten up to check it out you felt your head get light, and your throat was stinging- making you cough horribly.

- You honestly felt like death was coming for you, and you knew something was wrong, but by the time you had gotten to the door you fell down and struggled to breathe.

- “Hey mom, Aponi kicked me-”

- “Shut up! Adonis don’t be- Mom!”

- “Mom?!”

- Your kids started freaking out, with your little girl noticing how strange you looked and saw the cup that was broken at your side.

- “Addy! Get dad! Mom drank something!”

- “Alright! Stay there- I’ll be back!”

- They managed to get their dad and Uncle Kiba, with Aponi looking to the cup- having some of her bugs recognize what was in it.

- “Dad! Its Saifu Ants! Someone poisoned mom with Saifu ants!”

- Shino had gotten some for himself and used their toxins to create an antidote.

- You were currently at the hospital, and declining rapidly, stressing out everyone around you.

- Even Naruto came and the dude is Hokage and is busy as hell.

- “You should all be prepared for the worst.”

- Everyone’s hearts dropped, and Shino couldn’t be there- he was helping making the antidote.

- It took about 20 more minutes until Shino came rushing in with it.

- Everyone made their way to your room and god.

- You were so pale, you honestly looked dead. Your kids only knew you were alive due to the heart monitor and your weak chalkra signature, your breathing was supported by a machine and even then your lungs sounded horrible.

- God Shino worked as hard as he could so fast.

- He felt like his heart stopped, that everything was moving too fast for him and he was going to pass out.

- Thank god his eyes were covered cause he had tears in them the entire time.

- He felt his soul ripping apart, what would he do if you left him so soon? The kids?

- You had gotten the antidote in time- but not before the poison had it’s time with you.

- Your lungs were destroyed and your heart was weak, your muscle was torn down.

- But you made it back to them.

- Everyone held a sigh of relief.

- You were a little off at first- still sleepy and slurring.

- After a few month you were able to leave- with everyone visiting you in the meantime with what had been going on in the village.

- Once you made it home you collapsed on your bed with Shino, easing his heart just a bit.

- Your kids jumped in too, snuggling up to both of you, with Aponi on your chest and Adonis on your stomach.

- “You scared us. Please, don’t do that again.”

- “It’s okay. I told you. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

- “Like I’d want to.”

[tigerdrop]

okay kind of obsessed with the body swap art tho. idk why i just like benrey getting to bully gordon with his own body, his own voice, and i like gordon trying to navigate whatever weird shit benrey’s got going on. gordon not being able to figure out or control whatever organs in benrey’s throat produce sweet voice so it’s just spewing whatever emotions he’s feeling at random (including Horny? uh oh. can’t hide that as easily as a surprise boner can you gordon?)

this ask kicked me into actually thinking about it and your brain is so huge. massive. i lost control

last night i was struggling to articulate thoughts for the body swap thing but this is kickstarting me. i. really love bodyswap stuff........(sighing) i am yet again having to confront the fact that i latched onto an embarrassing number of Things after having first read about them in [REDACTED]. truly hate being alive

so like......potions. you can get into a whole lot of weird stuff with potions. truly loving that darnolds 5-minute existence gives me an excuse to think of the stupidest horny potions scenarios

and why in the fuck wouldnt he have a bodyswap potion just chillin in his lab. why wouldnt benrey crack that bad boy open and take a sip while darnolds bitching at him "dont you touch any of those goddamn potions. im not gonna tell you which ones which so if you die, you die"

gordon claps benrey on the back afterwards like "well, thats a risk im perfectly happy for him to take" but uh oh you fucking buffoon. the touch is what activates it. and shit just starts spinning and schlorping in his mind and he nearly falls over clutching the lab bench next to him and when he cracks his eyes back open, hes........shorter. and everybodys asking if somebodys okay but that somebody isnt him and hes kind of miffed about that

and then gordons head turns and he sees Himself being steadied on his feet by tommy and darnold and hes like.......guys? guys. hello! and the sound of benreys voice coming out of him with that irritated and loud timbre makes everybody turn to face him........b/c that is so insanely weird coming from him

im like way into the idea of benreys, like, Eye Darkness Thing transferring to gordons face when their bodies are swapped, too. its just his malevolent energies manifesting physically no matter what body hes in

Wait god wait. Like. Benrey in Gordon's body and he gets horny for some reason and has to live Gordon's fucking pained life of the suit edging the hell outta him- Bc now Gordon can actually fucking jerk off for the the first time in days. No edging bullshit from the hev suit

benreys newfound appreciation for why gordons such a bitch all the time

RRRRRRRRRRR gordon able to go wild beating his meat that night finally but right before he does he stops because hes looking down at. 8)!

YES EXACTLY....... gordon freeman humbled by the sight of benreys huge meat. except its his meat now 

at first he only feels mildly weird about jacking it when hes not even in his own body right now but hes been edged for days now and hes just thinking "if i can just get this out of the way now, ill be clear-headed for however fucking long im stuck in black mesa. maybe this is why ive been so goddamn stupid lately. yeah"

but then he gets some time and space to himself at long last and unzips and the shock of seeing benreys huge uncut dick instead of his own brings him back to reality like "?oh my god what the fuck am i doing"

embarrassment! guilt! but also hes still fuckin horny and eventually curiosity wins out. whats the harm, right. its not like he has to say anything about it. and gordon freeman is (mostly) heterosexual and hes never been this up close and personal with a foreskin before and hes just......curious. scientifically

maybe hes even.......locked himself inside one of the company restrooms while hes at it. just to make sure hes got privacy. and there is a mirror right there........  he was gonna just bust one out and leave as fast as he can but now hes curious

starts. thumbing the hem of his shirt under benreys vest. starts lifting it up experimentally just to see where all that hair leads. out of curiosity. and seeing the curve of benreys stomach peek out in the mirror makes him hiccup on sweet voice inadvertently 

weirdly enough theres a part of him thats both relieved and disappointed that hes never seen that color before

he never envisioned that seeing benrey like this would be a turn-on but like......with that vest and that helmet on he just looks like some kind of fuckin roundish rectangle shape. but now gordons intimately familiar with how his body feels to move around in......what hes gotta look like underneath all that armor and ill-fitting work clothes......and the hornier he gets the stupider he gets

takes off the helmet.......just to test the waters. if somebody manages to bust in, thats not so weird to explain. and hes surprised by the shock of black hair he finds under there. he doesnt know what he was expecting....but honestly, benrey looks, like, kind of nice like that. more like a person

im slightly obsessed with the idea of benrey just not even registering as a Real Guy, physically, to gordon, one that he could possibly be attracted to, until hes out of his work uniform.......like hes more of an icon of a person than anything up until that point. pure signifier. no substance

like......you know......the equivalent of how benreys HL model registers to 99% of people watching the series. sure, thats not necessarily anything youd register as "hot", most likely, but then u peel that away and its like........Oh

the model is the icon and the representation of the icon is the real

and gordon runs a hand thru benreys hair and tries out one of those shitty little smirks benrey likes to use on him and the effect is.......dizzying. is that him? is that what benrey really looks like to him?? he feels fuckin salacious doing this

he can even.........get his face up close to the mirror and really look at those teeth

run his tongue over them experimentally.......feel their sharp edges.......and, no, theyre not sharp like a knife, but they are definitely pointy. and surprisingly well-kept......hes never seen benrey brush his teeth before but clearly he must. theyre so smooth and slick under his fingertips

and then he flushes and drops his hand b/c hes getting some weird fucking thoughts right now........but looking back up at himself in the mirror and seeing benreys face all wide-eyed and red makes the issue worse

oh, you really like seeing him look like that, dont you. and gordons pissed b/c this isnt even his fucking brain but its still whispering the exact same neurotic, self-defeating shit at him that hes trying very hard to tamp down

and then he starts getting a little crazier. taking off the vest. he can explain that, no problem. its just kind of hot. heavy. he needed a breather! its normal. just in here to splash some water on his face and cool down, nothing wrong with that. but that just makes benreys shirt all the easier to access.......and he tugs the hem of it just a little higher and looks at himself in the mirror and runs a thumb over the curve of his stomach, where the hair is thickest, and he shivers

gordon freeman is deeply normal and would never get off to the sight of a guy with arms the size of his head tentatively dragging the hem of his shirt up, just for gordon to look at him closer

hands shaking from nerves as he decides to loosen his tie and start unbuttoning and he sees more and more hair-dusted skin and muscle and fat and a thin sheen of sweat reveal itself

> i could see gordon trying to tense and flex the muscles a bit just because hes normal

HE IS, AND HE WOULD

he doesnt know when "being horny b/c hes been pent up and edged for days and he just needs to get his rocks off real quick so he can be normal again" turned into "being horny b/c the way benrey looks under his uniform is scary good to him" but if he thinks about that too hard hes gonna have a panic attack

tells himself that its all just because he hasnt been able to get off. thats why hes thinking this shit. hell stop thinking it once he nuts

