#oops i spell shit wrong before posting

[alfedena]

that other anon is stupid but can you explain the luxemburg response, i don’t have the time to read it but am genuinely really curious what you intended by it, i hear good things about luxemburg

i think that anon is just a certain kind of person that gets too involved in geopolitical campism rather than actually looking at what socialist anti-imperialism/decoloniality and decolonization looks like? thats why specifically why i responded with the luxemburg text. anon just seemed to me to be anti-western without critiquing the fact that other capitalist superpowers in the world are in fact too capitalist.

shes basically arguing against the vague idea of the “right of nations to self-determination” because this does not necessarily mean the workers/most subjugated in these states now have any kind of political authority. it is often the opposite and these new (capitalist) states merely represent the bourgeoisie of whatever national group they are supposed to constitute. “nations” are not homogeneous and niether are the people in them, all who have different class interests. she essentially argues that true self-determination is not possible under capitalism, not through the form of nation-/statehood, as (capitalist) states 1) represent solely the capitalist class and 2) inevitably aim to conquer other states, imperialism being the highest stage of capitalism (what happened to self-determination ???). nationhood is something based on the domination of a perceived other/the internal working class rather than being based on any real unity within a political entity.

we can see this all over the world. she points to states in the americas as a perfect example; all had independence movements on the basis of self-determination (economic, political, national, etc.) and are now by and large bourgeois liberal democracies which seek to erase indigenous people within them. she says: “But the winning of independence by the American colonies did not remove national dependence, it only transferred it to another nationality – only changed its role. Take first the United States: the element freeing itself from the scepter of England was not a foreign nation but only the same English emigrants who had settled in America on the ruins and corpses of the redskin natives […] The United States is today in the vanguard of those nations practicing imperialist conquest. In the same way, Brazil, Argentina, and the other former colonies whose leading element is immigrants – Portuguese and Spanish - won independence from the European states primarily in order to exercise control over the trade in Negroes and their use on the plantations, and to annex all the weaker colonies in the area.”

she’s not then saying “okay they should have remained colonies” but rather argues for real socialist states where people can truly have self-determination: “A socialist regime, which eliminates not only the domination of one class over another, but also the very existence of social classes and their opposition, the very division of society into classes with different interests and desires, will bring about a society which is the sum total individuals tied together by the harmony and solidarity their interests, a uniform whole with a common, organized will and the ability to satisfy it.” these states should exist with each other according to cooperation rather than with desire for dominance.

this is why geopolitical campism is unhelpful as communists. i really recommend reading her work if you have the chance.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Dumbledore is a Manipulative Piece of Shit: Part 4/?

(part 1, part 2, part 3)

He knew and allowed Harry's abuse

Well, this is a pleasant subject, isn't it? Harry's abuse at the Dursleys' hands. And the worst part about it is that no adult in his life really seems to care.

I'll talk about the Weasley parents in a different post. This one is dedicated to Dumbledore and how he always knew about Harry's abuse and allowed it to persist. For years. Not just once, Harry started Hogwarts. No, I think Dumbledore knew what was going on at Number 4 Privet Drive long before Harry stepped foot in Diagon Alley.

And more importantly, I can prove it.

So, I'll cover my evidence according to the order of the quotes that appear in the books since there is quite a bit to cover.

And yes, I know Dumbledore calls the Dursleys out in Half-Blood Prince:

“You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you.”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 55)

But this scene is the definition of "too little, too late" considering how long this has been going on.

So, let's start:

“Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. ‘course, he shoulda sacked me instead — anyway, got yeh this.…” It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father. “Sent owls off ter all yer parents’ old school friends, askin’ fer photos… knew yeh didn’ have any…d’yeh like it?”

(Philosopher's Stone, page 218)

Hagrid can't keep a secret to save his life, we know that, and he isnt the brightest, with all his good intentions. Yet, even he noticed something's wrong with Harry's home. He knows Harry doesn't have photos of his parents, he knows he never got any gifts.

"But that's not Dumbledore,"

True, but Hagrid tells Dumbledore everything. So if Hagrid knows, Dumbledore knows.

“I told you, I didn’t — but it’ll take too long to explain now — look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won’t let me come back, and obviously I can’t magic myself out, because the Ministry’ll think that’s the second spell I’ve done in three days, so —” “Stop gibbering,” said Ron. “We’ve come to take you home with us.”

(Chamber of Secrets, page 31)

“It was cloudy, Mum!” said Fred. “You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!” Mrs. Weasley snapped. “They were starving him, Mum!” said George. “And you!” said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.

(Chamber of Secrets, page 39)

Both these quotes from Chamber of Secrets show Fred, George, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley clearly knew what was happening. That Harry was being locked up and starved.

Harry really, never kept his abuse a secret and is quite open about informing anyone who'd listen to him about it. He is just used to it being brushed off as something unfortunate that nothing can be done about. The Weasleys, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Remus, and the entire Order of the Phoenix treat it as such.

In OOP, Harry references needing to duck from Vernon's beatings as a joke to Ron and Hermione. He wasn't keeping it a secret.

On the same vane:

She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his friends with pleas for help … Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own homemade rock cakes. (Harry hadn’t touched these; he had had too much experience of Hagrid’s cooking.) Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent the family owl, Errol, with an enormous fruitcake and assorted meat pies.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a Squib?” Harry asked Mrs. Figg, panting with the effort to keep walking. “All those times I came round your house — why didn’t you say anything?” “Dumbledore’s orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I’m sorry I gave you such a miserable time, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they’d thought you enjoyed it. It wasn’t easy, you know. . . . But oh my word,”

(Goblet of Fire, page 28)

Harry wrote everyone he knew he was being starved. He wrote Hagrid and the Weasleys, and they all sent him food. The adults sent him food without bothering to ask him the important question: "Why aren't you being fed?"

(Order of the Pheonix, page 22)

This is the most damning evidence against Dumbledore.

He knew. He knew how Harry was treated his entire childhood because he had someone spy on him for years.

Mrs. Figg knew how Harry was treated by the Dursleys. She calls it: "miserable". She knew.

And she was sent there on Dumbledore's orders, meaning she was a spy. because let's be real, a squib, who can't do magic and doesn't own a gun can't do anything to protect Harry. She can only be there to spy. To report everything to Dumbledore.

This proves, more than any other quote here, how okay Dumbledore is with Harry suffering at the hands of the Dursleys.

Next moment he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open. Harry stood motionless, staring through the open door at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment and then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs. His heart shot upward into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 46)

The entire Order was there, at Number 4, Privet Drive. They've been following Harry since he got there. Tonks has seen Harry's bedroom. I don't think they missed something is definitely wrong. (I think this is why they tell the Dursleys off at the end of the fifth book and Dumbledore again in the sixth because someone else finally knew and Dumbledore had no choice but to address it)

And to make sure the Order is aware something's wrong between him and the Dursleys (that being an understatement), Harry outright tells Lupin:

“Excellent,” said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. “We’ve got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we’re ready. Harry, I’ve left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry —” “They won’t,” said Harry. “That you’re safe —” “That’ll just depress them.” “— and you’ll see them next summer.” “Do I have to?” Lupin smiled but made no answer.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 54)

Harry makes it very clear the Dursleys don't care for his safety and that he never wants to return to literally everyone he can.

Why then? Why would Dumbledore want Harry abused?

“She’s evil,” said Harry flatly. “Twisted.” “She’s horrible, yes, but . . . Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt.” It was the second time in two days he had been advised to go to Dumbledore and his answer to Hermione was just the same as his answer to Ron. “I’m not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it’s not a big deal. It’s been hurting on and off all summer — it was just a bit worse tonight, that’s all —” “Harry, I’m sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this —” “Yeah,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, “that’s the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn’t it, my scar?” “Don’t say that, it’s not true!”

(Order of the Pheonix, page 277)

Harry said it best here: "for his scar"

In the previous posts, I covered how desperate Dumbledore was at the end of the war for a win, so much so, he might've forged a prophecy. And I explained he needed Sirius Black out of the picture for the same reason he wanted Harry at the Dursleys and wanted him mistreated — confident boys with a good support network and emotional regulation don't make very good martyrs.

In part 2, I mentioned how Dumbledore knew since the night the Potters died that Harry is likely a Horcrux. He has been manipulating Harry's life since then to achieve his grand plan of killing Voldemort. Even if it comes at the price of Harry having anything resembling a childhood and a life.

[afrognamedfizzarolli]

Helluva Boss Season 2 trailer break down: Pt 4 Mastermind!

The C.H.E.R.U.B.'s and D.H.O.R.K's are back bitches!

These two shots seem to be fairly face value. The C.H.E.R.U.B.'s have been stuck on earth since we saw them last, and apparently have been spending their time trying to find I.M.P. and settle the score. They are captured by the D.H.O.R.K.S, the two realizing they have a common enemy team up.

Also notable is that the portal Blitzø is peaking his head out of is that of an Asmodian crystal. Meaning he did accept it from Stolas.

I think these four shots are a direct sequence of the crew porting back to the office after a successful hit, only for another portal that the D.H.O.R.K.S and C.H.E.R.U.B.'s have developed to be able to traverse to hell, presumably to capture the main crew.

(they are Stolas' grimore to portal in the first shot. Which is kinda weird to me if Blitzø has the crystal.)

I said previously in my post on Apology Tour that I think these two sequences are most likely in Mastermind. I believe what we are seeing is Blitzø being held, and either him having another nightmare sequence, or the D.H.O.R.K.S have somehow found a way to extract his memories, and are forcing him to re-watch some of the worst parts of his life.

Regardless as to why Blitzø is seeing these, its very interesting with a few. We were lead to believe in Oops that when the accident happened Blitzø didn't see Fizzarolli crawling towards him, the first frame suggests he did see him, but chose to still run to his moms tent to try to help her.

The next is the first time we've seen anything of Fizz during the 15 years between the accident and Ozzie's. This is almost directly directly post accident, we see Cash stopping Blitzø from going to see Fizz. Confirming the popular belief that Cash was the one to come between and lie to Blitzø and Fizz (father of the fucking year right here)

The next two frames are Blitzø's perspective of Fizzarolli and Veronika from Ozzie's.

We have another flashback, this one not seen through the screen though a screen like the others. Blitzø is crying while Tilla holds him, hes wearing the same outfit as we see him in the night of the accident. I have 3 theories on what this is.

The least likely in my opinion: This is a flashback to that night, before the accident, Blitzø confiding in her that he planned to confess to Fizz that night

This is when Tilla told him how sick she was and explaining that she probably didn't have much time left.

But my personal belief is that this is not really a flashback at all, this is a dreamlike scene where Blitzø is taken back to being a teen and sees her again. She comforts him and tells him that she is proud of how he has grown, and encourages him that he needs to work to escape and save his family from the situation they are in.

Another shots that are tricky to me, I have a strong feeling these two are connected, but not completely sure where they fit. This is honestly kinda a process of elimination guess for me.

I want to included these two clips from the Hells Belles short which reference the C.H.E.R.U.B.s episode, i assume as a hint to them coming back soon.

Again I am sorry for the shit photo quality, and possible bad grammar and spelling. I currently have the posts for the rest of the episodes nearly done so expect those in the next few hours ♡ I'd love to hear any other ideas or theories about the upcoming episodes, or anything I missed/got wrong!

Pt. 1: The Full Moon | Pt. 2 :Apology Tour | Pt. 3: Ghostfuckers | Pt. 4: Mastermind | Pt. 5: Sinsmas

[xiakeponz]

more SOKP lawyer au (fic started by @renewedmotionforjudgment ehehe) soc med shenanigans ft. pyq and lv xian starting shit

(very general translation bc i thought of these in chinese first clown emoji) Lv Xian: dug out an old photo, old schoolmates all here, creds to me the photographer :' ) Yan Lin: Woah almost forgot Zhang Zhe was there that day, that almost never happens. SZY: this is so old. the first time i realised, so xie wei can smile in photos hahaha Lv Xian: @ Yan Lin yeah somebody flipped the vinegar vat that day lmao did you forget. even though he is smiling : ) zz: @ Lv Xian stop talking about this, you're going to give people the wrong idea. Fang Yin: you guys knew each other all the way back then? jeez. Xie Wei: Do you think I can't see the comments section? Lv Xian: @ xie wei so you're not denying it? Lv Xian: @ zz you are xie wei's true homie, never one to choose dates before mates unlike somebody Ning Er: do you all not have better things to do

context is also that Xie Wei and Jiang Xuening have like a bazillion years of denial about what is happening especially JXN and You Fangyin has a vested interest in this bc she started a betting pool about when jxn and xw would get their shit together (only bc she thinks they will and she isn't blind anyhow) and lv xian has bought into this pool lmao $

bonus:

also just to add it all in one post the other one is here, context and tl below with og post here (more soc med stuff IG style):

@renewedmotionforjudgment and i thought it would be funny for xw to bite and respond to jxn's obvious thirst traps but he would never do it directly through his own socials yk I'll add a rough TL below bc i originally thought of the thing in chinese lmao oops. Yanlin: broski finally comes to the gym, why tho i wonder

comments section: Lv Xian: the gym?? looks like he's about to clock in to work at the club, he's the all business no play kind- Yan Lin: jk bro I am sorry SZY: how hard are you guys trying to make sure Ningning sees this? It's not like she blocked him. Lv Xian: @ SZY sometimes you just do not need to spell things out that clearly :' )

[polgara6]

Florida’s big idea

Dedicated to @greatinternetllama <3 you Guess

Greg has been running some DND sessions with Florida, Louisiana, Georgia, and Wisconsin at Gov’s request so they can blow off steam for a while now. Today however Florida’s has an idea and honestly it’s pretty good.

Florida was so unbelievably done. The north east had finally gotten wind of Gov’s coffee consumption and promptly freaked the fuck out. So while Gov was essentially on bed rest for the next week or so the states had decided to go back to basics. As expected this meant for the past couple of meetings Virginia had been running the show and Florida was over it.

Virginia was absolutely no fun and not in the fun way Gov was absolutely no fun. With Gov Florida got big reactions and undivided attention, with Virginia he couldn’t care less about the crazy shit Florida came up with and would just immediately shoot him down. It was so unfair! Florida just wanted some chaos was that so much to ask for. It was like Virginia was Gov’s evil older brother or something.

Hang on a second. Florida’s head, which was previously lying on the table, shot up as he popped out of the meeting. He immediately dived for his bed, where underneath was his notes on the DND game Greg had made. He knew he didn’t seem like the type to take notes but because Greg included his fellow states in the world he built it felt like his book of conflict.

He quickly found the page on the in-game Gov equivalent, Franklin the Prince of Diamonds. Greg had also mentioned the rest of the royal family which included Virginia’s equivalent, Virgil the Prince of Hearts. Suddenly Florida’s imagination started to go wild, as he wrote out an idea for a new quest. He was sure Greg was going to love it!

***We interrupt your program to bring you a special report***

Greg was hanging out on set, well on set is a relative term. He doesn’t record every meeting at the table but he does have to be around for all of them in case they decide to record. He was glad Gov was getting rest and all but the way Virginia ran the meetings did not make for good entertainment. His relationship with Florida was not the same as Gov’s and his previous issues with Mass were long sense dead and buried. In conclusion no real conflict so bad tv.

Suddenly Florida popped into existence next to him. Greg cursed and almost dropped his phone. New York shot a quick look of approval his way for the rather creative curses as states were clearing out or grouping off after the meeting. Florida giggled at his facial expression before starting to bounce on his toys from seemingly sheer excitement.

“Hey Florida what’s up?” Greg asked worried yet curious about what the chaos state was up too.

“I had an idea!”

Immediately Greg felt a deep pit of dread open up in his stomach. Florida’s ideas, especially ones that made him this happy were never good news. But hey if he was coming to Greg about it maybe he would be spared from the coming onslaught. It was this kind of wishful thinking that explained why Greg had not yet quit his job and run as far away as he could.

Florida handed over his notebook which was filled with a truly illegible mix of English and Spanish with most of the English word spelled wrong. Greg shot Florida a look over the pages.

“Oops sorry Greg” Florida said cheerfully not looking sorry in the least. He went on to explain that it was an idea for their DND game based on recent events at the table. Ok Greg was paraphrasing but that’s essentially what Florida said.

“Ok let’s go somewhere else and then you can tell me all about it”

Florida practically bounced out the room. This was going to be so much fun!

A/N Well there you go a little prologue piece to a thing I plan on writing later. Who knows if I ever actually will but hey it’ll be fun. Oh and if your wondering about Florida’s idea it’s this brilliant post by Guess:https://greatinternetllama.tumblr.com/post/698542748603678720/i-came-up-with-the-idea-for-the-dnd-campaign-the

[bandaidcrybaby]

Hi! I don't use this blog!