> hey this is a quick aside but yknwo how he talks to himself in third person sometimes? what if he does and then kinda does a mental double take at how his name sounds coming out of benreys mouth, with his voice. ok thats it goodbye

oh ym god thats making me go insane. doing it by accident and then.........saying it again. on purpose. just to hear benreys voice doing it

getting one knee hitched up onto the sink and leaning forward with his arm braced against the mirror and his forehead leaning on his arm and tugging benreys dick (no, idiot, thats your dick right now, stop thinking about it) and tentatively groaning out his own name and it comes out so hoarse and desperate that it punches him straight in the gut (too bad, hes thinking about it, he cant not think about it, not with the way he looks and sounds right now)

> remember in the series when benrey called him gordon one (1) time and he noticed immediately and was like..i think thats the first time youve called me by my name.

he looks so fucked out and slutty in that mirror that it almost makes him pass out

eyes darting like hes trying to commit every single detail of how he looks right now to memory (b/c he is. he fucking is. he wants to make benrey look like this so fucking bad. just for him. wreck him and get him flushed and sweaty and panting and moaning gordons name and jesus christ, okay, thats where his brains taking him. okay. cool)

hes dizzying himself thinking about it. he knows benreys hot for him by this point, theoretically. assuming his weird come-ons werent just jokes. benrey would probably let him do this to him. benrey would probably want him to touch his dick. gordon thinks about how good it might feel for his own hand to be on benreys dick and he cant get himself solidly into one headspace or another - hes gordon, hes benrey, he wants to touch, he wants to be touched, he wants to feel his own hand on this dick (and god, maybe he could. maybe he could ask. wouldnt that be crazy.)

benrey in gordons suit and gordons body and gordons face leaning over him, b/c fuck, he really is tall compared to benrey, hes figured that one out awful quick. and gordons (his) hand on his (benreys) dick and stroking him and leering down at him with those dark, dark eyes that dont even really look like his eyes, anymore, not with the way theyre shaded over, and hearing his (benreys) (his) voice moaning out his (gordons) (definitely gordons) name and all the little "pleases" and "thank yous" that he cant stop letting out b/c benreys voice was made for it, made to beg and whine and ask so nicely, and his heads spinning as he comes all over the fucking mirror and sink

> i wonder if this could be combine with the ideas that parts of the self or like mind is still a bit left behind if that makes sense, like with benrey also wanting this that part of the reason gordon wants to say those things

"do you want to fuck him or do you want to be him?" well my good bitch, perhaps you can have a little of both. welcome to my personal hell

hes never come so hard in his fucking life and the noise that rips out of him when he does, finally, after days of being jerked around (ha ha) makes his ears burn with shame

now if you really wanna go crazy. imagine that benreys up and walking around this whole time b/c being edged by his stupid broken suit is making it impossible for him to sleep, and he hears........all of this. stops and presses himself flat agains tthe wall to listen

he cant actually get into the bathroom to scare the shit out of gordon/offer to join in/etc, b/c this stupid flesh body of gordons cant even noclip, but he can press his ear to the door and. listen. and he can flush all the way down to his chest when he hears gordon in there, moaning out his own name with benreys voice

so thats what gordon wants him to do, huh. thats what hes thinking about.

poor benrey, tho. he gets to experience just a lick of the endless fucking suffering that gordon goes thru every single day just by being alive, and "the HEV suit trying and failing to suck him off to completion while his dick twitches against the hard metal of the interior every time gordon groans in there" is just one small part of it

anyway . see ya. my final message

[lucas-koh]

Stitches - Bryce Lahela x MC IV

As always please go and read parts 1-3 if you haven’t yet, the link is in my bio to the tumblr masterlist as well as Ao3.

Doesn’t exactly follow canon, but elements of canon. FWB.

Song: Late Night Feelings - Mark Ronson, Lykke Li

Rating: M; implied sex, swearing, sexual language

Word Count: 3457

Taglist: @lahellacute @lahamseiroshoe @anotherbeingsworld @fuseboxmusebox @choicesficwriterscreations @bubblelaureno @bratzlahela

Chapter Four: Late Night Feelings

Grappling with the doorknob, she realised that it wasn’t going to open. Suki cursed herself for having locked the door earlier. So much for trying to keep partygoers out of there. Reluctantly removing her lips from Bryce’s, she turned around so she could see the lock, even if it was spinning a little.

Bryce took this opportunity to pull her backside tight to his body, swiping hair from her neck so he could kiss down it. They were soft kisses but left tingles in each spot he sucked on, warm and gently bruising. At each spot Suki could still feel his lips there, even though he’d moved to another location on her neck. She wanted to reach a hand back to tangle through those sun-streaked, soft, strands of hair. To encourage him to keep going. But if she wanted this to continue she would have to get the door unlocked.

“Bryce…” she whispered a laugh, grappling her hand towards her back pocket, “my key’s in here.” She slid her hand between their bodies to slip out the key, grazing Bryce’s thigh on the way.

He let out a quiet moan of complaint, but kept slowly sucking at the underside of her jaw. His soft kisses and tight hold were leaving her absolutely breathless. After struggling with the lock for longer than either of them wanted to wait, and a few cuss words, Suki was able to push open the door to her bedroom. Almost as soon as the door creaked open Suki turned back around to lock her lips with his again, pushing her hands flat against his pecs. The door closed automatically behind them, causing a louder slam than expected and a little jump from the two interns. Nevertheless, they continued to kiss their way back towards the bed.

Suki broke apart just before they reached the mattress, slipping off her shoes ever so slowly. Bryce followed, but watched hungrily, desperate for contact once more.

She pushed him back on the bed with one hand, following to climb on top and straddle him. He instinctively brought his hands up to dig into the sides of her thighs. Far too many clothes right now.

“Nice,” he grinned.

“No more talking, Lahela,” she breathed. She placed a finger to rest it on his mouth in a ‘shushing’ motion, where he gave it a cheeky lick. She laughed at the action but didn’t move.

“Not a peep,” he winked, pulling her finger from his face and using his grip on her hand and thigh to flip her over so he was on top. Entwining their lips again, Bryce teased his fingers up the hem of her top, feeling the warm contractions of her stomach as they kissed. Suki’s hands lightly grazed Bryce’s neck, keeping him where she wanted him.

Suki spun them around again so she was once again straddling Bryce. His hands found their space on the outsides of her thighs once more. She pulled her top over her head, earning a low whistle and chuckle from him. Then she started to pull Bryce’s top over his head, each tug revealing a new ab muscle. Bryce moved his arms above him to let her undress him, all the while regarding her with the smuggest grin ever.

“I can see why that patient called you Ken Doll…” Suki breathed out as she traced her fingers over the contours of his chest. He really looked like he’d been taken straight out of a Calvin Klein advert.

“I thought we weren’t talking?”

“Shut up,” she laughed, forcing him to be quiet by attacking his lips with hers again. They scrambled around with their trousers as they kissed, clumsy and desperate.

Soon enough they were in their underwear and touching all over each other’s bodies. At feeling her lacy underwear, Bryce wondered if maybe she’d known something would happen. He pulled her off him momentarily.

“Hey, you okay with this?”

“Yeah. You?”

He grinned wolfishly like the fact she’d even asked was ridiculous. Then they rejoined and continued on into the night, mulling in their pleasures and ecstasies.

—-

The next morning Suki’s eyes creaked open with difficulty as though she was peeling back a sticky label. She’d slept through the night fully with no interruptions. There was a heavy weight over her waist, and something pressing into her back. Light breaths tickled and warmed her neck.

Ah. Suki remembered the nights events, and sure enough, as she looked down ever so slightly, she saw the large rough hand draped over her body was a deep honey-coloured, highlighted by the sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains. She could see in her head the way it held her last night, gripping at her waist, digging into her thighs, and running itself through its owner’s soft gold-streaked hair. Nice. She echoed his own words from before.

Suki had done many one-night-stands before, so she wasn’t bothered with the fact they’d slept together. And after all, she had bagged the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on, and she hadn’t been drunk enough that she couldn’t remember everything they’d done in the dim witching hours. She could definitely recall the way he’d held her, his hot kisses, the stars he’d made her see. Only, he’d stayed the night. They worked together. They had weird history. What if he expected more? More than Suki could give him. She didn’t have time for feelings or dating, her job was her life now. She wasn’t even sure she was capable of feelings these days, it had been years since she’d been in a relationship.

But maybe she needn’t worry; Bryce was a perpetual flirt after all. In fact, of course she was being silly, of course he wouldn’t expect more. She’d known the guy, like, a month. Well, unless you counted their singular meeting at college. This was just what it said on the tin: a no-feelings, fucking amazing one-night-stand. She sighed in relief, slowly attempting to edge her body away from Bryce’s.

Suki felt Bryce stir behind her, grunting quietly. The bed creaked slightly as he moved. Her stomach contracted with nerves at the thought of him waking up. Okay, so they’d done some things last night – there was a LOT of looking and touching - but that didn’t stop the fact that Suki was cringing at the thought of Bryce seeing her naked that morning. That was just who she was. It didn’t matter that she saw other naked people at work all the time, but the fact that it was her own body in the sober light of day was different. Intimate. She cradled her comforter over her chest the best she could, trying to dispel the nerves from her head. It doesn’t matter. He saw it all last night, anyway. He more than saw it…

Another grunt from Bryce caused Suki to jump; she’d definitely woken him now. She tensed as though she could see his eyes blinking open behind her.

“Good morning,” Bryce said, his voice gruff and scratchy, his first words of the day settling on Suki’s ears. Well, unless they were working on technicalities, of course. She could practically see the smirk on his face, despite facing away from him.

Composing herself, Suki turned to lie on her back so that she could see his face, all the while clutching the sheets around her body. Bryce’s hand had remained loosely around her waist, but as she’d turned he’d brought it back into himself. There he drew shapes on the mattress, controlled yet elegant. Suki thought once again how Bryce would use that hand in surgery, steady and artful.

“Hi.”

The streak of light from the curtain was now drawing a line across Bryce’s right eye, down his straight nose, and over the undulations of his plump peach lips. His hair was scruffy, truly sex hair. The smirk which she was now convinced was a natural expression washed over his face, white teeth baring lightly at the movement. If there was ever a man fit to play an ancient God, it was Bryce Lahela. But, like, the rugged, bad boy God. And if Suki was honest with herself, he looked absolutely delectable, and she wanted to take another bite.

“Hi? Have I left you speechless?”

“No, Bryce. That’s how people greet each other.”

He snorted, but didn’t retaliate. They laid for a minute, Bryce drawing circles on the mattress in front of him and looking directly at Suki, and Suki staring at the ceiling above her, trying not to stare at sexy Hades.

“Well, it might be Sunday but I should still probably get up and ready in case I get a page,” he stretched, pulling his bicep upward with a hand on his head.

“Yeah, of course.”

There was a slightly awkward silence as Suki tried to not watch Bryce pull his black jeans over his gorgeous ass. As he was turned back she pulled on her underwear and a pyjama top which had been ejected from her bed the night before. Suki stepped closer to the door over her bedroom where Bryce was just finishing rolling up the sleeves of his Henley. The Henley she’d peeled off him ab by ab. She raked a hand through her hair, and cleared her throat.

“So, I have four roommates. You’ll have to be really quiet.”

He chuckled. “We weren’t very quiet last night.”

He’d done it again. Suki felt the familiar fire in her cheeks.

“Yes. Well.” She motioned to the door, unsure of what to say. Bryce simply laughed again and put a hand on the doorknob.

He looked back at her bemusedly for a pause before turning the knob and stepping out into the corridor.

Suki caught the door and shut it behind them quietly so as not to wake her roommates. The apartment was eerily quiet, but clean – it was undetectable that they’d had a party the night before. That was, aside from Bryce’s abandoned bin-bag by the sofa.

They got about halfway across the living room when they started to hear a key in the lock.

“Uh…” Suki froze. She couldn’t exactly run back to her bedroom, whoever it was would hear the two sets of footsteps anyway. Bryce shrugged nonchalantly - this didn’t put Suki’s nerves at ease in the slightest.

And then before she’d had time to make a decision, the door swung open. Aurora stood at the threshold, eyes flitting blankly between Suki and Bryce.

“I- uh- had to go and see my aunt at the hospital…help her with a case…” she trailed off, keys loose in her hand as she took in both of their messy hairs and the awkward gap between their bodies. Aurora also noted that Bryce was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing last night before she’d had to run off. She knew exactly what was going on here.

Suki’s eyes darted between Bryce and Aurora, wanting the ground to swallow her whole.

Bryce just watched Suki squirm with a shit-eating grin, arms crossed in a relaxed way across his broad chest.

It felt like the silence went on for hours.

“Shame you missed the party,” Bryce eventually broke the silence, winking at Aurora. She smiled sadly, and finally stepped into the apartment, leaving the door open for Bryce.

“Well, I’m glad you had fun.”

Bryce snorted, once again staring at Suki who was very pointedly avoiding his gaze. He walked over towards the door to begin to leave. He stopped for a minute, looking at the two girls again.

“Thanks for the sex,” he grinned with a wink, starting to saunter away from the doorway. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

Christ. That was the third time now she’d felt inconsolably embarrassed because of Bryce Lahela. Not counting the many small spells. The door banged shut and Suki wished it would shut out the awkward encounter, too.

Suki turned slowly to Aurora, whose face was even more shocked than it had been before. She gave an embarrassed little smile, and what was meant to be a nonchalant shoulder shrug. Instead she ended up looking like an un-oiled robot.

Would she ever catch a break? Her little moments of fun with Bryce all seemed to have ended in someone else walking in and embarrassing her. She wasn’t even sure what she could say to Aurora. She didn’t really want to talk about it, but she didn’t want Aurora telling the others either.

As if she was reading her mind, Aurora said: “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

Suki smiled gratefully at her friend, who looked tired from her night. So her worries now were not only on the accidental fact that she and Bryce were apparently not sly at all, but also at her friend for missing their awaited party and having to work all evening. And then coming home to find a semi-strange man in the apartment.

But even more so than her worries, Suki’s thoughts turned to Bryce’s departing words. Had he meant that? He wanted to do it again?

Yes. Yes he had.

—-

The next week Suki was caught first and foremost by Bryce after a night at Donohue’s. Their electricity whirred back up again like a generator coming to life as soon as they’d interacted again. And then they had a few drinks, inhibitions were lowered, and once again sexual desire took over. The roommates left early that night, but Suki and Bryce had stayed. They had stumbled into Bryce’s apartment attached and stayed that way for the rest of the night. Suki left before sunrise, she didn’t want to risk a repeat of their first time, her body couldn’t take getting so embarrassed again.

Over the next few weeks, Bryce and Suki thrice stole moments here and there, and as the moments grew more frequent, they became less careful. The thing was, that was the only time they’d see each-other. Small-talking in the halls or joining the other for lunch or coffee wasn’t something either of them were interested in.

“Just sex, right?” She’d asked him sheepishly as she pulled her scrub trousers back up the first time in the on-call room.

“Just sex. I’m sure neither of us have time to deal with any more than that. Just a reliable relaxation method.”

The third time, Bryce ambushed Suki in the corridor and pulled her into an empty room. It was getting frantic as the work and pressure piled up on them both, and they were hooking up at least once a week. Third work-hookup, third week. Bryce had started to kiss down her neck and tug at the hem of her trousers before she could wrap her head around it. She’d told herself she wouldn’t do this so quasi-publically again to avoid combusting if anyone found out; but he was there, and she wanted him more than anything. Jesus Suki, sort yourself out.

She had to admit to herself that this would be their fifth time, and thoughts about a one night stand were long dissipated.

Just as their makeout was getting heated and Suki’s hands were grabbing at the bottom of Bryce’s top for him to remove it, there was a knock at the door. A knock.

“Shit…” Suki mumbled, breaking away from Bryce. She pointed to the cupboard on the corner of the room, “get in.”

“In there??”

“Yes!” She whisper-shouted, shoving him towards the cupboard. He climbed in, eyeing her with disdain, and Suki smoothed herself down before going to answer the door.

“Oh!” He was surprised. It was the same nurse Suki recognised had been talking to Sienna at the housewarming party, holding a chart. He craned his neck around the room, seeing it was empty. “Oh, sorry. I thought my patient was in here. I must’ve read it wrong.”

“No problem,” Suki smiled, “I was just taking a breather.”

The nurse nodded kindly and left back out of the door.

Bryce burst out of the cupboard, looking a little put-out, but humour still painted over his face.

“Really?” He asked.

“Well, did you want another situation?”

He laughed and it echoed off the walls of the hospital room.

“I think I need to change my scrub top,” he smiled, lifting it up on one side where there was a large rip through it.

“How did that happen?”

“Coat hanger. Kind of backed into it.”

“Okay.” She said.

—-

Suki wasn’t sure why she was following Bryce to the changing rooms, but she was. He kept looking back, amused, as she moseyed behind him down the corridors.

When they finally reached the staff changing rooms, Suki looked round to check they were free, and began to speak behind him.

“Um… I think maybe we should work out some rules. Draw up a kind of list.”

“Seems a little much, don’t you think? For two people who just sleep together sometimes?”

“Nuh-uh, that’s three times now this has been a problem, that we’ve been caught in some kind of compromising position. We need to make rules so that we don’t break them. To keep this as straight and simple as it can be. If we’re going to do this, that is. You can back out any time.”

“You think I’m going to turn down free no-strings-attached sex with an incredibly attractive doctor? You’re insane,” he chuckled, “Okay, so I’m guessing number one is be a little more discriminating with our when’s and where’s?”

“Number one should be no work-place hook ups period.”

He blew air from his mouth like a fish. “Damn, Santa Fe. I suppose I’ll have to agree. We need to focus here, no distractions. I can’t be sneaking off with you if I want to stay the best surgeon at Edenbrook.”

Suki rolled her eyes playfully at his cockiness. Him agreeing to make this little arrangement official was a relief to Suki, though. Now she could concentrate on work and had an itch-scratcher on call. One who knew what he was doing.

“Okay. Number two – we don’t stay the night. It gets messy, I don’t need Aurora to catch you again.”

“There’s no one to catch you sneaking out at my place,” he grinned smugly.

“Bryce.”

“You’re right, it’s probably not a good idea.”

“Hold on,” Suki pulled her phone out of her locker, fiddling about on it for a moment. “I need this written down for posterity.”

He laughed at her thoroughness, but didn’t protest.

“We should have a signal, too. If we’re with other people or over text,” he suggested.

“That works. What sort of signal?”

“An ‘I want to have sex’ signal.”

“Yeah, I got that much. But what should it be?”