In fact, it took me 20 minutes to even figure out how to log in! I only remembered it's existance because some bot sent me an ask and it pinged the email I have to use for medical stuff- but i'll give the like. 6 people here, plus anyone who's scrolling through the blog for archival reasons, a quick update on myself and my life, because boy! was i wrong! and being told incorrect information!

So a lot of posts on here are tagged schizophrenia - a diagnosis that several of my doctors very well believed I had. Turns out, if you have been severely and repetitively traumatized for most of your childhood, your brain kinda. puts up walls and is functionally completely disconnected. and when you're a teenager and your brain is supposed to be growing neural connections between itself as it takes on its final leg of the growing journey, if there's Walls in the Way, it results in a degree of weird faux-hallucinations and outrageously unreal beliefs, the latter mostly from you trying to come to a rational conclusion for why you get told weird uncomfortable stories about yourself and are wildly unsure what the fuck they did to you in the hospital to fuck your memory like this. And the answer is nothing, you were in there for 3 days and just cried the whole time, the reason youre missing three weeks is, well. because you have DID. And apparently my therapist had been suspecting this since I was referred to him in the first place, since I was way too lucid and with it to actually be schizophrenic, but my former psych is also his bestie and had told him straight up "oh yeah, I know they were a conflict of interest, but. Its not every day you hear about the kinds of things this kid goes through, find out theyre true, but they only remember some of them at wildly different times, and then get to see DID form before your very eyes." and so on 2/22/22 I was handed my official paperwork because my team was like "i think we need to address some things." and uh. Yeah it came like a wet fish to the face. Turns out Antipsychs were causing half my balance and mood problems AND didnt get rid of the hallucinations because oops, thats not how that kind of 'hallucinating' works! that's the rest of your brain screaming for help! I don't really. publically say much about the kinds of problems my other parts cause for me. its not anyone elses business! you don't need to know! because all of me is Winnie! Regardless of how I choose to spell that or shorten it at any given time! (which is also not a parts thing, thats just a 'my name is hardly as important to me over who i am as a person' thing.) and yeah, I do have to own up to Dumb Shit(tm) the my other parts do regardless of the fact of if I remember doing it or not, because at the end of the day, I, as a singular human being, still did that thing!! I've kinda had to learn what's wrong and right, appropriate and innapropriate, and attone for such. People get very upset with me for referring to my parts as just that-parts. Lots of folk think that I should be calling them "alters", but that simply doesnt fit, for me. It makes the parts of me that are very clearly broken feel more separate, more defined-- which is the exact opposite of what I want. I WANT to be NORMAL. This disease is life ruining. I'm spending most of my adult life being up the shattered pottery that is my childhood- I don't want to be defined as pieces of a broken vase. I am defined as the Vase itself, wether or not you like the kintsugi is a You Problem. this is not your illness; (nor your version of the illness, if you, too, have it, as no two 'vases' break the same.) I personally refuse to not acknowledge the whole vase on any person who does have it. you dont throw away any pieces. that's not how this works. your arent 4 separate people jsut because you dont want to be associated with yourself. you break and mend and break and mend and cry and scream and accept and forgive and hurt and forgive again and become whole. To do anything else rejects your function as exactly what you are- perfectly human, an animal with neatly clipped claws and blunt teeth and marked skin and stands upright on its hind legs, defined only by its ability to create a taxonic system that cleanly defines it and then outwardly reject that very same label.

tumblr has a character limit, part 2 soon.

[doyouremem8erme]

eye/arm theory: basically we were CONVINCED that the show was foreshadowing anne losing an arm and sasha losing an eye. i dont have any of the old theory posts on hand at the moment but like. some of it was very convincing. the result of this was that when i watched all in, instead of going "oh shit grime just lost his arm" my FIRST reaction. instead of being plain shock or a gasp or whatever. was to slam my first on my desk and say "WRONG PERSON" out loud. it was very funny

in the episode commander anne,: ok i mentioned this earlier but in the days leading up to s3b the copypasta "In the episode Commander Anne, Sasha Waybright is revealed to be attracted to women" emerged. there were people making actual spell circles in their houses to attempt to manifest sashanne using this phrase. it was inescapable.

true colors fiasco: one of the most iconic and historical fandom moments. it was our [s] cascade. it was insane. i wasnt even there (i got into the fandom right after true colors) but ok. basically the episode was delayed by disney at like. the last minute. and everyone including matt braly was like when is the episode gonna air?? well. it leaked on itunes anyways. oops! and it so happens that the reason it was delayed was the same thing you probably would not want leaked spoilers for! weeks later it finally actually officially aired . basically it turned out that disney did Not like the whole stabbing thing and decided it needed a content warning as well as including the season 3 intro after the credits to reassure viewers that marcy had not in fact been killed off for good. theres also the whole thing about how true colors permanently altered the tone of the show in a way that they couldnt handle but thats a whole other topic lmao.

pickle/kebab/marshmallow: ok i meant to say smores as the last one there but anyways. after the season 3 intro was revealed people pretty quickly dubbed the rejuvenation tank the pickle jar. i still call it the pickle jar because it rolls off the tongue better lol. kebab because marcy got made into a kebab lol. and finally marcy. marshmallow. toasted marshmallow. smores. it speaks for itself. she got toasted!

the night: this ties in with the prophecy early knowledge, but basically the fandom had already worked out the prophecy from runes that appeared in a book (i forget which episode im tired lol) as "three stars burning bright / come from beyond to expel the night / should they fight or embrace the fall / their choice will determine all" which is a bit different from the final versions wording but pretty close. people connected this to the mysterious thing in the basement pretty fast. and so what we eventually learned was the core became known as the night in the fandom

night!marcy: so, following up the night with the fact that it appeared in the background of the season 3 intro behind the pickle jar... im not sure exactly where it came from but it pretty quickly became very popular to have marcy get possessed by the night. one of the most classic night!marcy fics is not delivered which really gives a great image of what fanon ideas of season 3 looked like over that summer. night!marcy was most commonly shown in the wetsuit thing she has on before getting the darcy armor, and usually would have her eyes change color to match the night. sometimes shed get extra eyes or get amphibian features like a tail or axolotl gills. theres also froggy marcy au which was really popular and is still pretty well known.

night!marcy being canon: so most people, me included, totally thought night!marcy was just wild fanon angst. i never expected to actually get a marcy possession arc. heck, we'd already gotten a season 3 trailer with no possession to be seen! and then matt braly announced that another trailer would be coming out that had some... extra stuff added. i watched the whole thing like "oh wow nothing is different" and got to the end. and then there was still time left. and then you hear "don't you think it's time to say goodbye to those childhood friends of yours?". and you see the shot from o&y of marcy slowly sitting up moving so so unsettlingly and the night's eyes showing up on the helmet and her smiling and. oh! ok! so we are really doing this! ok! wow! night!marcy stuck around but now there was a canon appearance associated. it wasnt until o&y came out that we found out the real nature of the core and darcy.

foreshadowing obsession: ok like i mentioned already, the eye and arm theories were really popular but some of the evidence was... stretching things. i remember one popular point of evidence was that sasha was shown beside a bunch of one eyed characters from wartwood on the season 3 opening banner. that one... yeah i dont think they designed all those characters with the idea of it leading to sasha losing an eye.

the summer after true colors: from what i could tell the fandom had a huge explosion after how epic that episode was. i wasnt the only person who got into the show then! between such an INSANE season finale and the influx of new fans there was this just amazing incredibly creative period of time in the fandom and i absolutely loved it. a lot of my favorite fics as well as ones i consider fandom classics are from that summer.

i already talked abt the prophecy so ill skip that

november 13: the day olivia & yunan aired. i had to give it a special mention because of the absolute state of disrepair the fandom was in. theres a post i love that was made that day by someone who had no idea what amphibia was at the time that just reads like "amphibia fans...are you guys okay? every time you trend its always that marcy girl getting hurt. what the hell" or something like that. we were truly collectively descending into madness over things and it was wonderful. someone sped up the ambient noise from the end credits and was convinced they heard marcy screaming. matt braly had to tell them they were wrong.

andrias cup size: someone asked matt braly what king andrias's cup size was. he replied "don't you mean gallon size?" and i think this speaks for itself.

canon barreleifdrias: after tc&tk aired, one of the storyboarders posted something implying that the trio were in a polycule or love triangle of some sort. when asked about this they essentially responded "if you dont see it i dont know what episode you were watching." so it was fully intentional. before this we typically called them the original calamity trio but calling them the divorce trio became very popular after the episode. this also means that andrias was confirmed bisexual before sasha was.

"bisexuals wear denim jackets"/"stay tuned": in a reddit ama, someone asked if sasha was bisexual, adding that a point of evidence was her jacket from before amphibia. matt braly replied "stay tuned." and we did. and then it was confirmed in the hardest thing!

darcycoreverse: as i said this one is a bit unfair to include because it was niche and also i created it but why not. at the time i called it "interactive fanfiction" but it was kinda a mix of an arg and closed rp. it started with me and my (not yet at the time) partner messing around with sideblogs--id made @darcycore-deactivated as a joke during the hiatus between s3a and s3b and it suggested i roleplay with it. it then made an andrias blog and from there it grew from a bit to a fully fledged plotted fic told almost entirely through the interaction of a bunch of different blogs. a lot of our mutuals got in on it too and even more people just watched it unfold.

thinking marcy would get saved in fight or flight: when we saw the summary was "anne tries to rescue an old friend from one of king andrias robot camps" we all jumped to marcy pretty quickly. the phrasing was so similar to the last marcy rescue attempt in olivia & yunan but also we were just so desperate to see her again!!! there were lots of fics theorizing about how it might go.

ok thats everything from the post but!!! honorable mentions i forgot before

short haired sasha: the idea of sasha cutting her hair in a mental breakdown after true colors became really really popular in the summer hiatus because . well because it was awesome is why. sasha is so very gender and this went hand in hand with the transmasc sasha headcanons. there was also a genre of fanon portraying the "farmboyification" of sasha working on the plantars' farm while in wartwood after true colors which was great

goblin064: person who streamed every season 3 episode on twitch as soon as they were available on vod at midnight! this meant i watched them at 11 pm the day before they officially aired and it was really fun. however...i said every episode but on one of the first season 3b episodes their account got taken down in the middle of the stream!!!! it was chaos to try to find a place to actually watch it after it cut off like that.

its them its always them: this originated as a quote from this fic but was adopted as a way of referring to any set of objects resembling sashannarcy. i love being normal about seeing three colors together.

i need there to be more NEW amphibia fans so i can be the one to explain the ancient fandom things to them. arm/eye theory. in the episode commander anne, . true colors fiasco (i got here right afterwards but i still know the lore). pickle kebab marshmallow. the night. night!marcy. night!marcy being canon (darcy). ive never seen a fandom so obsessed with symbolic foreshadowing. the entire summer after true colors. knowing the prophecy wayyy before it was revealed in the show bc it showed up written in runes much earlier. november 13. king andrias cup size. canon barreleifdrias. "bisexuals wear denim jackets"/"stay tuned". darcycoreverse (ok that one is an obscure niche tumblr thing and im quite biased due to starting it but im still saying it). thinking marcy would get saved in fight or flight when we first got the summaries. you had to be there. you just had to be there.

[cherrygukki]

the waves | birthday special (m)

➸ pairing: surfing instructor!jungkook x f. reader ➸ word count: 7.2k (oops) ➸ genres: s2fwb-ish au, pwp, smut, a bit of humor at the start, fluff at the end if you squint hard enough ➸ rating: M — Minors do not interact! ➸ summary: After your best friend forcefully dragged you to take surfing lessons during your vacation, things suddenly took the wrong turn when a thick cloud of sexual tension spurs you and your surfing instructor. Or was it really a wrong turn? ➸ warnings: it goes from 0 to 100 FAST, jimin makes a quick appearance in the beginning, reader almost drowns, dom kook, big dick kook, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), public sex (they literally did it at the beach lmao), exhibitionism, cowgirl and reverse cowgirl, dry humping, multiple orgasms, slight overstim., sir kink, praise kink, humiliation, dumbification, dirty talk, degradation kink, name calling (uses of slut, whore, bitch, etc.), water sports squirting, fingering, oral (m. receiving), slight boob play, brief mention of anal, kissing, rough sex, IT'S JUST BASICALLY AN INTENSE ROUND OF FUCKING GOODBYE ➸ author's note: hello! new account here and this is the first fic i've ever posted in celebration for koo's birthday :)) got this idea from a real-life experience a few months ago. apologies in advance for any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes i didn't notice (lmk if i missed any warnings/tags too!) feedback/comments will be highly appreciated! happy reading <33

"I don't even know how to fucking swim!"

Like a toddler, you loudly wailed in protest at the man in front of you. He merely chuckled at your futile complaint before giving three reassuring pats on your shoulder.

"Who said you're going to swim? All you do is basically stand up on a board and ride the waves!" To his disappointment, his light-hearted consolation was brushed off as you heaved out a scoff stuffed with irony.

"Yeah, right. You talk as if I won't fuck shit up."

"Because you won't! You slay in everything. You know that."

"For fuck's sake, Jimin, you don't even know what surfing is like yourself!"

"Hey, you're gonna thank me if you suddenly become the real-life Merliah from Barbie In A Mermaid Tale once you become an expert at this!"

"You're already dead meat to me before that bullshit even happe—"

"Ms. Y/N?"

Both you and your best friend froze the moment you heard the strange, yet quite charming voice of a man. The both of you simultaneously turned around only to be greeted by... a Greek God?

You squinted your eyes. Once — no twice, maybe thrice? You didn't know. The only fact you were aware of at that moment was that he appeared too heavenly to be an underpaid surfing instructor by the lazy beach side.

Jimin nudged you by the shoulder a bit too eagerly. You knew that signal, and from there on, he gave you that look.

The look that you'd found treasure buried underneath the sand.

Your mouth went dry, your throat suddenly growing tight, and your voice disappearing like faint dust. You were in denial at that moment. His looks were enough to make him a qualified model for Vogue! There's no way you deserve to be instructed by someone as hot as hi—

"You're Y/N, aren't you? I'll be your surfing instructor for today." Maybe the staring erupted some awkward tension between the two of you. Shit, did he notice the way your eyes shamelessly ogled his figure? Or the way your throat visibly formed large lumps? You desperately hoped not. You gave a quick glance to your best friend before busting out a grin and laughing nervously to fill in the quiet space between the two of you.

You squeaked in utter embarrassment, "Yes."

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Jungkook, by the way." He smiled gently before lending out his hand for a brief handshake. The gesture itself was already enough to have your insides melting for him. He's already too perfect.

You abruptly felt Jimin leaning in to whisper quietly in your ear. "The room is all yours later. Just call me when you're done with him."

Before you could fully react to his statement, he was already walking backwards while waving at you with the shittiest smile plastered on that cunning face of his.

"Have fun!" He yelled, radiating his support despite being a far distance away from you.

"...Lastly, this little guy underneath the board is the fin. Some boards have three fins on them, but since you're only a beginner, you're going to be good enough with one," Jungkook explained the last part featured on the large surfboard standing in front of you as if he was explaining human anatomy. Nodding quietly, you nibbled with the lower part of your lip as you acknowledged his words, focusing on your primary task at hand that was to not get distracted with the instructor's muscles bulging through the sleeves of his dark swimsuit.

God, if you were already getting a visual preview of the divine sculpture hidden beneath the layers of spandex, you wonder whether there was more to the eye than the almost inappropriate thoughts circling around the beauty in front of you.

Oh — and would you look at that! You caught a glimpse of the intricate designs of ink delicately wrapped around his calloused fingers, and a brief portion of the full sleeve tattoo that you presumed he had. It all made your mind daze itself in a messy whirlpool, head clouded within a frenzy of thoughts as you zoned out for a moment. You had to breathe, and this man standing still within your vicinity was only making things worse.

"Ms. Y/N?" You heard your instructor call you. Your heart fluttered, but you were determined to ignore the feelings of admiration you had for this man if you wanted to let this lesson go smoothly. "You were staring blankly ahead for a few seconds," Jungkook chuckled at your zoned out expression before motioning you towards the surfboard that was now laid out against the sand. "I need to know which side you're used to facing when you start surfing later," he stated.

With that, you stepped on the board as your instincts guide you to face at your right side. It was settled, then. Jungkook was fast in getting back to demonstration as he taught you how your position ought to be by the time you're within the waters for real.

"Now, try getting up," Jungkook instructed.

Hence, you did exactly what you have learned from the past five minutes. You're laying on your chest with the starting position Jungkook had taught you, now steadily pushing your upper body away from the board as you bring your left foot upfront, finally getting into the final position before you hear Jungkook clapping from behind.

He marveled, "That's great! You're definitely ready to be out there." You couldn't help but smile at his praise, feeling validated that you weren't looking like an incompetent fool in front of him. He suddenly squatted down by your right foot, taking the leash that was attached to the board and tied it right above your ankle. The foreign sensation of his touch just barely grazing over your skin was enough to have you flinching. It was warm, subtle, yet you could still feel the rough patches on his fingers. Shivers were running down your spine with goosebumps prickling on the surface — God, you were extremely sensitive or him.

It merely took seconds for Jungkook to secure the strap on you, heaving a sigh before getting back on his feet. "It's not too tight, is it?" He asked. "We don't want the board drifting away from you." You shook your head, unbothered with being attached to a heavy weighing board at the moment. Soon enough, Jungkook was already carrying the long board with one grip as the both of you began dragging yourselves to the depths of the sea. It was difficult to control your movements, for the waves were being rebellious against your motions — not to mention the salty seawater splashing on your face the deeper you and Jungkook went.

He finally came to a halt, making sure the water was still shallow for your height as he was fully aware that beginners like you will take time adjusting to an intense sport like this. He patted the board, signalling you to get on before any waves approach you.

"Move backwards," he instructed, and you obeyed, scooting closer to the tail of the board. However, your feet were still far from the end of the board, so Jungkook ultimately had no choice but to firmly grab your legs and drag you further towards the edge. You yelped in surprise, which was thankfully left unnoticed by Jungkook who was now pushing the board deeper. It didn't take long for him to find the perfect spot for you, finally turning the board around so you can face the shore ahead of you. You gulped, abruptly feeling the surge of anxiety pumping through your veins, wondering whether you'd even be able to stand up on the board for more than three seconds or not, especially with the notable amount of people with you, it was harder to get your mind out of the gutter.

It wasn't until Jungkook had interrupted your thoughts, that it made you forget how to breathe for a nanosecond. "Do you remember what I taught you?" You nodded hastily. "Yeah."

"When I say ready, get in your ready position, and once you hear me say go, stand up as fast as you can. Get it?" Jungkook reminded, and all you could do was gesture a nod once again. After all, there was a large lump clogging your throat, and you didn't really have the enthusiasm in you to reply to him.

A few seconds had passed, and Jungkook saw your first wave coming. "Ready," he remarked. You recall what he demonstrated to you, imitating the vivid image playing in your head while you held your breath.

He was already pushing the board away along with the wave's force. "Go!" He yelled, and there you were clumsily pushing yourself up. You managed to stand up on the board, about to smile to yourself for your memorable success until it didn't take another second for you to gain impact with the salty water.

You were grateful you were prepared for the fall, at least, but it didn't stop the embarrassment from rushing to your face. Jungkook swam to where you were, checking whether you had possibly inhaled any of the water. To his relief, though, you were fine.

"You okay?" He couldn't help but ask, and you gave him a firm nod, lending the board to him so he can push it back to your initial position.

Patting the board, he instructed once again, "Get on." You did as he told you, making your body parallel with the surface as you made yourself comfortable. "Move backwards." That familiar command finds its way to your ears once again, and this time, you scoot yourself over the right place this time, earning an unexpected praise from your instructor.

"Good girl."

You could've sworn to the heavens above you that you almost let out a choked cough if it hadn't been for the way you immediately swallowed upon hearing his words. Choosing to ignore it, you simply laid the side of your head against the board instead as Jungkook quietly pushed you to deeper lengths, noticing the wave that's merely beginning to form beyond the distance.

"Are you ready for another round?"

"Yeah."

"You're impressive," he stated, "Not everyone gets it on their second try, you know?"

"Was that why so many people were cheering earlier?" You couldn't help but chuckle, your pride overflowing with joy when you finally cracked a toothy grin towards Jungkook. "I guess you could say so," he replied.

At first glance, Jungkook knew you were merely another one of the women he's taught before just with the way your eyes have turned smitten the moment they landed on him. It was a reaction he became all too familiar with. He couldn't help it — even Jungkook himself knew how much he stood out among his co-workers, and he had to eventually face the consequences for it one way or another.

However, he thought you were cute.

He couldn't refrain himself from eavesdropping on earlier's squabble between you and Jimin, his interest being piqued the first time his eyes landed on your petty face. You gave off the impression of a bold woman, and Jungkook fantasized of nothing more but to ruin that same face of yours after noticing the sudden shift in your attitude.

Jungkook liked you, and his brain was thinking of multiple ways on how to rip an orgasm from you.

"Do you know how to swim?" He asked, albeit already aware of the answer you're about to say just for the sake of initiating a conversation between you two.

"No," you sighed, muscles relaxing as you patiently waited for the next wave. "You should, it's better to follow safety precautions," he suggested. "I can teach you if you want."

"I'll think about it," you jokingly said before abruptly bursting out a giggle, causing Jungkook to unknowingly smile at himself, finding ease in your presence.

"We still have more than 45 minutes ahead of us. I'll teach you how to ride the waves better than anyone else."

Sunset had long ended, what was once the lively and noisy seashore turned into a quiet and serene coastline with nothing but the sound of crashing waves accompanying you and Jungkook. Your supposed one-hour session also ended, but it was apparent that the both of you had lost track of time. It was too late to care, though. Over the past hours with Jungkook, you had quickly grown accustomed to the wonders of surfing as if you've been somewhat drugged. Along with that, you showed a ridiculously fast pace of improvement, which astonished you and Jungkook. You just couldn't stop — the feeling was akin to ecstasy. You felt like you were on top of the world whenever you stood up on the board as you heard Jungkook scream from behind with nothing but sweet praises that fueled your ego. The more moments went by, the more you grew comfortable with the charming man accompanying you.

The feeling was mutual to Jungkook. Every time he saw that endearing grin of yours after falling off, he couldn't simply let your last wave come yet. Whether you were going to pay him for the extra hours or not, he didn't mind as long as you were having the best time of your life. The money meant a lot to him, but nothing weighed more than the passion you held for a mere sport. Your attitude was definitely attractive to him.

Besides, Jimin never came back for you, so why cut your time with the fine man dedicating himself to make you an expert surfer? He was great company after all.

Unfortunately, it wasn't until Jungkook had to say something that heedlessly gave you a sense of disappointment.

"Okay, this will be your last wave for real."

He's been saying the same statement since the past two hours, insisting to let you go for "one more" since he couldn't deny that small pout you subconsciously do every single time. However, you thought he was being serious this time since the waves were bigger compared to before now that the moon was right in the sky. Jungkook only knew much about your capabilities, and because you were a beginner, he was certain that you wouldn't handle the upcoming waves from now on. He had no choice this time.

"Ready." Albeit you got into position before Jungkook had the chance to say it, the word spilled out of his mouth like it did on its own. He wanted to see how much you improved merely from one lesson, thus he pushed you along the waves. You definitely stood up quicker, and your balance was on-point, but what caught you off-guard was the fact that you were definitely riding something bigger. Your senses altogether suddenly became overwhelmed as you momentarily forgot what you were doing. You slipped, and it was just like the first time when you fell into the seawater.

Jungkook wasn't concerned at first, for he knew you would swim back up after your past failed attempts. However, he couldn't see any sign of you floating anywhere, and that was when he began to frantically swim towards the direction you headed in desperate search for you.

"Y/N?" Jungkook called out your name as his panic only increased for each second you were gone. He was about to dive in although his eyes will definitely melt in pain due to the high levels of salt in the sea. There was no other way — he inhaled deeply before it was followed by your abrupt gasp and your loud coughing. Your body was weak, and your entire body felt as if it was suffering a whole shutdown from a malfunctioning error. Your nose in particular was giving you the worst struggle at the moment. If it hadn't been for your small slip-up, then you were more than certain that you wouldn't have had to breathe in too much water in your lungs.

You're practically wheezing at this point while Jungkook didn't waste a second to swim towards you, giving you strong pats on your back.

"Get on." He quickly retrieved the board that was thankfully still attached to your ankle up until now. You got up hastily as he carefully assisted you, his touch was tender and delicate, being overly cautious as he was aware of your painful condition. He dragged you to shore with ease until you were both winded up by the contact of sand grazing your skin. Jungkook huffed loudly before plopping himself flat against the surface. The water washed over your soaked bodies every few seconds or so — it was a nice contrast to the rough texture you were laying on.

None of you spoke a word to each other as you both took your time taking a breather after the long and intense bout that occurred.

"Are you feeling okay now?" Jungkook asked after a few minutes. You nodded. "A little bit, yeah."

"Oh, okay. Thank Go—"

You abruptly coughed loudly — and maybe aggressively too, which in fact, took Jungkook off guard as his first reaction was to immediately panic, scurrying closer to your choking body before resorting to perform CPR on you.

He looked worried — scared even, and that look on his face was enough to have you cracking up in laughter.

"Got you."

"What?" He scoffed in disbelief, quickly prying his hands off your chest while giving you a face that showed a mixed stir of his emotions.

On the other hand, you were still wheezing your ass out to the point where no sound was coming out from you anymore. You uncontrollably smacked the ground over and over again the more you looked at Jungkook. It was a worthy look on him that you had successfully earned.

"That wasn't funny." You noticed his lips form a slight pout before he could even straighten his face. You merely giggled at the sight before responding, "You should've seen yourself, then."

He scoffed sarcastically, "I bet I'd look even funnier if you actually died, then."

"Oh, come on! That was practically a dumb excuse so you can lay your hands on me!"

"Jesus Christ, I didn't know overdosing on sea water makes you horny." He forced out a cough, trying to ease out the abrupt sexual tension that has suddenly arose without any notice. You whined, though, as it was definitely not the reaction you were anticipating from Jungkook. Perhaps you were overthinking his subtle actions earlier? Or that specific way he grazed your skin whenever you were in the incorrect position? Maybe Jungkook was right about you in his last statement. Were the salty water in your lungs really the cause behind the cloudy lust in your eyes?

Or maybe because it's been so long since the last time you had your needs met that you expect the mere stranger of a man in front of you to just do you right and give you the satisfaction of your life.

You didn't know anything except for one — you were definitely horny at the moment from all the touching, nicknames, and the treatment Jungkook had given you. You could've sworn that he also stared at you with eyes that of a predator. You were undoubtedly having eye sex with the man just a few hours ago, and now he's becoming the perplexing one here?

Oh how the tables turn, you thought, now sitting up on your elbows so you can properly face Jungkook who's now staring blankly at you. On the other hand, your face shows that you were indeed dead serious.

"I think you're really hot and this is either now or never whether I get to be railed by a hunk like you."

Oh.

So, that's how you wanted to play..? Honestly, Jungkook wasn't difficult to converse with. He understood your message right from the start, and now that he saw that other side of you he'd been yearning for so long, he didn't need any other reason to hold back anymore.

He needed your assurance, thus he didn't hesitate when he let out an almost animalistic growl before squeezing your throat around his inked fingers.

"Shit, baby, you just met with a stranger a few hours ago and all you wanna do is get fucked? Do you have any idea what you're saying right now?" His voice wasn't the usual saccharine and mellow one that you'd heard over and over again — no, this was completely different. It was as if you triggered a switch in his brain that caused him to be so rough with you. You could only choke on your breath while biting your bottom lip, and before you knew it, the throbbing in your core was already summoning the heat between your legs as you rubbed your thighs in search of some much needed friction.

Jungkook didn't fail to notice, hence he brought his other hand down to your inner thigh where he spread you apart, rubbing small circles with the pad of his thumb before cooing at you.

"You sure you want my cock inside you, huh? I won't go easy on you, sweetheart, you know that." You nodded, affirmative of your decision before he took you back by landing a gentle slap on your cheek with his palm. "Words, baby," he commanded.

"Yes." You winced as you looked up at the heavenly man above you with nothing but adoration in your eyes. Big and glossy — that's how Jungkook liked the way your eyes looked right now. He hummed in approval before abruptly attacking your lips in the messiest way possible. You moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck until the kiss turned sloppy in mere seconds.

Jungkook pulled away after noticing you being immediately short on breath. "I think you're pretty too," he panted, sliding a hand down to cup your clad heat. "My pretty slut."

A gasp escaped your lips, and he didn't take another second before crashing down again to let his tongue through the wet crevices of your cavern. No more words were exchanged, for you were both immersed in making out like horny teenagers in the middle of the beach. You could care less, though. All that mattered at the moment was the fact that you were being suffocated by the cushion-like texture of his lips.

Jungkook moaned in your mouth as he felt the tent growing within the confinements of his trousers, sending a rack of chills down your spine that had your goosebumps standing up for sure. It was a make-out session so good that you barely even registered him intruding your underwear, harshly pinching your clit that had you yelping out loud. However, the warm radiance of his fingers was merely an ephemeral moment, for he was already pulling them away from your throbbing heat. You whined in protest, the action only making you crave his touch more. It wasn't until he gripped the hem of your swimsuit, though, impatiently sliding it off your torso with ease before staring at your barely exposed chest with eyes full of desire.

It was a breathtaking view that only seemed to increase the hunger in his eyes. He shakily exhaled before burying his face within the crook of your neck to press small kisses around it.

"Fuck—you're gorgeous," he moaned. "Take yours off too," you insisted, hands within the expanse of his back as you took time to appreciate how broad he felt above you. He listened without much thought, for the only goal in his mind at the moment was to get rid of any piece of fabric on the two of you, wanting nothing more than to remove the physical barrier preventing you from fully connecting with each other.

You, on the other hand, were salivating at the chiseled structure of Jungkook's chest, silently worshipping him with your gaze alone. Every bump, every inch, every detail of his well-sculpted body had you already moaning wantonly. His muscles felt hard under your touch. You could barely believe the man above you was real.

Perhaps you got so carried away from ogling Jungkook's body that your brain didn't even get to acknowledge him plunging two slender fingers in and out of your sopping cunt. Hell, you didn't even realize that your leggings were already flung a few meters away from you, making you almost stark naked underneath Jungkook if it weren't for your bra that was still clasped around your torso. Groaning at the unexpected intrusion in your pussy, you arched your back until your chest eventually pressed itself against his. "You stare too much, sweetheart. Fucking me with your eyes isn't gonna get my dick inside you." He let out an airy chuckle as he relentlessly pounded his fingers in and out. The friction already had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, mouth agape as you were being toyed with like the cheap whore you were. His crude words merely added up to your arousal, the thickness of your essence drenched your inner thighs, the remainder of it leaking until it eventually reached down your ass.

Everything was so lewd to you. Each time he pushed his fingers inside, the louder your cunt squelched, a rush of embarrassment shading your cheeks in red, causing you to drape an arm over your face to hide your overly pathetic state. "Nuh-uh," Jungkook tutted, removing your arm to pin it against the sand. "Show me how much you enjoy my fingers fucking into your slutty cunt."

You squirmed at the harsh grip he had on you, already anticipating to see a bruising mark on your wrist the next day. It wasn't until things couldn't get any better worse when Jungkook set a brutal pace that had you screaming shamelessly. Your body shook uncontrollably, and your legs were at the precipice of giving up on you any second.

If the way he was fingering you was already considered inhumane enough, you could only shiver at the thought of him breaking your body by the time he's fully sheathed inside you.

However, when you felt the rough pad of his thumb gain contact with your throbbing clit, that became the end for you. He definitely showed no mercy, pressing harshly on your poor bundle of nerves that had your breathing all ragged as drool  began to dribble down from the corners of your mouth. You squeezed your thighs shut from the intense stimulation, only to have Jungkook prying them open again which only added on to your exposure.

With that, he growled at you, pressing harder on your clit. "Don't you dare fucking hide away from me. Gonna cum all over my fingers, yeah? Be a good whore for me and make a mess. Wanna see you fall apart so fucking bad."

His words only egged you on to your incoming release. Each time his fingers would brush against that spongy spot had the knot in your abdomen grow tighter and tighter, feeling as if it was about to burst at any given moment.

"Oh, God— yes, fuck yes, Jungkook— don't stop, I'm so fucking close," you mewled loudly. The obscene noises you were making traveled straight to Jungkook's cock, wanting nothing more than to bury himself deep inside your wetness right this instant. He was patient, though, having full control of his full-on raging boner despite the extreme struggle. Well, not until he was about to reach his limit.

So, with two more thrusts of his digits on your g-spot, your vision fades into black as stars clouded your hazy eyes. Your mouth falls wide open, eyes rolling over to the back of your skull as you think about nothing but the rush of your intense orgasm. Any concerns of being seen in the vulgar position you were currently in were void of existence now. On the other hand, Jungkook shuddered at the sensation of his cock twitching violently at the sight of your mere fucked out state.