Bryce tapped his chin in thought. “What about touching your nose with your middle finger.”

“…what?”

“You know,” he demonstrated for her, “like that.”

She shook her head at him disdainfully, restraining herself from mimicking his actions.

“Fine, if that’s all you can think of. I suppose it’s both random and believable enough as a normal sort of movement. For texting we could use the nose emoji.”

Bryce threw his head back in a laugh. “Sexy.”

“Hey, it was your idea! Anyway, it kind of looks… phallic. In ways.”

Bryce pressed his hands together like he was praying and placed them on his mouth, thumbs supporting his chin, and shook his head slowly. He could not believe she’d just said that. After regaining composure, he added:

“Alright, how about: no drunk texting for a hook-up unless we know the other is also drunk, because it’s not gonna happen.”

“Of course, goes without saying.”

“Always gotta check.”

“No hickeys. No visible marking of any kind.”

Bryce chuckled under his breath as he remembered the opportunities he’d had to mark her, her neck muscles bobbing up and down.

“Agreed.”

“So this isn’t an exclusive thing, of course – you can sleep with whoever you want – but I’m going to need proof you’re clean if you have been going around,” she crossed her arms over her chest, all business.

“I’m a Doctor, what do you think of me?”

“Yeah, and all those douchebags at med school are probably doctors too, now.”

“Point taken. You can trust me, I’ll provide proof if necessary.”

“Likewise.” Suki knew she wouldn’t very likely be sleeping with anyone else, she wouldn’t actually have a chance to meet anyone really. But she didn’t want to rule out the possibility.

“Anything else?”

“Nothing I can think of, but we should be willing to add stuff on.”

He nodded. Suki tapped away at her phone for a few minutes, sorting out the list.

“I’m gonna need your number, scalpel boy.”

He winked exaggeratedly at this. “Oh?”

“To send you the list, obviously.”

[synchlora]

I heard apocalypse AU? 👀

YOPOOOOOOOOOOO YESYEZYEZTWSDAGAVZGX

Yes

PARTICULARLY for the bench trio and wilbur :]] this was literally all sparked bc I saw an au where ranboo dies and I got so viscerally upset over it that I went through. so much effort to make an au where he lives. christ

SO :D

(so so many warnings abt graphic medical shit, infection, necrosis, Pain, medical malpractice, just. bad things, please be Careful)

tommy and tubbo r childhood friends. they run into one another quite soon after separating from their families. tommy ran from his family after his parents killed his sister, tubbo ran when his family told him to save himself and he blames himself for not saving them.

RANBOO. shows up half fucking dead lmao. many bites, definitely infected to become a zombie, arm is. very necrotic. and what else do tommy and tubbo do when they see another kid their age slowly becoming zombified?? take him home ofc <3

they live in an old rv out in the woods and ooh its shit but its something. ranboo is like. doing a little better??? bc hes not Actively starving but he is also still Infected and struggling w his arm. so tommy and tubbo have got to figure something out w all this

they decide to raid a nearby abandoned hospital for supplies and after taking a lot of medical equipment and drugs they Do Not Understand, they run into wilbur wandering the halls. they r obviously v defensive but wilbur is very curious, especially abt why they are taking basically Useless medical equipment unless they know how to use it

after some talking and deliberation, they learn that wilbur is (or rather was) a med student who was working an internship at the hospital when the apocalypse happened. no clue what happened to his family, they don't live nearby and there's no way to contact them

after long discussion between the two of them, tommy and tubbo decide to risk bringing wilbur back to see if he can somehow help ranboo. yeah its risky as hell to bring a stranger back to their most vulnerable friend but they're desperate as shit and wil seems to at least have Training lmao

so wilbur helps getting the equipment set up and he takes one look at ranboo and is just like jesus christ ive got my work cut out for me. BUT they get shit set up and start shit <- very technical language /s

tommys good at the tech shit, wilbur has the medical knowledge, and tubbo has the nerves of steel. and oooh boy those will come in handy becauseeeee

they have to amputate ranboos arm

basic details (BIG BIG WARNING FOR GROSS MEDICAL SHIT, BE CAREFUL): wilbur instructed, tubbo performed, tommy monitored ranboo Very Closely (hes on so much fucking pain killers its unbelievable. no general anesthetic, they have access but itd be too risky. they do have localized anasthetics though). applied tourniquet to upper arm around bicep area. pinned ranboos arm so he can't move it too harshly and cause unwanted damage. tubbo cut carefully and didn't shake a bit, ensuring to leave a skin flap of healthy, live skin for sewing and wilbur cauterized the blood vessels and major nerves as they went. obviously, as there is no general anesthesia, ranboo is fucking Screaming and also unable to sit still. that's tommys job, to monitor vitals and also literally keep him from yanking so hard he messes tubbo up. tubbo cut through muscle quickly and had a bonesaw to cut through the bone. hardest part of the entire procedure was smoothing down the bone at the cut. ranboo ended up passing out from pain and despite himself, tubbo was relieved at the lack of screaming. tommy was worried as shit at ranboo passing out but he closely watched to ensure he was still breathing and Alive. tubbo finished up and, with more of wil's instruction, covered the wound with the sewed skin (he would have left it open to monitor, but it was too much of a risk with how high-stress it was for ranboo already) left some drainage tubes, put on heavy antibiotics, and dressed the wound with clean gauze. ranboo took several hours to wake up and awoke screaming once again

it is overall fucking Awful and incredibly traumatizing for all involved

ranboo is Very weak at this point, both from the amputation and the steadily worsening yknow. zombification and shit

so the trio looking after him are scrambling around to do something Anything to treat him and try and save the guy

surprisingly, the amputated arm is doing well??? it does not have its own separate infection and the skin is actively healing, albeit quite slowly, around the wound. they've got enough supplies from the hospital to last a while for clean dressings and medications. jesus fucking christ did I mention how many pain killers hes on????

doesn't mean it doesn't hurt but its like. not entirely hellishly unbearable. only agonizing most days

anyway, through all this time theyre monitoring infection signs closely and wilbur is helping adjust doses of a cocktail of antibiotics and antivirals and even antifungals, just fucking Everything man

and.. things start to change

the sickly green tinge to the skin around his lymph nodes starts turning a more natural pink, the darkened veins start to lighten to a more human shade, the glassy fog over his eyes slowly begins to clear

and holy fucking shit did they just cure an infected person?????

hes been sick since they met him and now he's finally starting to get.. better?

dont get me wrong, hes still struggling and in so much pain and my god the dependencies hes got on a Lot of painkillers oough man, BUT. he is alive

and its an ordeal but. he starts to recover. the infection subsides. his arm is fully able to heal now that his body can focus energy to do that. he starts to actually be able to be himself and by god it really made it all worth it

AND THEY ALL FOUR LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER NO FUCKINH DEATH FUCK THAT THEY GROW OLD TOGETHER ND HAVE A GOOD TIME :]]

[prettylittlehargrove]

Party Crashers

Request - Here

Summary - Billy and Mayor Clines daughter are in a super secret relationship, but things become a little restless and the truth gets revealed by accident... but not in the best way...

Warnings - Tommy being a bit of a creep lmao, Alcohol consumption, Mentions of underaged drinking, a small mention of drugs

Word Count - 2048 , I finally counted them yay!! x 

Authors Notes - This was a hefty one and i’m so sorry it was so late, ive been super preoccupied and I also wanted to make this to the best of my abilities and I hope you enjoy it! x 

Everyone in Hawkins knew you. Everyone.

A lot of people would think of this as some popularity dream come true, but in all honesty it was a nightmare. Any hope at a relationship was diminished due to a lack of privacy, even going to the store at the weekend people made a fuss.

“The mayors daughter bought meat? Does she hate animals?” Or “Y/N L/N caught smoking!” And your personal favourite “The Mayors Soon To Be A Grandad”. That was after a certain Harrington got caught making out with you behind his car.

That was another problem with relationships, you were constantly being set up with rich kids who owned islands and beaches. Steve was the most casual relationship you’d had after his parents started to cozy up to your father. Unfortunately that didn’t end on the best of terms, both of you growing apart romantically and only really wanting to keep in sexual contact till you officially broke it off.

But then he came. Sun kissed skin and golden curls, he was the definition of a bad boy. Someone your parents would hate the thought of you dating. Billy Hargrove.

He was the everything you’d been told to walk away from. But instead you walked towards him, and soon enough you’d formed yourself a secret relationship.

Making out in his camaro at midnight, down by an old wreck on the outskirts of town. Fucking in your bed at the dead of night whilst he held your hands. Cuddling up on his sofa whilst you got out of your mind high.

He was a rush of adrenaline in your boring and plain life.

Every event you went to, your mind would wonder to the way his hands felt on your body, or how soft his lips were.

Everything was simply divine.

Tommy pulled a flyer from his bag and waved it around in Billy’s face. “There’s a fancy ass party up at the lakeside mansion, and I’d say we crash it tonight, theres gonna be beer and shit, they probably do drugs too man, all rich people do drugs right?” He blabbed, a sure fantasy made up in his mind about some crazy party going on.

“Sure whatever, but you’re in the shit if there’s no beer k?” He chuckled, flicking his cigarette on the floor. His eyes gazed around the parking lot, trying to scope you out. Usually, he didn’t have that hard a time, your elegant stature and bounce in your step drew obvious attention towards you. Finally he caught sight of the familiar heels that clicked against the concrete.