"Holy shit, babygirl, you fucking squirted all over me," he moaned, eyes blown out at your glistening folds. He slowly pumped his fingers, helping you ride out your high until you were whimpering at the overstimulation. You forcefully pushed his arm away, breathing heavily as your chest raised every few seconds.

"Tired?" Jungkook couldn't help but laugh at how drained you appeared. You chose to ignore him, though, turning your head away from him in humiliation now that your consciousness was beginning to dawn on you.

"Uh, uh, uh," he tsked, hovering over your quivering finger before gripping your face with his entire hand. Maneuvering your head to look at him, Jungkook leaned in closer to your face, sensually licking at the soft shell of your ear while humming blissfully. It hadn't even been a minute since your post-orgasm, and the mere action Jungkook did had more of your arousal gushing out of your still-throbbing cunt. "That was only the bare minimum, baby. I have more things I wanna do with you," he hoarsely whispered. Before your mind could even properly comprehend his words, he was already flipping both of your figures so you could be the one to be on top this time. He laid comfortably underneath the board as he placed his hands on your hips.

There you finally felt the prominent outline of his cock for the first time. You quietly gasped at his size, eliciting a groan from Jungkook.

He pushed your shoulders away, making you sit up on him as your pussy was now directly above his crotch. If it weren't for the trousers he was still wearing, you would had gotten his dick wet by now from the amount of your juices you were pouring out.

With that, he placed one hand on your hip, whereas the other slid itself up to cup your bra-clad tit. "Grind on it, sweetheart," he demanded.

You were already moaning before you could even move, only turning louder when you were finally relieving the much needed friction you were desperately looking for within the past three minutes. You shamelessly gyrated your hips against his cock, placing your hands on his broad shoulders to balance yourself. God, were you too fucked out on his dick that you didn't even realize that Jungkook already unclasped your bra in a haste, swiftly attacking one of your nipples with his mouth as he kneaded the other. You threw your head back in utter pleasure as you hung your mouth wide.

"Look at you, so fucked out on my dick. Such a good whore for me, aren't you?" He teased as he continued to pinch one of your nipples, the other hand cupping the warmth of your cheek before smashing your lips together once more.

Pulling away, you moaned against his mouth, "Wan' you inside me, please."

Surprisingly, Jungkook immediately complied without exchanging words with you. Slightly raising his hips up, he swiftly tugged his trousers off, kicking them away with no care whatsoever on where it had landed. His mind was set on one thing — tearing you apart on his cock.

He didn't think twice to manhandle your poor body, turning you around so that your back was facing him whereas you faced the scattered huts in the distance where someone could literally be witnessing the pornographic state you and Jungkook were in — naked, with nothing left to cover any of your dignity.

"Jungkook—" you whined, "someone might see us."

"And?" He quirked a brow at your statement as he aligned your dripping cunt over the angry tip of his cock. "You really have the audacity to say you're ashamed now?"

"Oh—oh fuck..!"

Without any warning at all, he forced you down on his dick, stretching your walls out in the most delicious, yet painful manner. You arched your back until his dick was finally buried to the hilt, your creamy essence oozing out until it eventually coats his balls. You could feel him sitting up behind you, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist before he hauled your back flush against his chest. Your walls fluttered sporadically around his cock, sending a powerful shudder at Jungkook's end. He exhaled deeply before propping his chin on your shoulder.

"Bet that slutty little cunt loves to get caught being fucked, doesn't it? — Oh fuck, I can feel you squeezing my dick, sweetheart," he chuckled in your ear, keeping you stuck on his cock. The ecstatic warmth of your hole wrapped around him gave him an all-new addiction he wanted to stay with the entire night.

"I can say you're good at riding the waves, baby, but are you just as good when it comes to riding my cock?" He purred, giving you yet another challenge that sparked up a flame inside your heat. "I don't think you can, sweetheart. You can't even think about anything when you were getting fucked by my fingers," he continued, "All you think about is wanting to get fucked by this dick, don't you?"

However, you wanted to prove him wrong. The humiliation he was planting inside you only seemed to fuel your longing to milk his cock dry, so you raise your hips, whimpering at the process from the delicious drag of his cock against your sensitive folds. "N-no," you breathed out. "I can d-do it—I can ride sir's cock g-good too."

Hearing your protest aroused him, but the new nickname you unconsciously gave him made his cock, if that was even possible, harder inside you. You moaned when he throbbed inside you, your pussy squelching louder the moment you slammed back down on his cock, swallowing him whole as you left no inch outside your warm hole.

"Yeah, you're gonna take sir's cock like the good whore you are?" He spurred you on, his words sending your mind into a frenzy as the rasp in his voice brought a pleasant thrill that traveled down your heat. "Prove it, then. Show me that you aren't such a dumb cockslut, babygirl."

"Ouh— fuck," you cried when you impaled yourself on his cock, gradually setting a pace while you bounced erratically on him.

Every vein, every ridge, and every inch drove you madly insane. Not to mention the way his cock curved inside you, giving you justttt the perfect kiss you needed to feel him right up your cervix. Everything was downright lewd and obscene, but it only sparked up your arousal to greater heights. The mere thought of having someone's eyes possibly laid out on you and Jungkook's current state already had your eyes rolling back as your mouth fell round, a mantra of moans and curses tumbling out as if you became a broken toy.

Your hands were running all over every part of your body. God, you only had him inside you for three minutes and you already felt like completely tearing apart on top of him. You were getting more overwhelmed the more you desperately bounced yourself on his dick like the bitch he exactly expected you to be, and you loved it. You gladly took everything Jungkook offered you, converting it into the most pleasurable moment of your lives as he sat there, watching you oh-so quietly. He nibbled on his lower lip every time his eyes landed on your ass that jiggled every time it clashed with his lap, but what had him throbbing once again was definitely the ring of wetness that formed around the base of his cock. You moaned rather loudly when you abruptly felt Jungkook's callused hands grip your frail wrists, bringing both of them behind your back with one hand as the other found itself harshly spanking your ass.

"Fuck, Jungkook!" You groaned in mixed bliss and pain. "That's it, you're doing so well for me, baby. Taking sir's cock like the good slut you are," he growled, landing another spank on your ass again to urge you on. You could only whimper at his roughness before complying, anyway. You rode him faster, harder, raising your hips up until just the tip remains inside you only to sink back in allll the way. You were going so fast that more of your essence trickled down, making everything a mess within your wetness. It was just the way you liked it. Your pace remained consistent for a few more minutes, until your muscles were beginning to feel the effects of soreness as your body was slowly succumbing to exhaustion. Your breathing became erratic, chest violently heaving up and down until you reached to the point where your last resort was to pathetically grind on his lap like an animal in heat. You heard him scoff behind you, finally freeing your wrists from his tight grasp as his hands were now focusing on your waist. He planted his feet on the ground, and from there on, you already knew what he was plotting in mind.

When he thrusted up, your legs shook and your breath knocked itself out of your lungs. If it wasn't for the tight hold he had on your waist, you would have fallen down by now.

"And I thought you were good at riding cock," he chuckled humorlessly, practically rearranging your intestines with the brutal pace he set on you. "I guess you're only made to take it after all," he continued, "you gonna be a good girl for sir and take his dick?" You cried when one of his hands snaked itself to your neglected bud, "Yes! Oh, fuck— yes, wan' you to fuck me."

He laughed darkly upon hearing your words, cooing at you, "Aw, did my baby get so fucked out on my cock that she turned stupid? Such a dumb slut I have right here."

With that, he abruptly pulled out of your hole without notice. You screamed in frustration as you tried to get him inside again, but he stopped you before you even could. "Jesus fucking Christ, you're also a greedy one, aren't you? I was only going to turn you around, sweetheart." He chortled.

You quietly whimpered when he was manhandling you again, heart pounding hastily in your chest as you felt him line the tip against your folds, teasing you for a few seconds before plunging inside you. You mewled wantonly, welcoming that same warmth you were craving for. However, the calm moment only lasted for a second when he was fucking into you again. Your mouth fell apart again as you could barely hold your eyes open. You frantically placed your hands on top of his shoulders for leverage until your head eventually gave in too. You laid on top of Jungkook's chest as you were forced to take his cock inside you.

He held both sides of your head so he could look at you, and doing so only made the lust in his eyes grow darker. Your hair was disheveled, your lips became swollen from all the kissing and biting, and your face definitely screamed "I Just Received the Best Fuck of My Life" vibes. It only fueled his determination to make you reach your breaking point.

Oddly enough, Jungkook had developed an obsession in witnessing you fall apart because of him. Were either of you complaining, though? Definitely not.

"Look at you, did my cock fuck you up so bad?" He giggled before swiping a lone strand of hair away from your face to get a better view. You looked heavenly like this — the sight of you all weak and vulnerable gave Jungkook the urge to just take care of you then and there.

And by taking care of you, he meant brutally fucking you then treating like you a princess afterward — that was what he had in mind for tonight.

He didn't realize that he was mindlessly thrusting into you until he felt your walls grow tighter and warmer. Your moans turned into screams and you were starting to shake violently on top of him.

"'M gonna cum..!" You whined when he began fucking you inhumanly fast as if he was the one in heat in the first place. You dragged out a long moan as more words came out of your mouth on instinct. The knot in your abdomen grew tighter until a few more thrusts and a hoarse whisper had you completely done for.

"Go on, baby, make a mess all over my cock. You did so well for me."

Thus, your orgasm destructively crashed into you, rattling all five of your senses as the impact hit you stronger than the waves could. Your vision momentarily faded into darkness, but you could definitely still feel him punctuating his hips inside you to help you ride out your high.

"Shit— that was so fucking hot, sweetheart. You feel so goo— fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groaned at the last sentence, pace faltering as he eventually fucked you with sloppy and inconsistent thrusts. You moaned at the overstimulation, humming at the sweet buzz you felt inside your body.

"Wan' you to cum inside my mouth."

That single statement drove Jungkook wild that he pulled out almost too excitedly. You laid on all fours as you patiently waited to suck him off with your mouth open and ready for him. He groaned at the way you innocently batted your eyelashes at him, wasting no time to plunge himself inside your mouth to aid his impending orgasm. You choked the moment his tip kissed the back of your throat, drool already dribbling down the corners of your lips as he gave no mind to it. He absolutely cherished the sight of you struggling to take his cock no matter which hole he fucked himself into.

Maybe he'll even aim for your ass, but that would be for another time.

"Oh, fuck. I'm close..." he mewled loudly before grabbing a bunch of your hair to form a makeshift ponytail. He kept you still there, using you as his personal fleshlight to his own delight until spurts of his cum were finally painting the insides of your mouth. You hummed around his cock, making him curse loudly. He shuddered one more time, milking out the last of his release before pulling out. You stuck your tongue out, evidence that you indeed swallowed everything. He immediately wrapped your body around his arms to cover your intimate parts, the shame and humiliation finally dawning upon the both of you.

Thankfully enough, the beach remained empty around these hours, giving you the very needed privacy at the moment.

Jungkook carefully looked at your face once again before frowning.

"Did I go too rough on you?"

You laughed, shaking your head to his relief. "No, I liked it." You blushed.

Without any warning, he kissed you again. It was soft and gentle, unlike the previous ones you shared earlier. You sighed at the serene moment before Jungkook spoke up.

"So, uh, do you have any plans on going back here?"

"For you, definitely."

You hugged him close, the warm radiance of his skin providing you comfort as you basked in the scent of him. "Don't wanna leave you yet."

He chuckled, "Me neither."

Yup, there was definitely going to be a next time between the two of you. Just when he expected to have another shitty day, you suddenly crashed into his life harder than the waves did.

[cornmaeleon]

Okay so this has been said 1000 times before probably, and i will say it again. Because its just been on my mind for a while. Horikoshi has done a good job at bringing into light the injustice and straight up occasional disregard for basic human rights that villains face when being "dealt with" by the heroes in MHA. We see it second-hand through the ideologies'/views and experiences of the league, stain , and other villains we've encountered throughout the story, and this was especially shone down upon in the Liberation War Arc.

What's been bugging me, though, the most really-- as we've seen the story progress from that arc and continue on up to this point; Is the question of like, whether or not Hori actually plans to maybe show us some repurcussion (ik its probably spelled wrong I KNOW.) As in, if he plans for anything to come out of this obvious issue, or if hes just going to go "shits fucked, oops" and not do shit about it. I mean dont get me wrong its his story hes free to do whatever technically but like 

At this point, with dabi's capturing, twice's death, spinner probably losing idk im not super up to date, and like literally basically everything thats going on with shigs and midoriya and EVERY OTHER FUCKER. like lowkey i feel like everythings going to turn out like those rehab fanfics you see on wattpad where "everyone is good and happy and the todorokis reunited, shigaraki became the hero he always wanted to be, toga's quirk was turned off permanently ETC ETC" Like. 

It feels like an excuse for the heroes to maintain the appearance of these demi god figures that are "holier than thou" that can do no harm and have come to rescue those "tainted" by like darkness or some bullshit. Like, nothings gonna change, it looks like? 

I honestly, do want to see Dabi, and Shigaraki, and Toga, And Spinner (really the ENTIRE LEAGUE.) Be happy and healthy and live laugh love and all of that but 

Not as some kind of plot device to further give depth or development to their respective hero counterparts 

And plus. In some cases, (ahem-* dabi) it just. It doesnt even seem possible, much less realistic. 

Like id love to see the two brothers interact, cause, its INTERESTING, and it would be nice to observe their dynamic outside of battle but like, for someone like DABI? WHO BUILT HIS ENTIRE PURPOSE AND LIFE around revenge against his father. ts so ingrained into him that to take that away from him in the form of rehab would probably be like ripping out a part of dabi, that part of him that practically is the foundation for who he is today, like DABI, the guy who "rose from touya's ashes' was literally birthed by the hatred and anger in touya, and your just going to take away his one dream. His plans after killing endeavor was to literally DIE, JUST DIE, AND THATS IT. DIE. 

I just dont see how this "saving" theyre trying to do with the villains works out in anyone elses favour but their own. Id love to see me be proven an absolute idiot by horikoshi but also im just not holding my breath. Or maybe i am. Idk.  Its almost one in the morning ₩#¥#--(@ i would love to see a good ending for my babys thats written in a way that gives justice to their characters 

Note: i will say, though, i probably would ignore everything said in this post if dabi ever got a happy ending, proudly an apologist (/HJ) i just want him to be happy in a healthy way and not in the "gonna kill my baby bro" kinda way for once holy shit 

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

“I’ve been doing stupid things

Wilder than I’ve ever been

You’ve become my favorite sin

So let them keep, let them keep on talking.”

— Bad Decisions, Ariana Grande

A/N: laidese and germs.....i cannot feel my mfing fingers!!!!! but the filth is worth it 😌this is the longest piece i have ever written and i’m pretty proud of it! i put my heart and soul into this and the smut is.....pretty wild ngl! this is the first full-on sex scene i’ve written for them so it’s pretty long but who doesn’t love a long smut scene, amirite? it’s also the official introduction to Onyx and Nimbus into the demon!h universe so a round of applause for those two legends. Lucifer is mentioned in passing and i posted a face-claim for him, in case you were wondering what he looks like (he will be making appearances in the future so keep your eyes peeled for that). a little disclaimer, the Latin i used for the summoning spell i created is a very loose translation!! i did the best i could with google!! without further delay, here she is :D thank you so much for supporting my writing, feedback is not only greatly appreciated but also getting tattooed on my forehead, get ready for quite the ride, and i hope you enjoy!

masterlist : ask : more demon!harry

word count: 26k (i have no self-control oop)

content: a ton of domestic banter, a huge amount of fluff, two (2) make out sessions, demon!h putting that tongue piercing to good use, a load of filthy ass smut, him looking hot while doing some spells, and some dogs of course

preview:

Y/N’s attitude is one of timid guilt. “Isn’t that tapestry a sacred antique? Wouldn’t it be wrong to…y’know...?”

Harry belts out a disbelieving laugh. “Since when do you care about defiling satanic artifacts? Thought you’d be all for it.” 

She scowls. “Won’t Lucifer find out?” 

Her boyfriend rolls his eyes haphazardly, waving a hand weakly for emphasis before using it to push his disheveled curls away from his forehead. “I highly doubt it.” 

“I feel like he has a way of knowing everything, H.” 

“He does, most times. But,” he holds up his pinky symbolically, wiggling it around with a shit-eating grin curving his cupid’s bow, sing-songing. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

The raunchiness of it all is appealing to her urge to be rebellious— an urge he had instilled in her over the months they’d known one another. She reiterates her previous point, trying to convince herself more than anyone because it really is so unbelievably tempting. “It’s a risk, and it’s wrong.”