“Y/L Cline man... fuck if I wasn’t with Carol I’d fucking-“ Billy elbowed him harshly and dragged his eyes to look at the rest of you.

“I gotta go” he mumbled, heading to your usual make out spot, the back of the school, behind the bike shed.

You did the same, waving goodbye to your friends to go ‘do some errand’.

Quietly, you looked around to make sure the coast was clear before heading behind the shed to meet with Billy.

“Heya Princess” he winked, his arms were open as he engulfed you into a strong hug. Squeezing you a little before pulling away. You leaned up on your tip toes and gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

“Can we pretty please hang out tonight? It’s my birthday tmr and I wanna make sure I get to spend as much time with you as I can before I have to go to some shoddy event...” Billy sighed, remembering back to Tommy.

“I wanna so bad princess, but Tommy asked me to do something with him... and I’ve kinda stood him up like 5-6 times already, I’m an asshole but not a jerk” he chuckled. You rolled your eyes and kissed his cheek one last time.

“Well be safe and don’t get too drunk or high, because I’m not prepared to try and heave a 5,10 brute through my window again... mr muscles..” giving his bicep a quick squeeze. “Oh and before I forget, here’s your lunch... Maxine told me to make something with jam in it” Billy’s face lit up, food being something that always got him in a good mood.

“Thank you angel, and you can call her Max if you want... I only call her Maxine because it pisses her off etc..” His voice lowered a little in embarrassment and slight shame.

“Don’t worry, I tease my younger cousins all the time” you giggled, handing him his sandwich and giving him a tight hug. “See you when I see you, and I’m expecting a birthday kiss tomorrow!” You giggled and headed away from the spot.

9pm headed around the corner as Billy waited outside Tommy’s house.

“Thought your parents were rich as shit, why aren’t you going?” He muttered, lighting a cigarette.

“Not as rich as these fuckers... probably related to royalty or something.. gonna get so wasted tonight” Tommy chuckled. “So we sneak in through the back and head across the hall towards the wine cellar, and then figure it out from there” The plan was stupid enough, let alone Tommy’s fantasy that he was gonna get beyond wasted.

Your mother fussed around the house, dressed in a gown with her hair tied up and prepped. “Y/N! Why aren’t you ready? The party is in an hour and you’re in your dinner wear?” She scolded, heading down the hall, muttering something or other about how irresponsible you were.

In all fairness you’d completely forgot about this party, it was a small celebration by your fathers lake house. A few kids from your old middle school would be there, probably dressed in diamonds and crystals. Private school wasn’t your favourite place in the world...

Quickly, you shoved on a gown from your wardrobe and did it up. Your mother rushed into the room, pulling your arm to take you to her bedroom where she curled your hair and applied some makeup to your face. “Can’t believe you’re wearing this old thing darling... there’s a pink dress in there that I bought especially for this event” she huffed. So you scuttled off down the hall and carefully stripped yourself of the green gown, being aware that you had a full face of makeup and hair was sprayed perfectly into place. The pink dress was pretty and hung perfectly on your frame... a bit flouncy but still beautiful.

Finally you were ready, getting into your fathers car and heading straight for your birthday party thingy.

Billy heaved Tommy up the wall and over into the garden.

Tux on and everything. If he was to say so himself, Billy thought he looked quite handsome, might keep it on and surprise you later.

They both landed on some bush and wiped themselves down, climbing from the foliage.

“There it is, the lake house. These really are some rich fuckers” Tommy smirked, admiring the huge mansion, lit up with classical music coming from it.

“Right, but I don’t see any bear?” A low growl causing Tommy to twiddle his thumbs.

“Eh well maybe there might not be beer, but! There might be... ok truth is these guys have a daughter and I’ve heard that she’s hella hot so I kinda wanna see for myself ya know” Billy rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“You have a girlfriend”

“You don’t”

“Yeah I - I don’t” Billy stiffened up, remembering the pinkie promise you’d forced him to make.

“Right so let’s go get you laid, and then you can tell me everything” He smirked, eyebrows wiggling as he pushed Billy towards the house.

“Look man I’m tired”

“Bullshit” he chuckled, pushing him through the doors. The house was indeed grand, marble check floors with beautiful fluffy rugs and a glamorous chandelier hanging in the middle.

“Who the hell owns this place?” Tommy shrugged and dusted off his tux.

“No way... I think there is beer” The mischievous grin played on Tommy’s face as he spied a rather large old man swigging back some liquid.

You sat glumly with Sabrina, she chatted on about how ravish her private school life was and how perfect everything was going, something like that. Your mind wondering to Billy, how he’s probably high as hell right now without you. Everything was boring and dull without him.

“Dude! Let’s check out upstairs” Tommy grabbed Billy’s arm and hauled him up the stairs a long corridor of various doors facing them. A voice started to make its way up the stairs to, quickly Tommy shoved himself and Billy into the first door. They both stumbled and fell into the huge room.

“Holy shit dude... this is the chicks room” Tommy slurred, that clearly wasn’t beer that he was chugging back.

Slowly Billy took in the surroundings. His eyes focusing on a picture on the dresser. Was that him? Then it dawned on him.

Who was rich, had a lake house and was a chick? His girlfriend.

Fuck.

Tommy started to shift through the closet, grabbing a pair of panties and holding them up.

“Woah... she’s foxy” he was hammered.

“Give me those” Billy snatched the panties out of Tommy’s hand.

The voice that had been following them got louder. Quickly Billy grabbed Tommy and pulled him into the other side of the bed, forcing him to duck.

“So this is my daughters room... goodness, it’s quite a mess, I apologise she doesn’t-“ A loud thud cut off your mother’s words. She let out a screech as two teenage boys stumbled from behind the bed. One drunk and laughing, the other looking like a deer in the headlights.

And that very moment led to Billy sat in front of the very Mayor himself, you sat right next to him and Tommy sitting against the wall.

“He’s my boyfriend and I tried to sneak him in” you mumbled, fuddling with your fingers, trying your best to not get Billy into trouble.

“So you snuck him through the window? Look I don’t want to hear it anymore, you can’t see him again, and you boy, if you come near my daughter again I’ll have you out of this town fast” Your father was beyond mad. He looked about ready to kill.

“But dad-“

“She didn’t sneak me in, it’s not her fault, I just wanted to surprise her and I chose the wrong night” billy piped up, looking at the floor.

“Surprise her? Why?”

“Because it’s her birthday tomorrow and we probably wouldn’t have seen eachother on the day because you usually plan stuff out for her... so I came early”

“Without a gift?”

“Dad-“

“I don’t have much money sir but I do have a gift for her”

“What is it?”

“DAD?!” You squeaked, “look I’m tired of this, it doesn’t matter anyway, I love Billy but clearly you only ever care if he’s got money or if he’s some private school kid but I don’t care because he’s amazing and none of that matters” You sternly presented your point. Grabbing Billy’s hand and squeezing it.

“Fine, be with him but don’t expect to come running to me for comfort when he leaves you high and dry, and also if you break my daughters heart-“

“Dad... he gets it” you muttered, looking in Billy’s eyes. A small smile on both of your faces. Quietly your mother stood smiling to herself, rembering when her own father had yelled at her for dating some bad boy, turns out that bad boy became the mayor so jokes on him she chuckled to herself. History sure does repeat itself.

Tommy’s snores came from the back of the room.

“Dipshit wake up” Billy shoved his leg.

“Fuck off” Tommy grumbled, eyes still closed, Carol was gonna kill him.

“Langauge” you scolded both of them, taking Billy into the party again.

“I think we should head to your room” Billy whispered. You gave him a playful smack on the arm.

“We just got told off we can’t do that now-“ Billy held his hand out, a certain pair of lace panties in his palm.

“Why do you have those?!”

“Tommy’s a fucking perv” he grunted, as you both shuffled back into your room.

It was gonna be nice not to have to hide Billy anymore.

[thejollyroger-writer]

To Serve and Protect - Chapter 6

a/n: this chapter took way longer than anticipated, but y’all have been so incredibly patient with me and my new lovely daughter, so I’m very proud to finally bring you this chapter, which -- as a surprise to us all, myself included -- is actually not the last. 

SUMMARY: Detective Killian Jones has been investigating a stalker-turned-murderer for months by the time he goes home from the bar with Emma Swan. But when he thinks he sees the very man in question outside her apartment, can he separate his feelings for her and his need to keep her safe?

TRIGGERS: well, this is a fic about a serial killer. mentions of violence and death, with some physical violence/whump. as always, if you need me to discuss this further for you to be comfortable, message me. – rated teen

Prologue // Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4 // Ch. 5 // Ch. 6 on AO3

-- -- -- -- 

Henry is unsurprisingly quiet during their ride to the hospital. She tries to ask him about what happened, tries to get some sort of answer out of him, but he seems as nervous as she is, staying completely silent. 

When they pull up to the hospital, she only has more questions, because the parking lot is filled. 

With police cars. 

More police cars than she thought Storybrooke had, honestly. 

Because they’re not all from Storybrooke, she realizes. Some of them are only marked “Maine State Trooper,” some of them from other towns Emma recognizes from around Storybrooke. And then, she sees one from Boston. 