Harry fits her chin between his thumb and forefinger, ghosting his mouth over hers and blinking slowly, establishing a seductive hold. His whisper is warm and raspy, almost as if he’s trying to keep their shadows from eavesdropping. “That’s what makes it so fucking hot.” 

Y/N follows his lips, aiming to draw him into a kiss, but he pulls back, brows kinking in a mocking fashion. The action silently communicates its intended message: If you want a kiss, you have to give in to me.

or demon!harry wants to introduce angel!y/n to his hellhounds but an extremely sinful offer ends up postponing the summoning ritual 

///

Y/N’s having a stroke. 

She has never experienced one and, technically speaking, angels’ bodies are immune to all sickness and ailments given that they are just physical vessels for celestial energy. She’s probably just being dramatic. However, Y/N is pretty sure that what she is currently going through is most definitely classified as a stroke. 

Her palms are sweaty, her vision is blurring in and out of focus, she has a serious case of cottonmouth, her ears are ringing, her lungs are burning, and her heart is attempting to burst through her ribcage. According to what she has seen on television shows and commercials, as well as a quick search on WebMD, these strenuous sensations are the characteristics of a severe seizure. Or maybe a panic attack, at the least. 

The issue is that Y/N is the one inflicting this upon herself by overreacting, but she can’t seem to help it. Given the current situation, it’s not unusual that all her nerves are splintering and that her entire body has kicked into high gear. Any angel having to witness a satanic ritual would react the same exact way. 

It’s not so much Harry’s culture and practices that make her catastrophically uncomfortable, but it’s moreso the fact that she’s standing not even a full yard away as it all unfolds.

From the second Y/N and Harry had started dating, she was well aware of the consequences of their relationship. Apart from having to lie to her friends and family about why she had decided to extend her visit to earth into a semi-permanent moving-out, she’d also had to sacrifice a lot of the morals and ethics ingrained into her from the instant she had been created. Dismantling three thousand years worth of education and routine wasn’t necessarily a walk through the Garden of Eden. Y/N had no choice but to set aside her personal afflictions about her boyfriend’s lifestyle in order to make it work and though it had been a rocky start, everything she used to despise about demons had gradually integrated into her new status quo. 

She had learned to turn a blind eye when it came to Harry’s demonic dealings; she wasn’t by any means supportive of people selling their souls and condemning themselves to damnation, but God gave humans free will for a reason and it’s not any of her concern what they decide to do with it. Plus, according to what Harry had told her, demons have a certain monthly quota on how many souls they are required to collect and if he were to miss the mark, it would be a dead giveaway that something was out of the ordinary. Harry is one of Hell’s most prized businessmen— he’d been breaking records for centuries now— and if his numbers were to suddenly drop, rumors would no doubt cascade up the corporate ladder and make their way to a certain ill-tempered archangel’s ears. 

The last thing either of them needed is Lucifer sniffing around, particularly because it would give him ammo to lord over Y/N, which he’d unquestionably use to threaten her status in heaven. Her own personal worries aside, she has no idea what her father would do to Harry if he got wind of their forbidden connection and honestly, she would rather saw off her own wings than find out. 

There were too many risks involved in convincing her boyfriend to take the moral high road so instead, she kept her nose out of it all together. It's for the best. 

When it came to his other demonic duties, she made herself slightly more aware of them, despite wishing she didn’t have to. Duties such as mandatory business meetings— which doubled as satanic rituals— and his role as a professor of dark arts and lethal combat training to the upcoming generations of Hell. Y/N asked him endless questions about his responsibilities because she felt that being purposefully ignorant was selfishly stupid. Educating herself made it easier to understand Harry’s life and taught her not to judge him so harshly for the actions he partook. Hearing him speak about blood sacraments and swearing loyalty to someone she had been conditioned to hate made her mouth turn sour, almost like she’d swallowed a spoonful of brimstone dust, but she shouldered it because she loved him and when you love someone, you have to put aside your own biases in order to fully comprehend theirs. 

This had been Harry’s life for almost a millennia now and it’s not like he could bow out if he wanted— he’d sold his soul for the rest of eternity. Nothing could change that and she had to accept it. 

And though the logistics of it all made her stomach curdle, there was one primary concern that truly nicked her above everything: Harry’s safety. 

It mainly funneled down to the blood sacraments; the ceremony didn’t sit right with her for obvious reasons. There was just something so sickening about being required to participate in such an intrusive event and she doesn’t think it fair that he doesn’t have a choice. Harry assures her that it’s really nothing— a simple chore, at best— because he had been attending these occasions for decades now and was numb to their grotesqueness, but she can’t keep herself from prickling at the concept. Blood is so sacred— it’s a vital substance that all creatures have, humans, angels, and demons alike— and being forced to give it up to protect and stroke someone else’s ego is demeaning. 

From a hindsight perspective, Y/N thinks that’s why she’s so strung out and why she carries so much stress towards the spell Harry is about to cast— because it requires his blood. 

Y/N had seen Harry cast encanations plenty of times before and it never bothered her, mostly because all the sorcery she had seen was never anything to fear. Most of the magic he performed in front of her was harmless and innocent, which had surprised her since occultism was invented by Lucifer and anything that stemmed from him generally tended to be evil. 

But the witchcraft Harry showed her was pretty juvenile. An embarrassing nude situation with a binding spell and the little disappearance act with his Halloween costume. Setting his hot chocolate mug aflame to toast the marshmallows on top, and using his powers at the Party City store to “lightly” shove an old lady that had been rudely judging their close proximity. Using an invisible force to tug at her hair from across the room to be annoying, or teleporting her phone out of her hands at random times just to fuck with her. 

It was all benign, or so she thought. She knew there were more extreme forms of magic— it wasn’t referred to as the dark arts for the fun of it— but she had yet to experience anything drastic so she didn’t dwell in her head too much about it. 

Because Harry hadn’t exposed her to anything worth the horror, she had agreed to accompany him while he performed a ritual to summon his hellhounds to their apartment. She wasn’t necessarily keen on engaging with two five foot tall, red-eyed, bloody-mawed beasts, but from the way Harry had talked about them, she could tell they were important to him. 

He’d told her about how he had raised the hellhounds into adulthood since they had been spawned into existence as mere puppies, which obviously meant they had a deep bond spanning over centuries. Apart from that platonic connection, being their guardian had helped Harry get over the trauma that lingered from his death. It had been at the claws of a different hellhound, and it’s needless to say it had not been pleasant— the rough scarring running down the length of his chest can attest to that. Onyx and Nimbus (the second name he’d assigned ironically; it was a synonym for “halo,” and both he and the dog got quite the kick out of it) taught him to mend, and in return, he had taken them under his wing. They’d been inseparable for decades. A packaged deal, and considering Y/N was now a major part of his life, too, he wanted them to meet and get along. Or at least not try to kill each other on sight. 

Y/N had hesitantly agreed to letting the dogs stay at the flat, promising that she would do her best to form some type of civil relationship with them. She’s not sure how she would get used to two lethal canines casually milling around the kitchen, but she’d try awfully hard just to make Harry happy. Luckily, he wasn’t insensitive to her caution and explained that he would use magic to shape-shift his hounds into a more acceptable domestic form— “Probably pitbulls or labradors. Or German Shepherds! Those are pretty sick.” That consolation worked wonders for her peace of mind; it’d be easier to run from them without their ten foot leg-span advantage. 

Amidst Harry’s other reassurances, she also figured the spell wouldn’t be too harsh— he’d probably just chant some words in Latin and the dogs would pop up out of thin air— so she’d just shrugged her shoulder and agreed to be present. 

Much to the relief of her conscious, the initial setup had seemed as mild as usual. Harry had gathered a few select herbs, a rusted gold bowl with satanic glyphs carved into its circumstance, a matching muddler, and four stout candles, setting it all on the ground as he proceeded to move the coffee table off to the side for more space. He had extended a large tapestry over half of the living room, a giant gold pentagram painted over its expanse, weird symbols detailing each of its peaks. The piece had seemed ancient— it was faded and torn in certain places, mysterious dark stains splattered in others— and it made the back of her neck bristle for some unknown reason. 

Y/N had brushed it off. She should’ve expected to feel a bit uneasy— it was a fucking occult object. Any sane person would feel nervous around it. 

Harry, on the other hand, had been as carefree and nonchalant as always. Her boyfriend had dusted off the huge drapery, pinning down each corner with a different magical stone and a candle companion, whistling to the vague tune of his grandson’s newest single. Y/N found that incredibly amusing considering he never missed an opportunity to mention his hatred for the boy. Well, hate is a harsh word. Strongly dislike is more suitable, or so he would say. 

“Could never hate someone with my face. It’s too cute to hate.”

He just found his relative’s fame annoying. Harry had lived almost seven hundred years of his undead life without having to fret about his appearance or about people recognizing him, but then his descendant had decided to pursue a career in a world-renowned industry. Even worse, he had the nerve to be good at it, which had launched him to international stardom and condemned Harry— his uncanny doppelgänger— to suffer the irritating lookalike-induced consequences. As if the identical physical aspect wasn’t enough, his grandson shared the same first and last name as him, as well, and it felt like the universe was playing a giant cosmic joke on Harry’s patience. 

It had gotten to the point where he had been left with no other choice but to cast an illusion spell on his inverted cross necklace in order to mist their similarities in the eyes of mortals. Despite that, he had to withhold liquifying people’s insides every time he got a comment along the lines of “Oh my god, has anyone ever told you that you look like Harry Styles?!” It would get even worse once they learned his name and/or heard him speak: “Your name is Harry, too? And you’re British? That’s so crazy!”

He had started to develop an eye twitch as a result. 

Especially because with his family tree logic taken into consideration, he didn’t look like the musician; in actuality, the musician looked like him. Harry was the original blueprint, his grandson was just the watered-down knock off. 

But since no one could know the truth, lest the entirety of the supernatural world be exposed, Harry had to swallow his pride, smile tightly, nod, and mumble a, “Such a coincidence, huh?” through gritted teeth. 

Unpleasantries overlooked, the young man’s music was pretty decent, Harry will admit. He had an astonishing voice and an undisputed talent for creating catchy tunes with easily enjoyable lyrics. And according to his newest hit, he also shared Harry’s affinity for the mutual pleasure that comes with giving oral, so at least the Walmart version has taste.  

Harry had finished setting down each raw crystal, his hummed cover of Watermelon Sugar fading to an end as he carefully surveyed his work. 

Obsidian for focus, malachite for strength, amethyst for protection, and garnet for manifesting. The jewels were the most appropriate for the hex and he’s proud he had remembered which ones to use without having to consult his grimoire. He had then made a curious sound in the back of his throat, recalling one more gem that was technically optional, but could be extremely useful for conserving his vitality and sharpening his clarity. He had rummaged a bit more through his black velvet bag and pulled out a rock bigger than the others, roughly the size of his palm, and set it down at the very center of the pentagram. Apatite, meant to empower and connect the energies of the other four gemstones to each other and to the rest of the ingredients within the summoning spell. 

At that instance, things still seem to be remaining calm in Y/N’s eyes. These are the normal tools he uses here and there when needed; nothing scary. 

She takes a small step back as her boyfriend walks over from standing in the middle of the tapestry, slowly sitting down front and center at its edge with a light grunt. Harry fiddles through all of the earthy contents he had collected, double-checking to make sure he has everything required before beginning the ritual. When he confirms that all of the factors are adequately present, he then proceeds to shrug off his oversized windbreaker, discarding the light tan fabric onto the floor behind him. He has to be as unconstrained as possible.

He is left in his checkered copper slacks and a tee Y/N had gotten him for Valentine’s Day from one of his favorite brands. It’s a blood red fitted cotton shirt with navy blue horizontal stripes and knitted detailing around the brim of the cuffs and along the collar. A small Mickey Mouse graphic sits embroidered over the right pectoral with its eyes cast upwards towards the wearer’s face, smiling happily and she had thought it to be pretty adorable. The t-shirt is a somewhat odd piece for a demon to wear given the cartoon, which is exactly why she had gotten it for him. She knew he’d enjoy the irony of an innocent drawing flushed tightly against his scarred chest and she had been absolutely right. 

Harry twists around, craning his head back to meet her gaze and gifting her a huge, exaggerated smile while batting his lashes dramatically. His voice carries a theatrical honeyed tone. “Care to be my pretty little magician’s assistant for a second?”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, unfolding her loosely crossed arms and leaning down closer as a response, moving a handful of rogue curls away from his forehead with the back of her hand. She kinks her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his request. 

Harry continues in his normal voice, his sugary sweet act dissolving away into his default sly smirk. “Can you go get me a dish cloth from the kitchen? One of the older ones, please.”

She thumbs over his lip ring for a moment, reaching forward and pecking his mouth chastely. “Sure.”

“Thank you, dove.”

Once she returns with what he’d asked and Harry drapes said rag over his broad shoulder for later access, she retakes her position behind him, absentmindedly chewing on the pad of her thumb nervously as she watches him crumble dried plants in his fist and sprinkle them into the steep metal bowl. Harry drops the shredded juniper, mandrake, rosemary, vervain, and lavender into the kettle in turns, a few unintelligible words whispered lowly as each herb filters through the cracks in his fingers. He retrieves the golden muddler, his other hand cupping the large bowl and spinning it in careful circles, grounding down the plants into a fine powder. 

“What’s each one for?” Y/N pipes up, curiosity besting her wariness. 

Her boyfriend continues his concentrated motions, keeping his eyes trained on his work as he humors her, voice airy yet focused. “The juniper’s for purification, mandrake for enhanced protection, rosemary for warding, and vervain for psychic connection.”

“What about the last one? I think it was lavender?” 

From her sideline perspective, she catches the corner of his lips twitching into a small, amused grin. “That one’s just to make it smell good. Don’t want the stench of death stinking up the house.” 

His indifferent demeanor makes it hard to tell if he’s just screwing with her or not.

Y/N decides to chance another question. 

“You said one of the herbs is for enhanced protection? Is the protection from the stones not enough…?”

Harry doesn’t miss a beat, tapping the grinder tool along the edge of the bowl with finality before setting it down on the floor beside his thigh. “The stones should be enough, but you can never be too careful, right?”

Y/N swallows heavily, the caution behind his quip causing her stomach to knot. “I thought you were just gonna, like, ring them up and they’d just pop in. Is it really that dangerous?” 

The demon throws a knowing glance behind his shoulder, scoffing into a light round of chuckling. “Sweetheart, I’m quite literally reaching a telepathic arm into Hell to yank them out. If I don’t take extra precaution, who knows what else could latch on.” 

The angel’s eyes widen in angered alarm, arms tightening protectively around her torso. “You said this was safe! That you’d done it before and nothing went wrong!”

“It’ll be fine, I promise.” Harry reaches over and squeezes the back of her calf playfully, trying to sooth her nerves. He runs a palm up her leg as far as it allows and then grabs onto the hem of her Minnie Mouse t-shirt (which he had gotten to complete the matching set with his own), tugging at it to signify he wants her to come down. 

His girlfriend refuses, glaring at him with cinched brows and a begrudging grimace weighing down the ends of her pretty mouth. 

Harry’s eyes go hooded in a deadpan expression, jesting. He pulls at her shirt again to try and convince her to kneel down next to him, but is yet again met by her body stiffening up to stand her ground. 

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N.” He sighs in exasperation, wrapping the material of her maroon tee around his knuckles and giving one final yank, tapping into a bit of his unnatural strength to get the job done. “Come here.” 

The sudden heightened force behind his action throws her off balance and Y/N ends up toppling right into his lap, falling bridal style over his crossed legs with a sound of infuriated shock. 

“You’re so fucking annoying.” She grumbles, features maintaining a sour appearance as her arms lock harder around her chest. 

Harry gently moves a few strands of hair out of her face, the locks having fallen victim to her rough landing. He tucks them behind her ear, thumbing over her temple tenderly as boyish giggles threaten to spill out of his mouth. He stifles them by biting into his lower lip, but he can’t stop the way his mouth jolts as they try to come loose. 

Y/N stares at him intensely from beneath furrowed brows, daring him to laugh at her. “This isn’t funny, Harry. What if something happens?”

He clears his throat lowly, finally managing to get rid of the snickering threatening his relationship. He sighs dismissively through his nose, shaking his head in an after-thought. “We’ll be okay, I was just answering your question honestly. All magic comes with a risk, especially when it’s this advanced. But lucky for you, I’ve been doing this for a while now so the chances of me fucking up are pretty low.” 

She presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek, raising an eyebrow with newfound doubt. “‘Pretty low?’ So not impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible.”

“And that includes you getting us dragged to Hell.”

“You look real cute when you glower and pout, y’know that?”

Y/N shoves at his chest, slapping his hand away from her face. “Will you cut it out? I’m being serious.”

“So am I! Makes you look pretty in a rugged sort of way.” He leans forward, puckering his lips to try and get a kiss in. 

His girlfriend smothers her hand across his face to push him away and he has to resist biting into her palm as retaliation. “If you get me plunged into that godforsaken realm, I swear to Dad I’ll—”

“Think of it this way,” Harry interrupts, swiftly snatching her wrists and giving her a quick shake to get her attention off the bloodthirsty rant. “If we end up down there, I can give you the grand tour. We can visit all my favorite places and I can show you where I made my blade! Seems like a neat date night idea, if you ask me.”

“You’re insufferable and I’m leaving. Call me when it’s done.” 

Y/N goes to stand up, attempting to shimmy her way out of her boyfriend’s lap and get a decent footing. Harry, as always, has other plans. He pulls her upwards towards his face, flushing their foreheads together and rubbing the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. She blinks at him in a daze, all rage slowly melting right off her face as the amber specks in his eyes soothe away her fright. 

“I promise on my soul— as damned as it may be— that I will not let anything bad happen to you. I swear.”

The emotion behind his oath works as intended, seen in how she releases a shaky exhale and gifts him a solemn nod. “Okay.”

“Alright.” He runs his nose across the crest of her cheek, dimples carving into place. “Now gimme a kiss.” 

She rolls her eyes lightly, an endeared smile finally cracking the unease on her face. “Just one.”

“Just one?” Harry groans dramatically, throwing his head back in fake anguish and she can feel her ears spark with electricity at the way to his throat flexes against the collar of his shirt. “You’re killing me. A second time.”

Y/N laughs fully now, wriggling her hands free and shifting accordingly across his thighs until she’s sitting upright with her arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, her fingers toying with the baby curls along the nape of his neck. She speaks up with exaggerated authority. “Just one kiss, so you better make it good.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump up challengingly as his head cocks to the side, large hands coasting along her plush waist and onto her backside, roughly hoisting her closer to his body until she’s practically balancing on her knees around his hips. Y/N gropes at his t-shirt as a means to steady herself, breaths catching in her lungs as she feels one of his middle fingers trace up the curve of her spine, his entire hand then raking into the hair along the back of her head. 

He jerks her head downwards until their mouths are barely touching, the skin of his lips brushing over her own, warm and unbearably silky. His tousled curls tickle along her hairline, the heat of his words puffing over her cupid’s bow. His voice is as soft and tempting as his mouth, paired with a dark undercurrent of dirty intentions. “I think you know by now just how good I can make it feel.”

Y/N’s eyes flicker between the coy smirk painting his beautiful lips, the attractive smugness defining his cheekbones, and the suggestive glint dancing across the different shades of jade in his eyes. If she pays close enough attention, she can just make out the faint black veins starting to web underneath his waterline. 

It’s rattling how even after being together for a decent amount of time, Harry always manages to knock the air out of her chest and the composure out of her mind. They’ve been here a dozen instances before, with him placing subtle caresses on her skin, whispering blatant innuendos into her ears, and playing every single one of her strings like he was made for the sole purpose of unraveling and putting her back together. He always leaves her speechless, breathless, and aching for more. 

More of anything— of his attention, of his affection, of his hand at the dip of her back, of his lips pressed to the base of her throat, of his laughter chiming around her, and of his irises blinking back at her’s with all of his emotions leaking through. And at the moment, she’s practically squirming to feel the way he handles her when he’s desperate for her touch. To feel the way he groans hoarsely when she smudges her lips across the sensitive spot on his neck, and the way his breathing stutters when she drags her fingertips down his bare chest, and the way the muscles along his back flex and contract beneath her palms while she makes him feel like his soul is glowing. 

All the pit of her stomach is throbbing to experience is the way his nose bumps at the slope of her jaw timidly when he exhales shakily across the curve of her neck, voice tight and needy while his hips crash between her thighs messily. “Want your mouth, baby. Want you to mark me up and remind me I’m all yours.”

She wants the feeling of his fists tearing at the sheets below her sweaty body as he tries to keep himself from spilling too soon, hellbent on stretching every millisecond into an eternity because the way she’s all snug around him, whining and bucking to his thrusts… It’s the only thing that could possibly rival heaven, or so he says whenever he’s murmuring sweet nothings into the shell of her ear. 

She needs it— needs the sensation of him panting and gasping into the sweaty hair along the crown of her head as she digs her teeth into his shoulder, her hands fumbling to grip the fleshy bits of his waist as they rock into her at a sloppy, hard pace that is somehow controlled, giving her everything she craves while still making sure she’s comfortable and cared for. He’d flutter kisses across her forehead, rasping reassurance against her scalp between guttural moans and pleads. “You’re okay, yeah? Doing alright for me, princess? Wanna make sure I’m making you feel good— need to know I am. Need to know I’m making my girl feel so fucking good for me.” 

Most importantly, she longs to see how his eyes ink completely black when he stumbles over the edge, a numb darkness swallowing up the bright emerald of his irises, framed by pleasure-furrowed brows and thick lashes. Longs to feel his front teeth catch on her stinging lips as he pours whimpery praises onto her tongue, his hard back shuddering beneath her palms as his shaky hands cup her jaw lovingly. Longs to clench around him and whisper encouragement against his mouth as he returns the favor, telling her how the noises that escape her mouth make him utterly drunk and how he would crawl across Hell all over again if it meant getting to spend even a minute between her legs. 

Y/N can’t help the way her thoughts wander when Harry’s so close to her. He sets every single one of her cells on fire without having to lift a finger. She’d never had anyone make her feel the way he does— never looked at anyone the way she looks at him. He’d somehow won her over with his stupid inappropriate jokes, that stupidly handsome crooked grin, the stupidly gentle nature in which he touches her, and his stupid poetic way with words. He keeps her on her toes and makes her grateful to have given love a chance; she doesn’t think anyone else would have given her an epic story quite like theirs. 

And now she sits here perched on his lap, as wordless and awestruck as ever, his arms snaked around her securely, one large warm hand gripping her ass as the other cards into her roots with a domineering air. A conceited look plucks at his sculpted brows and at one corner of his bitten lips, waiting for her to respond to his last comment. Harry’s suggestive remark echoes in her ears like a church bell, causing her thighs to unintentionally clench around his as her fingers twist harder into his expensive tee. 

“I think you know by now just how good I can make it feel.”

A whimpery “I know.” is all Y/N manages to squeak out before Harry’s surging forward and knitting his mouth to her’s, the hunger behind the action causing heat to spill into her cheeks and across her neck. 

Y/N fumbles to cup his sharp jaw with trembling hands, moaning shyly into his mouth at the way the pads of his digits dig into her scalp. His lips burn against hers, her body vaguely recalling that what they are doing is strictly forbidden, but they’ve been doing it for so long now that the sizzling is nothing but a dull sear. It’s easy to ignore, especially when Harry turns his head to the side to deepen the kiss, their cupid’s bows smearing and noses bumping, a weak little, “Fuck, I love you.” rasping out below his breath. 

Her thoughts wade through the syrup pumping into her head, trying to find their way to her vocal chords but she can hardly focus when her boyfriend’s hand gives her ass a rough grope, large palm then sweeping up beneath her shirt to scratch up her back. A small delicate whine betrays her, skin boiling under his influence as his cold rings send sparks raging down her spine. Harry chuckles into their prolonged kiss, the sound vibrating deep in his chest and bleeding into her own, making her heartbeat hiccup. 

His knowing purr streams right past the crack of her teeth, lodging in her throat and making it difficult to breathe. “You like the way my rings feel?” 

Y/N nods her head bashfully, the pads of her fingers staining bruises along his jaw. She doesn’t mean to, but she can’t be expected to control her strength when there’s a pulsing in her abdomen demanding her full attention. 

“What about when I do this?” 

Harry pulls his hand out from below her clothes, much to her disapproval, and cups his digits into a loose fist, reaching upwards to run his gold rings across the arch of her cheekbone. Y/N easily gives into him, coaxing the side of her face against his hand. The image of his black- and red-lacquered nails goes blurry, the sensations he’s putting her through fogging her peace of mind. 

He continues to lull his jeweled knuckles up and down her cheek (especially the ruby ring hugging his pinky, which is the same one that often hangs around her neck from a feminine silver chain), pressing soft pecks to the opposite end of her wobbling lips, his nose drawing meaningless figures along her other cheekbone. His voice comes out admirable and dreamy. “You look so pretty right now. Y’always do, but especially when you give into me like this. When you want me to baby you.” 

Y/N blinks the frost out of her sight, drawing back to get a look at her boyfriend, swallowing audibly at the expression of fond affection softening Harry’s flawless traits. He looks younger, for some reason, with that wispy smile barely titling his lips and his eyes the color of pure seaglass, glossy with familiar warmth. 

The angel inhales slowly, turning her face a bit to dust a kiss onto his palm. Her tone is airy yet solid, confident in her words. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Harry’s sudden sarcastic snort snaps her out of the lovey haze that had settled into the atmosphere. “Was starting to think you weren’t gonna say it back.” 

Y/N narrows her eyes at his dig, diving her fingers into his dark auburn locks and giving a vengeful tug. “Shut up. Way to ruin the moment.”

His jaw drops into an open-mouthed smirk, his mood one of dramatic pained insult. “What did I do?! I was just expressing my concern for the fact that you left me hanging.”

“I didn’t leave you hanging.” She scoffs, using her hold on his curls to give his head another spiteful shake. 

“Yes, you did.” Harry crinkles his face ironically, scrunching his nose and blinking a bunch of times for snarky emphasis. “I was getting nervous. Thought you were gonna pull the good old, ‘I love spending time with you’ on me. Would’ve had to chug a liter of holy water to avoid the embarrassment.” 

“Moron.” Y/N deadpans, but the giggle hanging from the end of her sentence muffles the insult. 

“Guess that makes you a moron, too. By association.” 

“Is that so? And what’s the logic behind that?” 

“The logic,” Harry shifts her in his lap, the hand in her hair falling away to find a place snuggled at the dip of her spine, the thumb of his free hand tapping at the center of her bottom lip playfully, “is that you regularly let this moron fuck you into a begging mess.” 

Y/N ignores the spark that goes off between her thighs. 

“Very funny.” 

“I’m only telling the truth, aren’t I?” He holds up his fingers, counting off each statement with a cocky shrug of his brows accompanying each motion. “You let this moron stretch you out over the bed, and you let him bend you over the kitchen counter, and you let him fuck you in the shower while he pushes you face-first into the wall, and you jerk him off in the mornings when you wake up all needy, and you sit on his face every other—”

“Okay, okay!” Y/N buries her face into his chamomile-scented hair, trying to hide the pastel blue glow she can feel sheening across her irises. “Enough.” 

“And—”

“Harry.” The angel grits out warningly against his scalp.

He snickers at how he’s managed to bend her all out of sorts, the hand nursing her chin streaming downwards to play with the ends of her hair. “Alright, alright. I’m done.” 

She sighs sharply in relief. “Thank you.” 

A few seconds drag by, and then he breaks the silence. 

“Wait! Can’t forget the way you willingly get on your knees and suck on his—”

Y/N claps one of her palms over his mouth, glaring at him pointedly. “Be quiet.”

Harry blinks in mild surprise, going cross-eyed to look at the make-shift gag covering the lower half of his face. He glances back up, eyes half-lidded in mischief, cheeks jolting with an evil grin she can feel beneath her skin. 

A much less pleasant feeling suddenly washes across said skin: his warm, damp tongue. 

“Ew!” Her shriek could probably be heard all the way in heaven. “Harry, that’s gross!”

He launches into a round of bubbly, childish giggles, eyes winking shut from how hard he’s laughing. The fact that Y/N is frantically rubbing her palm over his clothed chest to dry it only adds to the comedy. “Should’ve thought of that beforehand, then. And that’s hilarious considering you don’t seem to mind when I put my tongue somewhere else.”

This time around, she doesn’t have enough control to hide the celestial flush that invades her irises. It shines through at full blast, casting a watery white light across Harry’s face and despite her best efforts to wield it away, it dies down aggravatingly slow. 

The demon purses his lips arrogantly, circling a strand of her hair around his index finger and giving it a lighthearted tug. “There’s that cute little blush I fancy so much.” 

Y/N breaks their gaze, blinking away the last remnants of neon blue and muttering under her breath. “I think I will leave, actually. You can do this yourself.” 

“Oh, c’mon, darling.” Harry locks both of his strong arms around her hips, preventing her from moving even an inch. “Was just teasing, yeah?” 

She knows it’s all harmless, but she enjoys working her temper to her advantage. She’s learned quite a few tricks from her time dating a demon and she’s not ashamed of putting them to good use, one of them being that throwing a fit earns her more babying rights. 

“You’re gonna have to make it up to me.” She reasons, running her touch along the delicate gold chain around his neck. 

Harry chews along the inside of his lower lip, lashes fluttering at the current of electricity passing from her fingertips onto his collarbones. He ducks his head a smidge lower, trying to catch her attention. “Yeah? Any ideas?”

Y/N strokes over the inverted cross at the base of his necklace, smiling to herself as she dwells on the significance of the piece. He’d had it for a while as a backhanded joke, but had told her it’d taken on a deeper meaning once they had started going steady. Told her he kept it around so that he could always have a little piece of her with him. 

“I don’t know,” she finally pipes up, shrugging her brows sarcastically. “You did the crime, shouldn’t you be the one to come up with a way to pay penance?”

Harry hooks his index and middle finger between her own and the charm hanging from his neck, turning her palm over and bringing her knuckles up to his lips. He maintains eye contact as he rubs them across the back of her hand, irises twinkling. “I’ve got something in mind.”

It’s almost sad how easily he can pull her back under. How he has her at the palm of his hand all over again by simply pressing a kiss to the right spot. She adores the banter they share and how his wit matches hers. How he inches her out of the comfort zone she’d inhabited for over three thousand years and shows her what it’s like to unwind and let down her walls. He makes her life exciting by guiding her through this new unknown territory and by making sure she’s happy and fulfilled at every step; she wouldn’t trade it for the world— the fact that she’s willing to lie to God himself in order to protect her relationship proves that.

All in all, her wandering thoughts are a long-winded explanation as how he so effortlessly manages to get her back into a compromisable position with his tongue down her throat and her hands tangled in his velvet curls. 

Harry licks across her top lip, eager to taste as much of her as he can get. One of his hands holds her face firmly as the other coils the fabric of her dark red tee in his grasp, trying to keep himself in check. She drives him fucking mad, that much is obvious, and it takes every fiber of his being to withhold from tearing her clothes off and using his tongue to make her scream. Y/N herself is fantasizing about a similar situation, eyes shut in bliss as he trails down her chin and along the underside of her jaw, suckling bruises into the sensitive flesh of her throat as his whiny sounds of pleasure melt into her bones. 

Her head lists forward drunkenly, eyes just barely cracking open and getting a perfect view of his thick thighs in those dark orange patterned trousers. She gawks at his lap without remorse, irises threatening to roll back into her head when Harry bites into the skin beneath her left ear, warm breath frying her nerves. She wills herself to keep conscious, her view blearing as the area between his legs begins to tent the material of his high-waisted designer pants, an evident bulge straining the miniature checkered print.

A small, feathery laugh escapes her swollen lips as she pins her attention upwards onto the staircase across the living room. She’d glue it to Harry if she could, but he’s just out of range, too busy using his lips to tend the racing pulse slamming against her jugular. The words feel heavy and clumsy in her mouth. “Y-You’re hard.” 

“Is that a joke?” He pants into her scalding skin, voice on edge. “Of course I’m hard. How could I not be, with such a pretty thing like you whimpering in my ear and wriggling around in my lap?” 

His compliment makes her whimper even louder than before, which he responds to by marking another love bite just under the collar of her shirt. “God, you make the hottest little noises. Could listen to them forever.” 

Y/N gnaws on the inside of her cheek, preening at the stroke to her ego. She can see why he loves it so much when it’s vis versa. “More.”

“Pardon?”

“Wanna hear more.” She insists, swiveling her hips against the swelling below her crotch. “Please?”

Harry’s clouded gaze flickers between her needy expression and the way she’s riding against him, heat flooding his face. “S’that what you want, then? To hear everything I’m thinking about you right now?”

Y/N bobs her head in a messy, desperate nod. 