What the hell happened here? 

She walks past them all, past the officers that line the hallways, both uniformed and not. Past Graham outside Killian’s hospital room. And right up to Killian, wide awake in his hospital bed. She’s glad he’s okay, glad he’s awake, but she also really wants to hit his arm, wants to find an outlet for her anger even though she knows it should be anyone but him. 

“What the hell, Killian?” she says, trying not to yell and not quite succeeding. “What the hell happened?” She closes the door behind her, stopping Graham from following her into the room. She can’t deal with Graham right now, can’t deal with anything until she can wrap her head around what happened. 

If that’s even possible.

Killian sighs, desperation in his eyes begging for her to come closer. “He showed up at the hospital, we think for Felix’s body, but he got here much too quickly if he came all the way from Boston, so now we’re thinking he must have been closer anyway and may have been a part of this whole thing from the start. Apparently he didn’t expect me to have protection, though, because I think his goal was to kidnap me, though it’s also illegal to bring a firearm into a hospital, no matter who your father is.”

None of what she just learned surprises her, but it also doesn’t change the question on the tip of her tongue: “Where is he? I want to see him.” 

Killian holds his hand out towards her. “Please, love, just… can it wait until tomorrow? Give everyone the night to figure out what the hell we’re going to do.” 

There’s something he’s not telling her. For a moment, her anger rages. All she wants to do is question him, ask him to explain what the fuck has been happening, but between Killian’s outstretched hand and the pleading in his exhausted blue eyes, she gives in and fills the rest of the space between herself and the hospital bed, her shoulders rising and falling with a slow breath. And then another. And then she meets his eyes, the same sparkling blue she remembers so vividly from the night they met. The same eyes that she has been drawn to since the first time she met them, and the same eyes that have, somehow, been honest with her the whole time. 

And this moment is no exception. 

“Do you think we could both fit on this stupid hospital bed?” he mumbles, pulling Emma down for a kiss. 

Finally — finally — she smiles. “I think we can at least try.” 

It takes a little finagling, but they figure it out well enough. They may not be comfortable, but they’re together. 

Safe. 

-- -- -- --

Killian had hoped that having the night to sleep would change her mind, but it doesn’t. Though they both wake up refreshed in the small space of the hospital bed, he can tell there’s a myriad of questions sitting on the tip of her tongue just waiting to come out. She sits silently outside while he gets his bandages changed, not forcing any of her questions on Graham, says nothing as the three of them make their way down to get breakfast, but their table is as far as she makes it. 

“I want to talk to him.” 

There’s no need for explanation. They both know exactly what she wants, but neither of them want to tell her that they’re not comfortable with it. 

“Emma,” he says softly, looking around the cafeteria before reaching across the table to cover one of her hands with his. “I don’t—” 

“Oh, come on,” she says, her voice filled with anger, not even letting Killian finish. “If nothing else, I deserve this. Felix killed people, tried to kill me, almost killed you. Felix never acted on his own, so this all has some connection to Neal and all I want to do is ask him why.” Finally, she notices that he’s shaking his head, and she turns to Graham, who can’t even bring himself to look at her. “Don’t deny me this. Please.”

“Listen, Emma, you don’t understand—” Killian tries, but Emma cuts him off again.

“Believe it or not, Killian,” Emma says, not even trying to hide the anger in her voice. “It’s not up to you.” She stands up angrily, almost toppling her chair to the floor. “I don’t need your permission to do anything, so whether you’re joining me or not, I’m going to talk to Neal.” 

In her storming away, she misses the glance Killian and Graham share, the screaming in Graham’s eyes, but his hand as it stops the elevator door from closing stops her rage in its tracks. 

“Emma, listen,” Graham says, stepping in the elevator beside her. 

But listen she doesn’t, rolling her eyes as Graham holds the doors open for Killian, moving much slower than usual with his IV attached. 

“I’m not taking no for an answer. I hope you know that. I hope you both know that.” 

“It’s more difficult than that. We have to—” Emma doesn’t miss the nervous way he gulps, the way his eyes never leave Killian once he comes into view, even once he steps into the elevator with them. “When we get back to Jones’ room, we have to talk about this.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Killian reaches down to take her hand, which catches her off guard. 

But not nearly as much as when he speaks. 

“He’s dead, Emma.” 

She freezes. Every muscle in her body — her heart — even the rushing of her blood through her body. Everything stops. Between Killian’s confession and the stopping of the elevator, she almost collapses. 

“You had to tell her here?” Graham asks, which only makes the world spin around her a little faster, and Killian must sense her unease, wrapping his arm around her waist and leading her out of the elevator. 

“She wasn’t going to stop arguing with us.” 

This… just makes her angry. This time, she does punch him in the arm. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve been keeping this from me? Both of you?” 

“I didn’t know how to tell you, love,” Killian tries, his voice soft as he reaches for her hand again. 

She doesn’t take it, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s not an excuse. You could have told me. You could have told me on the phone when you called, you could have told me when I got here, or at any point this morning, and you decided not to.” 

Neither of them have anything to say, apparently, silently walking down the hospital hallway on either side of her. 

Rightfully, she’s angry. That’s an understatement, really; she’s far more than angry, a whole slew of emotions that she’s so overwhelmed by that she can’t possibly articulate them all. Even she doesn’t notice the tears streaming down her cheeks until she sniffles, which catches the attention of the men flanking her who, until now, were trying to avoid turning their attention to her. 

“Swan,” Killian whispers, trying to wrap his arm around her waist, but she shakes her head.

“I can’t—” she starts, pushing his advances away, and she speeds up her walk to move ahead of them. “I just need some space.” 

It’s the last thing she wants, really, to be alone, but she knows that she needs space from the two of them. There’s a possibility that she’s never been more angry in her life, even with the man who sent her to jail for his own crimes — a man who is now laying on a slab in the morgue in the basement of the hospital. 

A man whose death should not have been hidden from her. A man whose death she definitely should have been told about instead of lied to, treated like a child, too fragile to know the truth. She needs to talk to someone, someone she trusts, someone she can vent to knowing that she won’t be judged for being angry at Killian and Graham, because she knows they were doing what they thought was best for her, whatever kind of masculine, overprotective bullshit that is. She needs—

She raises her eyes from the ground, taking her anger out on the door at the bottom of the stairs and out into the lobby, and finds the answer standing by the exit, arms crossed over his chest as he stares out the front window. 

“David?” 

He turns around, eyes wide as if seeing Emma is the last thing he expected. But then he smiles, and she feels a little better already, some of the weight somehow lifted off her chest. “Hey, Em.” 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, though the answer is pretty obvious.

“I decided to come down and check on you, see how everything is going.” 

“And you’ve just been… standing by the window, hoping that I come downstairs?” She manages a half-smile, even with the anger that’s still surging through her veins. 

David, of course, laughs at this, leaning back against the large window. “No, no, I called Graham when I got here and he said you were on your way down anyway.” 

This makes her smile grow a slight but barely noticeable amount. “That… makes much more sense.” 

“So, tell me, what’s going on? What happened last night?” He wraps his arm around her shoulder, but all Emma can do is shake her head. 

She just needs to get out of the hospital for a bit, away from the sickening antiseptic scent and the headache-inducing phosphorescence and the thought of what happened here the night before. “Can we get out of here? Even just outside?”

David pushes no further, agreeing immediately with a vigorous nod. “Of course. I hate hospitals. Let’s go grab a coffee down the block.” 

At this, Emma finally feels relieved enough — relaxed enough — to actually smile at her brother, especially once they are through the doors and out into the fresh morning air. 

At first, she says nothing, not even sure where to start, or how to say the words she knows she has to say. But David doesn’t push her, just walks slowly beside her with his hands in his pockets and his eyes turned down save a patient glance at her every few steps. 

Until, finally, the silence and the words racing through her mind get the best of her, and she has to let them out before she explodes. 

“Neal showed up at the hospital last night,” she says, refusing to raise her eyes from the pavement. “Graham said he was probably here for Felix’s body as his next of kin, but he showed up much too fast to have been in Boston, so they think he was here already. But instead of going to the morgue, he tried to attack Killian, which didn’t go over too well considering he’s a police officer and was guarded by the entire Storybrooke force, plus a few troopers that Graham called in for back up.” 

The words stop as David holds open the door to the small cafe, unsure whether she should continue now that she could be overheard by another patron. But the only other patrons are two state troopers sitting in one corner, their hushed words shared as whispers as they both lean across the table between them; and Lily, the barista, who takes out her headphones when she notices the door has opened again. Emma pauses the story as they order their drinks, waiting until they are seated together at the opposite end of the room as the troopers to continue — and to say the words that she finds lodged in her throat when she is ready to start again. 

“They shot him. Killed him. Graham said he came armed, which was really a stupid decision on his part, to bring a gun into a hospital filled with cops, and normally I would be surprised that he made a mistake that stupid, though I can only imagine how off the rails he went when he learned Felix was dead. And that’s assuming he’s anywhere near as level-headed today as he was when I knew him, which I seriously doubt.” 

“Oh, Em,” David says softly, reaching across the table to rest the tips of his fingers on her arm. 

Surprising even herself, she manages a small laugh under her breath as she shakes her head. “But that’s — that’s not even the worst of it.” Until the words start pouring out of her mouth, she wasn’t even convinced that she was going to share this part with David, but once they start, she is both unable and unwilling to stop them, hoping that letting everything out at the same time will aid in her feeling better. “They lied to me about it, hid the truth from me until this morning. Both of them, Graham and Killian. Graham told me he was there, but it wasn’t until just a few minutes ago, really, that they decided to finally tell me the truth, the whole story, the fact that he’s dead. Killian didn’t even sound convinced that he wanted me to know in the first place, just kept refusing when I asked to talk to him.” 

She hangs her head in defeat, in anger, trying to keep everything from rushing back over her all at once. Takes a sip of her hot chocolate. Waits for David to find some sort of response, to analyze and rationalize all the information she just laid on him the way he always seems able to do — she can tell by the low knit of his eyebrows, by the slow scratching of his left hand through his three-day scruff while his right index finger taps against his coffee cup. 

“I know that anything I say will just be something you’ve already told yourself through your anger over all of this: that they were just trying to protect you, to keep you calm and free from worry—” 

She almost feels bad, cutting him off, because he has always been the most level-headed and the calmest of them all, and this situation has already proven no different. “I would have been far less worried if they told me he was dead instead of leading me to believe he was locked in the single Storybrooke jail cell, which he certainly would have viewed as a joke after the cells and prisons he’s found his way out of his whole life.” 

At first, David just nods. He knew this, too, of course. “Well, I don’t have to tell you that Killian cares about you. Graham, too, though in more of a sisterly way. And they don’t know Neal and his history the way you do, so they probably thought that it would be easier for you to learn that he was dead after you got some rest, especially after the stress of last night.”

She sighs, taking another sip of her hot chocolate. Because he’s right. Of course he’s right, it really isn’t that much of a surprise. “So, what am I supposed to do?” she whispers, her eyes turned down to her mug. “I just stormed out on them, and now I’m just supposed to go back like that never happened?” 

In place of an answer, David wets his bottom lip, his eyebrows high on his forehead. Emma already knows the answer. 

Now she just has to go do it.

tagging: @shireness-says​ @kmomof4​ @thisonesatellite​ @let-it-raines​ @wellhellotragic​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @stahlop​ @teamhook​ @snowbellewells​ @carpedzem​ @pepperspotts​ @imlaxdris71​ @gingerchangeling​​ @lfh1226-linda​​ @kday426​​ @scientificapricot​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​​ @galadriel26​​ @jennjenn615​​ @therealstartraveller776​​ @nightskylover​​ @xarandomdreamx​​ @kristi555 @nikkiemms​​ @vvbooklady1256​​ @withheartfulloflove​​ – if you want to be added or removed, please let me know

[splendidshinobi]

FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST 2003 LIVE REACT: EPISODES 26-30

been awhile since i’ve watched but.... another day, another emotional rollercoaster 

episode 26: her reason

who’s her and what’s her reason

bother him ALLLLL you want maria ross...bother him all day long

he deserves it

INVOICE HAHAHAHAHA

dont yell at maria fuck off!!!! 

GIRLY WHAT IS IZUMI DOING!!!!!!!! 

i screamed i did

i love sig and izumi sm!!!!!!

omg ed and al’s faces

PANINYAAAAAAA

why does she have an automail arm whAT

i feel almost insulted for paninya’s dope weapon legs

oh wait ive seen this arm wrestling scene before lmao

go paninya goooo

i do not tolerate this mr dominic slander

OH NO DO NOT INSULT QUEEN WINRY’S WORK

sucks to suck!!!!

i do think winry may have just fallen in love

ed is such a simp though

JUMBO????? his name iS JUMBO??????

al’s mousy little what?

yikes yeah you know what winry id be pissed too

she felt so good about her work!!!

crush over

jk theyre soulmates

wow roy ur so smart

damn oh ok they kept paninya’s legs too

so she only has 1 biological limb wow

paninya is definitely a lesbian 

we’ve all known that though i mean-----the camo pants

i saw paninya wearing army pants and flip flops, so i bought army pants and flip flops

oh my god winry you DEVIOUS BASTARD

i can see why people ship paninya and winry but im sorry im an edwin simp

young pinako is hot i get it dominic

OH MY GOD DEVIOUS

WINRY LMAO

GUN LEGS!

kill him?? pANINYA think about that before you shoot someone!!! 

AWWWWWW ED!!!! “best automail in the world!!!!” IM CRYING

“hello sir” alphonse you sweet boy

sheska u good???

OPE HEY CURTISES

ed why are you sad

omg winry dont cry!!!! 

hahahaha sig

THE BOYS’ FACES LMAO

episode 27: teacher

izumi time lets gooooooooooooo

the ominous music lolololol

THE WINDOW

WHERE IS ALPHONSE

HA

RIGHT THERE

ED’S FUCKING FACE HAHAHAHA

grumman!!!!!

STEW TONIGHT FUCK YEAH

xerxes drop

edward you are being so foreboding

izumi queen of my life lets go girl!!!

umbrella king sig curtis!!!

ed you dumbass!!!!!

angry face boys

mom dad and the kids on the train!!!! makes me cry

awww win’s gonna miss the dudes

omg havoc plzzzz

why is he calling riza like she doesnt already know shes going too

do not leave my boy falman behind!!!

oh good ok

mason my dude!!!

“yes maam”

this is UNCOMFORTABLE

guys i simp for sig tbh

omg al scary boy

uh oh she SAWWWWWWW you!!!

aww i forgot about the dead cat goddamnit

not THE KITTY

ok but those baby kittens need some MELK

its all over for you two watch out

cant hide JACK SHIT from mama bear

yikes

she gonna kick your ass oof

hugs oh thats nice

episode 28: all is one, one is all

island timeeee

wait theyre on island time PART 2???? ok

the way sig’s HAND---- anyway

ok so creepy naked child??

im suspicious

clearly the boys didnt read my hero academia 

or the three musketeers

al really got YEETED

yote?

oh the kid has clothes on. leaf clothes

i know dublith is in the “south” but is it really a tropical locale?

aww the bunny

“kill it”

owie hope you dont get rabies edward

the ost man so good for both series

al really said J’ACCUSE

they didnt know the masked man was mason the first time around? aight

im really having trouble typing and eating dumplings at the same time

might pause for a dumpling break

i made these in the microwave theyre pretty good

def not the best ive had but they were, ya know, microwaved

anyways sad al hours

YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS YOUR BROTHER????

it’s the circle of life simba

getting REAL philosophical rn

“dont call me small”

now we’re getting REAL scientific

im just imagining these idiots on shrooms rn

mannnnnnnnnnnn

WAIT IMAGINE LING YAO ON SHROOMS

wow what a yummy snake breakfast

izumi said 👁 👄 👁

izumi is so hot

that is the creepiest motherfucker i ever did see

ok im gonna go rinse this dish out be back in a min!!!

episode 29: the untainted child

i am the tainted adult

you SURE his parents are lookin?

i feel like izumi is being very loving towards this child

what happened to tough love bbygirl

im not saying shes not loving in her ways but shouldnt she by nature be a litttttleeee bit more sus of this kid???

dont tell me

this is sig and izumi’s “child”

theory pending

winry is such a protective lil egg

here’s whats cookin in my head

its sig and izumi’s child and ed’s arm and leg smooshed together into a homunculus...theory still pending but im definitely right

WHY DOES SIG SLEEP W HIS EYES OPEN SIR!!!!!!!

whole situation is a mess my dudes

what did u do kid????? 

“i know ed lies sometimes”

l oh fucking l

who transmutes themselves with a bed though

not the move kid

OPE

of course winry slept through this whole thing

sheska and elicia and gracia. my heart.

did the colonel just LEAVE HER BEHIND? god what a dick

sheska WENT OFFFFFFFF!!!!!!

yes maam!!!!!!!

u tell that dumbass!!!!!!

why does envy have to sit like that

gon make me SIMP

embarrassing

*debby ryan hair tuck meme*

i love the way al sits

hes so dainty

what a gent

oh that lil kid was in the gate!!!!

how a homunculus is born? please tell me more

ARCHER....my sister was texting me about him when she asked how far i was. i googled him i saw his....bod....

yup

ARM AND LEG CONFIRMED

my brain waves are unparalleled

ED REALLY JUST YEETED WINRY AND KABEDONED THE HOMUNCULUS

EDWARD STOPPPPPPPPPPPPP OMG

off goes the kid

BIDOOOOOOOOOOO <3

why is she upset??? what did you realize izumi

that its your baby??? probs

im just that smart

episode 30: assault on south headquarters

YOKI LMAO

seeing yoki and scar makes me miss mei chang

MEI CHANG SUPREMACY

yoki really about to snitch

BIDOOOOOO

everyone showing up this episode

greed is gonna roll up with a venti frappuccino any minute now

archer is a creep

is this footage from the arnold classic?