“Well,” her boyfriend talks between the sloppy pecks he’s wetting across her throat, grinning into them cheekily, “I’m thinking about how amazing you feel rutting against me through my clothes. About how fucking dirty you’re being, letting me mark all over your neck because you want to feel the way it stings afterwards.” 

Her fist crumples his shirt harder.  

“I’m thinking about how wet you are underneath those leggings. How you probably want me to move your panties to the side and lick into you until you’re shaking and dripping. How I’d ease my fingers inside that tight cunt and play with that sensitive spot at the pit of your tummy. The one that always makes you bite into the pillow and thrust against me.” 

Y/N carves the digits of her other hand into the back of his skull, feeling him coast his lips across the subtle dip of her collarbones. Her voice barely passes as a whisper. “Y-You’re so good.” 

“Yeah, baby?” He runs his top teeth over her clavicle teasingly. 

“Yeah— yes. Yes, yes, yes.” 

“I’m only this good to you, y’know that? You’re the only one who gets all my attention. The only one who gets to feel my lips against your skin, my fingers between your thighs, my tongue against your clit, and my teeth biting along your chest.” 

“Shit, Harry, I...” She struggles, not trusting herself to form coherent sentences. 

Harry pauses for an instance, hot breath pooling along the junction at the base of her neck. He gulps heavily, licking his raw lips once before speaking the dirtiest thought running around his mind. 

“I want to stretch you out so fucking bad right now, pet. Wanna pound into you until your thighs go sore.” 

Y/N stays quiet, but the way the air falters past her nostrils tells him she’s hanging on to every accented syllable. 

“Want to lay you out on top of that tapestry and make you feel like you’re back in heaven. Want to have you whining and gasping under me.”

She nearly collapses in his arms. It takes a few seconds to process his confession, feeling him shift around and realizing he’s moving the metal ritual bowl— which had been forgotten until now— away from the pentagram layout. His intentions become clear once he hoists her further up his lap, wrapping an arm around her lower back for support and extending the other along the ground before them. He’s adjusting in order to get her onto her back. 

“We—” 

A low, throaty moan of, “Christ, you’re gonna make me ruin these pants.” interrupts her as she repositions herself against his groin. Y/N nearly calls a ceasefire on what she was about to say. 

She gathers her bearings and tries again.

“We have to stop.” 

Harry halts all his actions, gradually pulling away from her tender neck, face and nose flushed a bright cherry red as his eyebrows cinch in disappointed confusion. He gulps down air as if it were about to run out, lean chest heaving and her belly flops at the way his pectoral muscles stretch the cloth of his crimson shirt. He drops his hands away from her body, sitting back on his palms in surrender. 

“Do you not…?” His voice comes out raw and hurt, as if he’s scared he had broken a boundary. “Do you not want to? Is it too much? I don’t want you to feel forced—”

“No, no! God, no.” Y/N rattles her head wildly, surging forward and cupping his face gently, pressing a comforting kiss to the tip of his colored nose. She wants to, she really fucking wants to. In fact, how often she wants to is an embarrassing detail she’d never admit aloud. “I just feel that at this rate, if we keep going, you’ll never actually get to do the summoning ritual.”

Harry contemplates her for an elongated heartbeat, then speaks carefully. “Is that the only reason you’re saying no? You’re worried about my dogs?”

She shrugs one shoulder emptily, looking slightly ansty.

He takes on a jesting demeanor to lighten the mood. “‘Cause if so, I promise you they’re fine waiting a bit Ionger. It’s nice and toasty down there— proper holiday.”

Y/N snorts lightly, which he deems a win. 

“Now is that really the only reason?” He prods her nose with his own. “You know I can tell when you’re lying to me. You’re pretty shit at it, love. Don’t know how you get away with it back home.” 

She picks at her thumbnail— an anxious habit he knows all too well. Her eyes glass over in the manner they do when she’s ambling too deep in her head. “Well…” 

Her minimal sentence trails off ominously. Harry gives a two-toned whistle to reign her back, mouth twitching with endearment when she blinks at him, startled as if she’d forgotten he was there. 

Y/N’s attitude is one of timid guilt. “Isn’t that tapestry a sacred antique? Wouldn’t it be wrong to…y’know...?”

Harry belts out a disbelieving laugh. “Since when do you care about defiling satanic artifacts? Thought you’d be all for it.” 

She scowls. “Won’t Lucifer find out?” 

Her boyfriend rolls his eyes haphazardly, waving a hand weakly for emphasis before using it to push his disheveled curls away from his forehead. “I highly doubt it.” 

“I feel like he has a way of knowing everything, H.” 

“He does, most times. But,” he holds up his pinky symbolically, wiggling it around with a shit-eating grin curving his cupid’s bow, sing-songing. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

The raunchiness of it all is appealing to her urge to be rebellious— an urge he had instilled in her over the months they’d known one another. She reiterates her previous point, trying to convince herself more than anyone because it really is so unbelievably tempting. “It’s a risk, and it’s wrong.”

Harry fits her chin between his thumb and forefinger, ghosting his mouth over hers and blinking slowly, establishing a seductive hold. His whisper is warm and raspy, almost as if he’s trying to keep their shadows from eavesdropping. “That’s what makes it so fucking hot.” 

Y/N follows his lips, aiming to draw him into a kiss, but he pulls back, brows kinking in a mocking fashion. The action silently communicates its intended message: If you want a kiss, you have to give in to me.

She ogles at his incredibly plump lips with greed, her mouth watering without permission as she recalls how they were wheedling sins out of her only a couple minutes prior. Her face does a dire job of hiding her true feelings and Harry’s eyes glint triumphantly in recognition. 

“You stubborn little minx….You want to do it.” He marvels aloud, poking fun. “You’re just saying no to try and save your conscience.”

Y/N doesn’t respond, but doesn’t deny it either. 

“S’just a quickie, sweetheart,” he moves a smidge and his elegant masculine cologne wafts from his neck, swaying her. “And by the looks of it, you’re already set on a decision.”

Y/N finally breaks her silence, gradually peeling herself away from his lips up to his coy gaze. “You’re a terrible influence.”

And there it is— a green light. 

Harry pouts, though it’s jokingly condescending and bears no true regret. “A horrible one.”

He throws his weight forward with her in tow, causing her legs to instinctively clasp fully around his hips to avoid falling out of his lap. She clings to his shoulders for security, grasp tightening at the turbulence that comes when one of his palms hits the ground below, the other tied around her lower spine. She eyes the way his gold necklace drapes off his upper chest, the cross dangling over her face and she can’t help but find the irony in it. 

The angel gnaws into her lower lip to muffle a grin. “Absolutely awful.”

Harry begins crawling forward, holding her to his chest as he glimpses up momentarily at his target— the center of the pentagram. “Utterly loathsome.”  

“Incredibly atrocious.”

He’s nearly there, excitement starting to toil the pit of his stomach as all of the possibilities of what he could do to her shuffle before his eyes. “Properly despicable.” 

“Entirely vile.”

Harry murmurs a minor spell under his breath, the large chunk of apatite rolling a couple feet out of the way. With a gentle hand, he sets Y/N down in the middle of the giant satanic star, admiring the way the golden glint of the aged paint compliments her skin tone so beautifully. He tethers his forearms on either sides of her head for balance as he settles his lower body between her legs, face hovering right above her own, eyes briefly flitting black in amusement at their little game. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were about to break up with me.”

Y/N sputters into a laugh, fingers tracing the collar of his suddenly restricting shirt, toying with his chain. His breathing catches in his throat, Adam’s Apple bobbing thickly as he waits for her to make the first move, wanting to ensure she’s fully committed. 

She dances her shiny irises over the peaks of his parted lips and the high points of his cheekbones, absorbing every characteristic of his handsome aspect. The little moles at the right corner of his mouth and the way his nose curves faintly along it’s bridge. The arch of his eyebrows and the length of his lashes. The different shades of green swimming around his pupils and the dusting of pink blossoming along the base of his throat. The slope of his jawline and the way his dark ringlets curl around his small ears and frame his chiseled face. She takes it all in and locks every detail away in her heart for safe-keeping, knowing she’ll reflect on them during a time when she doesn’t have him near. 

Y/N loops his necklace around her index finger, giving it a few playful yanks, voice quiet yet confident. “Iustus clausum et irrumabo me.”

Just shut up and fuck me.

She then slowly pulls down and Harry follows, dimples carving awake the instant their itching lips touch, his words sugar and spice against her flesh. “Quod suus mea puella stupri.”

That’s my fucking girl.

Harry loves it when Y/N bosses him around, especially if it’s in Latin. The language is an everyday commodity in his world, considering satanic magic has its basis constructed around Latin roots, but the dialect is a very private, very sanctified part of angelic culture. According to what Y/N has told him, it's only ever really used during important meetings and religious ceremonies. It’s highly respected, therefore highly contained, and the fact that Y/N is so readily sharing it with him hits a special place in his twisted soul. The fact that it is something so secluded, yet she loves and trusts him enough to speak it in his presence, let alone use it in their intimate life...

The pleasure it brings him is indescribable. Her filthy words radiate deep in his chest and trickle down into the bottom of his tummy, the fire in his abdomen rising a few notches in intensity. The weight against his inner thighs grows heavier, the dull ache upping itself into a sharp throb. He needs this now.

One of his hands leaves its post besides his girlfriend’s head, reaching down to fumble with the belt around his high-waisted trousers, struggling to get it loose. His brows scrunch down angrily, a desperate little grunt vibrating into their heated kiss as he wrestles with the issue. Y/N’s amused smile spreads along his lips, her hands dragging from around his strained neck down to his rapidly rising chest, hooking around his own and giving a squeeze. The way her eyes glimmer up at him makes his spine shiver, her whisper soft and sultry. “I’ve got it.”

Harry returns his arm to its previous position, tilting his sight downwards to get a view of what she’s doing, his chin pressing into the dip between his defined collarbones. 

It shouldn’t be so erotic, but it is. He watches in a numb stupor as Y/N undoes the buckle around his slender waist, delicate fingers easily drawing out the loop. She tampers with the button of his pants, unclasping it in one swift move and the relief that floods between his clammy thighs is almost shameful. 

The demon slowly raises his attention back to her face, only to find that Y/N had been carefully studying his during the entire ordeal. She has her bottom lip tugged between her teeth and a white iridescent glint washing over her irises, curious excitement evident in her features. The hand perched at the waistband of his copper-tinted bottoms begins to crawl lower, wandering further down until it covers the obvious bump in his black Calvin Klein briefs. 

The oxygen in Harry’s lungs chars, his breathing stilled by the suspense. The discipline it takes to wait for her to continue is insane. 

Y/N's left eyebrow jumps upwards ever so slightly in a smug question, his only response being the veins along his neck becoming prominent. She gradually begins to palm him through his underwear, moaning softly at how heavy he feels in her hand. 

His entire nervous system breaks into blissful flames, strong back flexing as his fingers tighten into fists against the cloth beneath their bodies. “Fucking hell.”

Her hand rocks harder against his cock, giving a particularly deep grope while somehow maintaining her shy pace. A hiss streams through his gritted teeth, the beginnings of a whimper following suit. Y/N feels as if electricity were coursing through her limbs, the power she has over him fluffing her esteem. He just looks so hot right now, slightly damp curls falling across his striking jawline and decorating his heavy lashes, an alluring shade of raspberry spilling into his cheeks as his swollen lips quiver. She could stare at him for hours— keep him on edge like this just to see him slowly split at the seams, begging for more. 

Her voice comes out awed and airy. “You look so pretty, Har.” 

His cheeks dye brighter, tongue wetting his dry lips. “You like seeing me come undone for you?” 

Y/N hums quietly in agreement, wrapping her grasp around the back of his neck, pulling him dangerously close until their mouths are barely a centimeter apart. “And I like feeling you get hard in my hand.” 

His hips give a rough buck in reply, head falling into her throat, eyes screwing shut as colors pop across his vision. He starts to thrust against her palm, weaning out as much pleasure as he can from what she’s offering. His whine is warm and sticky against her sleek skin. “I love it when you touch me like this, baby. Love showing how worked up you get me.”

Y/N speeds up just a hair, matching his movements and swimming in the bundle of broken sounds that resonate from in his chest. Her breathing stutters as he pastes sloppy kisses along the pulse thundering in her throat, her thoughts slipping reality at the sensation of precum wetting the length of her fingers. The nails of her free hand rake underneath the cotton of his shirt, carving along the back of his shoulder and along his upper spine, leaving vicious marks that she knows will be gone in a matter of hours. 

Y/N jolts when she feels the warmth of his digits coasting just beneath the hem of her tee, the pads brushing her love handles and thumbing at the dimples along her waist. She doesn’t want it to stop and Harry doesn’t intend to, the chill of his chunky rings running up the expanse of her torso, bringing fabric along with it. He pushes the material over her floral baby blue lace bra, folding it over onto her upper chest, humming appreciatively at how gorgeous she looks in the see-through piece. The tiny flowers are a perfect decoration for what lies below.

Harry’s messy pecks drift down to the swell of her breasts as he shifts his mass onto one forearm, his graze streaming up along the crest of her belly button, the center valley of her cleavage, and beneath one of the lingerie straps. He fiddles it between his thumb and forefinger, looking up at her with lust dilating the amber droplets around his pupils, teeth gently bearing down onto her skin and staining it dark purple. 

The grip below his belt hardens as a result, the whites of his eyes spilling black, accompanied by a provocative grin flickering the corners of his mouth. He tugs the strap of her bra lower just until her chest is fully bare, his mouth descending the same route as the cloth. He softly nestles at her pebbled nipple with the tip of his nose, circling it with a sprinkling of kisses, the silver hoop at the right corner of his mouth catching on the bud. 

Y/N wriths under the teasing, mewling a wispy, “Please, Harry...please.” into the tense ambience surrounding them. Her head falls back against the ground and she is so lost in the moment, she doesn’t realize the tapestry has started to burn against her. The object seems to be rejecting her touch, well aware of what she is and that she shouldn’t be anywhere near its proximity, yet she chooses to ignore it. It isn’t anything major— just a light prickling— and it only feeds the appeal of what they’re doing. 

Her boyfriend’s deep, garbled voice ropes her. “Look at me.”

“Hm?”

“Look at me, darling. Wanna show you something.” 

Y/N obliges, using the small amount of self-control she has left. 

There is barely any light in the room given that rituals normally take place in dim settings, the only source being the faded rays spilling in from the kitchen. Harry’s murky gaze shines under that scarce amount, and it’s enough for her to see the black veins mazing their way down from his eyes and across his cheekbones. The first time she had ever seen his transformation, it had scared the living grace out of her. But now, it was one of those traits she had become accustomed to and had even grown fond of. It was odd, and she knows that, but it made him more attractive in a nature she can’t quite explain. 

Once Harry sees he has her undivided attention, he murmurs a vaguely familiar spell against the skin of her breast. “Incendia.”

A spontaneous gleam fills the room, the candles placed around the corners of the tapestry igniting to life. The warmth of the flames wash their bodies, melting over Harry’s tanned figure and bouncing shadows across the walls of the room. He looks incredible in this lighting, his skin seeming to glow under the buttery orange hues as the tattoos on his arms stand out more evidently than usual, matte and dark against the backdrop of his smooth, lean arms. The faint stubble along his jaw shines faintly, ringlets and lashes undergoing the same fate, looking silky with a gorgeous sheen. Every detail is highlighted and she can’t seem to tear herself away. 

As his large silhouette casts over Y/N while she stares up at him with admiration, he is doing the same exact thing— basking in her beauty within this unique moment. However, Harry manages to take it a bit further. 

“Can you see yourself?” He whispers, breath fanning over her pert chest, making the knobs of her spine jolt.

“What do you mean?” 

“Can you see?” Harry implores. 

Y/N begins to ask once again what he’s getting at, but then it dawns on her. Her reflection braces the darkness washing his gaze black and she understands what he means. She can see herself in his eyes— quite literally. 

“Y-Yeah, I can. Why?”

Harry licks his lips almost nervously, reaching his free hand up and running a knuckle across her twitching cheek. “Want you to see yourself the way I see you.”

Y/N’s heart softens into a lovesick puddle, his sweet words pouring heat into her ears. What he’s doing is meaningful to her— taking something she had been shaped to despise and showing her how it can be used for good. 

She cups his jaw with her unbusy hand, rubbing her thumb over his lower lip and releasing a timid giggle. “Only you would get all sappy while I have my hand down your pants in the middle of a satanic ritual mat.” 

Harry breaks into a dorky grin, snorting softly as the ink recedes from his irises. “Wowww. What was that you said earlier? Oh, yeah! Way to ruin the moment.”