“the muscles did the talking for them”

archer is a creep

who ru calling a freak HAHA AL’s angwy voice

ope

how IS hughes doing

pls not the pain

how did this kid come into the corporeal world

armstrong what

OUROBOROS

so he’s either wrath or pride ig

i dont think bradley is a homunculus in this one

yoki is basically michael yagoobian aka the bowler hat guy

there’s greed lmao 

with the ladies

EW NO PLEASE GOD

I DONT WANT ANY MORE SHOU TUCKER

KIMBLEE WHAT

WHAT THE FUCK WHO CUT HIS HAIR LIKE THAT

WHO ALLOWED THAT I AM CHOKING

NOT THE MULLET PONYTAIL

izumi taking on the military

of course

kimblee JESUS 

bradley is EVERYWHERE at ALL TIMES

this is rOUGH

there are so many parties vying for the kid

i still cant get over kimblee like WHAT

WHAT IS HIS PURPOSE HERE

AGAIN it just seems like bradley is everywhere at all times

[toosicktoocare]

In honor of The Umbrella Academy S2 coming out in one week, here’s a fic I wrote a hot minute ago on AO3 with sick Klaus and pissed off Ben. 

This feeling isn’t new to Klaus; in fact, it’s painfully familiar. His body is a heavy, throbbing, lump of ice yet his head is a ball of fire crackling and floating above his pillow. Every inch of his skin hurts, and his muscles are pulsing in time with a too rapid heartbeat. He’s shaking, teeth clenched together to keep from chattering freely, but the blanket he’s got gripped up to his chin is doing nothing to ward of the chill that’s clinging mercilessly to his bones.

Yes, for Klaus, this feeling is painfully familiar. It’s a feeling that follows its stark contrast of airy nothingness, light bliss. This, now, this is withdrawal.

“It’s not withdrawal, Klaus.”

“Did I say that out loud?” Klaus asks, voice rubbed raw from a fitful night filled with hollow coughs.

“You’ve been mumbling for a while now.”

Ben’s voice, Klaus thinks with a frown, is laced with a familiar coat of concern—one that’s reserved just for him and his various fuck ups throughout his shitshow of a life. He groans, and the deep growl agitates his throat. He pushes himself up on one elbow and coughs harshly into his fist, his lungs rattling with each grating cough.

He catches his breath after a few, painful moments that feel like an eternity, and he pries his eyes open. Ben’s at his side, looking down at him with narrow, studying eyes and a furrowed forehead. His arms are crossed, but his fingers are twitching slightly, as if fighting off a need to reach out to Klaus.

Behind Ben, there’s a crowd of the dead—a woman with a noose hanging around her neck, a man in a hospital gown with an IV sticking out of his arm, a crew of three young gentleman with familiar helmets, faces covered in dirt and blood, dog tags…

Klaus shakes his head with a few, weak coughs and brings his focus back to Ben. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop on my dream-filled mutterings, dear brother,” Klaus says, a half-smile pulling across tired lips as he falls back against his pillow. “Can’t a man get some privacy?”

Rolling his eyes, Ben takes a seat on the edge of Klaus’s bed, and Klaus shivers a little harder at the chill that follows the deceased.

“You’re sick, Klaus. You should go get someone.”

“Or,” Klaus draws out, voice cracking, “I could stay here with my favorite, dead brother.”

“I’m not going to be the only dead sibling if you stay up here by yourself.”

There’s a flick of a thought that crosses Klaus’s mind—a thought that was a constant in his drug-riddled mind. Death. It’s something he desired, an out from his “ability,” as his father would call it.

“Klaus, get the hell up. Everyone’s downstairs.”

Ben’s voice cuts through his dark thoughts, and Klaus blinks up sheepishly as his brother. “Fine, fine, Benny Boy. I’m going.”

Getting out of bed is a new level of difficult. This, he thinks, definitely feels like withdrawal, but he’s clean—he’s been clean for two months, yet in those fifty-six days, the thought of a relapse, of consuming even the smallest of pills that will take the dead away, has been prominent around the headache in his mind. But he’s held off, not wishing to remain a disappointment.

Standing feels like he’s balancing on a surfboard that’s fighting against crashing waves. Everything’s spinning, and in seconds, he’s dripping in sweat despite his clacking teeth. “Shit,” he groans, bringing one hand to his head. “This, dear brother, fucking sucks.” A cough follows his words, and he stumbles toward the door. The floor’s rocking underneath his socks, and he has to stop and lean heavily against the doorframe to keep himself from toppling over.

“Klaus…”

Ben’s hands are hovering just inches from Klaus’s arms, and Klaus studies the pale hands for a moment before bringing his eyes to Ben’s.

“I’m good—just need a minute. Everything’s,” he stops, twirling his finger weakly in a circular motion, “all spinny.”

Ben remains at his side when he stumbles into Luther’s room to snag and oversized gray cardigan that swallows his slender frame, and his dead brother stays dangerously close when he climbs down the never-ending stairs with a grip on the bannister that’s tight enough to have his knuckles fading to a frightening white. He has to stop twice to sit and cough harshly until dark spots dance across his vision, but he makes it down without killing himself.

He can hear his siblings in a heated discussion in the living room, and when he enters, he goes unnoticed, even as he stumbles across the room to an unoccupied loveseat. He’s out of breath when he flops onto the cushion, and he pulls the cardigan over his mouth to mask the sharp, burning coughs that tremble out from his lungs.

“Is that my sweater?” Luther asks.

“Fuck off, Luther.”

Klaus raises one brow toward Ben, who’s leaning against the arm rest beside him, before he shrugs. “It’s warm.”

“It’s mine, and you just coughed all over it.” Luther squints toward Klaus, and Klaus shrinks further into the couch as if hoping the couch would open up and eat him—he would take anything to get away from that scrutinizing gaze he’s so accustomed to.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Are you sick, Klaus?”

Vanya’s voice is gentle, concerned, and Klaus aches to go toward that care, but Luther interjects before Klaus can explain himself.

“No, he’s just coming off drugs like usual. Diego, go check his room.”

“You fucking do it,” Diego snaps, glaring at Luther. “I don’t answer to you.”

“Diego,” Allison warns, doing her best to keep the peace between the two who are always at war with one another. “Klaus,” she continues, pulling her attention toward her other brother. “Did you take something?”

“No,” Klaus mutters around a cough. “I’m clean.”

“It’s okay if you did,” Allison starts, going a different route. “You can tell us—we just want to help.”

“Oh, wow,” Diego drawls out. “Allison the fucking saint. That’s new.”

“Watch it, Diego.”

Luther’s growl reverberates uncomfortably in Klaus’s head, and he whimpers quietly, pulling the cardigan over his head as his siblings begin to bicker. In a way, their loud voices, all fighting to be the loudest, to be heard, are worse than the ghosts who smother him with screaming and crying. Maybe because he can’t focus his mind to shut his siblings out—because they aren’t dead. They’re alive, and they are so fucking loud.

His head is throbbing. He can’t stop shaking, and he’s exhausted despite only waking a few minutes before. “Ben,” he whispers, coughing harshly into the arm rest of the couch while he moves both hands over his ears to block out the arguing. “Can you make them stop?”

He knows it’s an empty request because Ben can’t—his brother can only speak to him. But, below him, the couch begins to vibrate, and before he can remove the cardigan from his face to look, there’s a bellowing shout from his side.

“Shut the fuck up! Klaus is sick!”

The sounds of glass breaking and pictures falling mix in with Ben’s booming voice, and after, an uncomfortable silence covers the room. Slowly, Klaus moves the cardigan to see Ben sitting on the couch beside him and looking at the floor with wide, surprised eyes.

“Sh-shit, Ben,” Klaus mutters, but before he can reach out toward Ben, Five is popping in front of him, manifesting from the kitchen to the living room in the mere blink of an eye.

His other siblings are crowding behind Five, but Five only stares at the empty space where he assumes Ben is sitting before he pushes Klaus’s sweaty bangs back and slides his palm across Klaus’s forehead.

Five’s hand is cool, and Klaus leans into it, his eyes fluttering shut at the uncharacteristically gentle touch.

“Was that Ben?”

“How do we know this isn’t just withdrawal?”

“Five?”

“It’s not withdrawal,” Five says, moving his gaze back to the empty space on the couch where Ben’s seated, watching him. “It’s probably the flu—I don’t think he would have a fever this high with just a cold.”

“Fucking finally.”

“How do you feel, Klaus?”

Klaus has to blink a few times to ward off the graying darkness that’s creeping at the edge of his vision. He moves a slow gaze toward Vanya. “Dear sister, I feel like utter shit.” His tone is lackluster, missing its usual easy flare. He turns to cough into the cardigan while his siblings look to Five.

“Luther, carry him back upstairs. He probably won’t make the walk back up. Diego, check the master bathroom for medicine. Vanya and Allison, he’ll need to eat, but only something light unless you want to clean up his vomit. And, Ben,” Five shifts his gaze back to the couch, “stay with him.”

“Like I have a choice.”

Klaus has just enough energy to note the lack of sarcastic heat in Ben’s reply before he gives in to the darkness pulling at him with strong, large hands.

*****

“Klaus? Klaus, are you awake?”

Klaus feels as if he’s lying in a pool of ice yet he’s facing the sun that’s hovering right over him. He aches horribly, and going back to sleep is ideal, but he cracks his eyes open. “How’d you do it?”

Frowning, Ben cocks his head to the side. “What?”

“The poltergeist thing,” Klaus elaborates around a few coughs.

“I… I don’t know. I was just—I was pissed and worried.”

“Aww,” Klaus croaks out. “You did all that just for little old me?”

“Shut up, Klaus.”