Y/N crinkles her nose with fake disgust, pretending to gag. “It was gross, anyways. Very chick-flick cliche on your part.”

“Heyyyyy!” Harry bites into her thumb, causing her to yelp out and retract. “You’re pretty fucking ungrateful for an angel, y’know that?”

“Was I wrong, though?”

“I’m never being romantic with you ever again.” 

“Oh, don’t mope. What was that you said? Oh, yeah!” Y/N mimics his voice, dropping in pitch and crossing her eyes into a silly expression, exaggerating a British accent. “Was just teasing, yeah?”

“Look who’s annoying now.”

She beams at him snidely. “Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry grumbles, slapping his hand down against the floor to once again use it as support. “Whatever.”

He returns his focus to the naked side of Y/N’s chest, sticking his tongue out completely and giving the sensitive bud a gradual lap. That one action is enough to silence her permanently. That is, until he takes her nipple fully into his mouth and starts flicking at it eagerly. Then she can’t keep her mouth shut. 

“Oh—Oh my God.” Her back arches up sharply, the hand she has below his waist forgetting its purpose, instead jetting upwards to join its companion within the damp roots of his hair. “That feels— oh!”

Harry smirks around his occupied tongue, putting more force behind his suckling, hollowing out his cheeks and purring in self-assured content when Y/N’s head falls back onto the tapestry. His other arm shifts closer to her body, hand blindly searching for the leftover bra strap, grabbing at it and yanking down wildly. He switches sides, settling for using his thumb to toy at the wet, bruised nipple as he paints a matching hickey on its partner, the ruby stud imbedded in his tongue cold and rough to the touch. 

Y/N knots his hair into the cracks of her shaky fingers, holding his head in place as her shattered whines ring across the air. “That feels so good, H, I— you’re just— fuck.”

Harry pulls back with a damp pop, licking at his stinging lips as he surveys his work with a certain slyness quirking his mouth, absentmindedly already tampering with her leggings. His voice has dropped a few octaves, coming out thick and scratchy. “They look so pretty like that.”

Y/N has trouble swallowing, glancing down at her hastily unclothed breasts, delicate bra reduced to a crumpled mess beneath them. There are teeth prints scattered over the supple area, the raw nubs aching from the air-conditioning draft. She doesn’t disagree; there’s something so satisfying of seeing where he marked her. Her thoughts come out half-conscious and dazed, slightly teasing. “Thanks for not ripping this bra open like the others. I really like the color. And it was fifty dollars.” 

“I know.” Her boyfriend huffs, hauling himself onto his knees and jerking the cotton tights down her legs in the process, casually tossing them over his shoulder. “I was the one that bought it.”

Harry bends forward and starts coasting his lips down the center of her upper tummy, leaving a wet trail of pecks in his wake and blowing a raspberry onto her belly button, which she responds to by almost kicking him in the groin. She claims it’s an accident but he can see her mouth trying not to twist into a smile.

Y/N’s hips lift a bit once he arrives at her lower abdomen, anticipating him in a much needier spot. He rests his stomach onto the ground for a more formidable position, swiftly separating her clasped thighs with his palms, peering up at her suggestively through his lashes. 

In the back of her mind, she fantasizes about taking a picture to commemorate this specific shot, but she knows it’s a risk having it on her phone. Her friends have a knack for stealing it as a prank and the last thing she needs is them finding a photo of her with her legs spread open across a pentagram rug, a heavily tattooed demon laying between them and grinning up at the camera. She’d willingly kick herself out of heaven if that happened.

Instead, she just indulges a quivering exhale, watching as Harry takes turns gluing open-mouthed kisses along the slope of both her inner thighs, dragging the band hooked into his bottom lip along the plush area. His tongue peeks out to savor the velvety skin, a wispy mumble feathering across his lips. “So soft.” 

He slowly treds closer and closer to her panties and she tries her best to keep still to avoid any mishaps. She wants to be able to see everything he’s doing— watching him work her over gives just as much bliss as the actual actions. Harry reaches her crotch, playfully running his nose across the elastic band of her undies, pressing his lips lazily right over her clothed clit. She bites into the inside of her cheek to stifle a whimper, eyeing him with enough lust to damn multiple souls. 

He gently hoists one of her legs over his shoulder, socked heel thudding against the sturdy muscle, toes curling. He loops his arm around her outer thigh, splaying his fingers across her lower stomach while wriggling his thumb below the center of the matching lace set. 

Harry pins it to the side, away from his area of interest, his confidence drinking up the way she’s already dripping. “If I’d known you were already this wet, I would’ve skipped the foreplay.” 

Y/N shakes her head half-heartedly, too engrossed in how his warm breath feels across the pooling in her center. “I like foreplay.” 

Harry sticks the flat of his tongue onto her exposed clit, giving one leisurely lick. “Obviously.”

The fingers in his curls— which had hung on loosely for the trek downwards— suddenly tighten so hard he sees stars blot his vision. Y/N doesn’t make a sound, but her ragged breathing speaks volumes. 

Harry kisses along the lips on either sides, dimples winking awake at how her body gives tiny jolts. “Someone’s sensitive, huh?”

Y/N’s heel digs deeper into his back, his scalp prickling under her strength. “Need more.”

“More what, dove?” He knows exactly what she’s pleading for, but he wants to hear her confess it.

“Need—” A cracked mewl interrupts her sentence, a direct reaction to Harry blowing over her cunt softly, edging her on purpose. 

“Use your words.” He mocks, continuing his torture. 

Y/N manages to squeeze out what he’s bargaining, amidst holding in a scream. “Need more of your mouth— of your tongue.” 

Harry halts himself, raising an eyebrow and blinking up at her with fake innocence. “What, this mouth?”

He runs his cupid’s bow messily across the thick of her clit, getting her excitement all over the lower half of his face. The stimulation it brings has Y/N squirming against him, nodding her head frantically. 

He stops what he’s doing, tutting. “What did I say about using your—?”

“Yes!” Y/N growls in frustration, belly clenching. “That mouth, yes.” 

A conceited hum runs along the back of his throat. “And what tongue? This one?”

He begins to give her small kitten licks, the red jewel on his tongue heightening the experience as his head bobs lightly between her thighs. He flicks his piercing against her clit with concentrated strokes, smirking when he feels a sudden warmth flush his face, letting him know he’s doing a more than adequate job. 

The view above him unarguably belongs in a museum. 

Y/N just looks so gorgeous with her unsteady legs opened wide for him to have his way, her chest spilling out of her clothes as her back caves off the floor, heaving under his influence. Her mouth is shamelessly agape, the noises she’s making sounding nothing short of a melody to his ears. Her hands fidget around his hair, one ending up perched at the crown of his head with the palm pressed between his brows, the other knitted along the spiral where his curls stem. She’s cemented him into place, her hips bucking upwards against his face, riding against his skilled tongue in a manner that makes his cock ache in his trousers. 

Unintentionally and unbeknownst to him, he starts grinding against the ground, trying to calm the raging along the underside of his balls. He needs some type of relief— as minimal as it may be— or else he’s going to make a complete mess without even being between her legs. He has to pace himself. 

“Who’s tongue is it, hm?” He’s muffled by a full mouth, but that’s never stopped him before and certainly won’t stop him now. “Who’s the one that gets you this fucking desperate?”

“You, Harry, you.” The angel is nearly sobbing, water blearing her vision as pleasure fogs her mind. “Y-You’re the only one that can make me feel like this.” 

“Yeah?” His eyes flicker between black and their usual emerald hue, his rhythm quickening as spasms begin to wring down her body, his piercing prodding her sensitive clit with more excitement. “Just me? Nobody else ever could, right?”

“No one. Ever.” 

“Damn straight.” Harry buries his face deeper between her legs, eyes rolling into the back of his head at the feeble moan that streams from a few feet above. “Nobody knows my girl the way I do. Shit, you’re so fucking sweet. Your mouth, your skin, between your thighs— everywhere.”

She’s getting close— he’s done this enough times to spot the tell-tale signs. The way her grip strains, how she snaps her jaw shut in order to chew into her cheek, the way her tummy jumps, and how she’s forfeited the ability to even try to speak words. He wants to make her cum like this so fucking bad— wants to feel her spill across his tongue so he can lick up every drop until she goes limp— but he wants to feel her unravel while he’s balls-deep even more. Wants to fill her up and taste his name in one of those pretty whines she’s so keen on making. 

Harry draws back, lips and eyes glistening in the candlelight, teeth buzzing and cheeks hot. “Not yet.”

Y/N’s pent up body slowly ebbs onto the tapestry, the orgasm he’d been kindling flowing its way out of her system. She’s not upset in any way, she just feels empty and needier than before. But she knows it’ll be worth it— it always is. 

“Not yet, I know…” She recites back, fingers ruffling his locks lightly, throat barren as she fights moisture down its path. A bit of praise escapes her as an afterthought, quiet and revelling. “You’re amazing.” 

“So are you.” Harry returns without missing a beat, carefully propping himself up onto his elbows, wiping his mouth down with the side of his hand. His tone is groggy and distant, yet assured. “And you taste so fucking incredible. Like candy and champagne.”

Y/N rests her head against one of the golden lines that form the pentagram, eyes lulling closed as she tries to get her spastic breathing under reign. The cloth below her shifts as a result of sudden movements, the origin being Harry gently setting her leg down from his shoulder. He slowly crawls his way on top of her, palms flat besides the curves of her sweaty neck. 

He levels their faces, head listing a smidge to the side as he admires the expression of sheer rapture still present on her features. He leans down and buttons their lips, the kiss chaste compared to the ones prior. He anchors onto his forearms like he had initially, moving strands of hair away from her cheeks as her weak fists find comfort against his chest. 

“Need a minute?” His comment doesn’t carry his usual vanity, but is rather concerned and understanding. He wants to make sure she’s alright. 

“I’m fine.” She swallows, eyelids blinking open, the intensity present behind them striking him by surprise. “What I need is for you to work me over until I can barely stand.”

Harry’s cock twitches, the wet patch in his briefs growing. He poses his forehead to hers, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Bold words for such a delicate little thing.” 

“I’m not delicate.” Y/N’s irises give a faint angelic glow, waringingly playful. 

He sighs thoughtfully through his nose, a simper stringing his pursed mouth. “You’re right. You just look like it. Makes me forget how much of slut you can be.”

His girlfriend’s eyes burn brighter and he knows he’s hit a nerve. Out of all the kinks he could have ever imagine an angel would possess, degradation would have never crossed his mind. 

Harry’s grin widens. “You liked that, didn’t you?” 

Y/N doesn’t even flinch. 

He begins to push his pants down his thighs, bringing his underwear down with it. He doesn’t rid them all the way, but just enough to fish himself out. There’s a delicious type of desperateness to fucking half-clothed; it paints the image of two people so gone for each other that they do the bare minimum when it comes to preparations, all in order to feel one another as quickly as possible. And, fuck, does he need her so bad right now. The last thing on his mind is handling his trousers. 

Y/N looks down at what he’s doing over the crests of her cheeks, biting back a groan when she sees him entirely bare. Though Harry’s cock is the only one she’s ever had, she knows for a fact it’s above average not only in size, but in looks. It’s just pretty, she can’t really explain it; he takes care of himself so well, says he wants to keep presentable for her. 

There’s something extremely attractive about a man tailoring to his girlfriend’s desires. The hair around the area always remains neatly trimmed and he keeps his happy trail thicker— it’s one of her preferences, he’s learned. He makes sure to regularly keep up to par because there’s nothing that quite inflates his pride like watching her ease down his pants and lick her lips with a hungry hint in her eyes as soon as she sees him fully naked.

He spots that same starved quality glint around her pupils now as he cups his prick, giving himself a few rough tugs for good measure, squeezing the head until precum bubbles out. He can feel her forehead crease against his, her impatience obvious. 

“You like this, too?” He murmurs against her parted mouth, taking her bottom lip between his teeth. “Like watching me touch myself for you?” 

She glances up at him through her heavy lashes, giving the slightest nod. It’s cute how shy she can be despite the situation. 

“That’s pretty filthy, Y/N.” He gives a harder stroke, eye contact stagnant even as he chokes out a broken gasp. “Makes you my proper little...” 

He trails off on purpose, dangling the possibility over her head. 

She speaks up, somehow timid and adamant all at once. “Say it.”

“Say what?” The demon taunts, working his palm down to the base of his cock and giving another squeeze, to which she winces lightly. It seems to be impacting her more than him. 

“Say I’m your...” Y/N’s hands curl tighter in anticipation against his pectorals. 

“What are you, darling? Why don’t you spell it out for me? You know how simple-minded demons can be.”

“Harry— just please.” The way her voice breaks feeds his mildly sadistic tendencies.

“‘I’m your little…’” The forefinger of his free hand traces the word over her cheek letter by letter. “Go on.”

His girlfriend sniffles, gathering herself. “I’m...I’m your little whore.” 

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Harry grasps her jaw lightly, planting a kiss at the right corner of her mouth. “Say it again. Who’s?” 

“Yours.” 

The hand that had been playing with himself comes up before her face, fingers coated with precum. Her first instinct is to reach forward and lick them clean, craving his taste. 

Harry jerks back, scolding her. “Mm-mm. You want it in your mouth, you’re gonna have to say it all.”

Y/N hesitates. It’s not that she doesn’t want to, but it’s always been difficult given her background. “I said it, I said I’m yours.”

He rests his wet digits against the center of her lips as an incentive, warning her not to take a taste. “Who’s?”

A familiar sparkle casts across his eyes and she knows exactly what he wants to hear. 

“Daddy’s. I’m daddy’s little whore.” 

Harry’s shoulders shiver at the way the statement sounds coming from her mouth— so dirty, but in such an innocent tone. “There it is. Go ahead.”

Y/N eagerly sucks every last trace of him off his digits, licking her lips with finality. He always tastes so fucking good— salty but somehow sweet. 

Her eyes are glossier than he’s ever seen them, staring at him hazily. After a minute of contemplating, she makes a demand in a voice steady as can be. 

“I want you to fuck me hard.”

Harry starts to arrange himself into place, balancing forward on his knees and throwing both of her legs around his hips. He spits into his palm— which shouldn’t be hot, but it is— and reaches down to prep himself, aura as cocky as ever, which somehow manages to cover up the tremor in his voice. “Is that so?”

Y/N can feel the tip of his prick sliding between her folds, nudging at the hood of her clit and bumping along the rim of her entrance. She snaps at him, knowing that this is exactly what he was aiming towards— for her to be dominant, as short-lived as it may be. “Stop being such a tease and make me cum.” 

Her boyfriend chuckles onto her tongue, grabbing at her wrists and nailing them to either sides of her head. “You’re so hot when you’re assertive.”

She bites his lower lip in a flare of confidence, huffing shakily when she feels him start fitting his cock into her slowly, leaning forward inside her at a patient stride. “Finish what you promised me earlier.” 

She’s referring to when he had spoken all of his fantasies and his eyes momentarily go dark in a symbolic fashion, the figures of the ritual candles reflecting off the surface. “My pleasure, sweetheart. You know demons never break a promise.”

Harry’s hips give a harsh thrust forward, filling her up in one swift motion, causing her to cry out as searing pleasure rips across the pit of her tummy. 

Y/N’s hands wriggle around in his grasp, thighs clamping around his waist as he stretches her out into a whimpering, trembling mess. He grinds to a halt once he bottoms out, keeping himself tucked inside for a couple of seconds, allowing her to get accustomed to his girth. He dusts soft, sloppy kisses onto the curve of her jaw and along her throat, her heartbeat pounding beyond humanly possible. If she wasn’t a higher being, it would have surely burst from her chest by now. 

He rubs the tip of his tinted nose underneath her chin. “Doing okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” Y/N pants into his ear, his back tightening due to the warm air caressing the shell. “You’re just— it’s just...big.”

“Feels good, though?” Harry’s tongue tends the alcove of her juglar, drawing a stripe upwards until he’s at her lips once more. “Not too hard?”

She rattles her head, bumping his mouth with her own and giving him a testing look. “Harder.”

He gulps down a moan as he tries to keep his composure, but it’s proving difficult as her walls clutch around him. “You sure?”

Y/N nods once, smearing the crescent over her upper lip across his, whisper low but collected. “I can take it.”

The determined shimmer in her irises makes his chest flutter.

Harry draws his hips back slowly, grunting softly at the way she clings to him, vision washing in different shades of electric reds and mellow blues. Fuck, she’s a godsend— literally. No one’s ever fit him so well. 

He juts forward, spreading her open again and gauging her reaction. She wavers ever so slightly with a sharp, “mm!” and he instantly regrets it, thinking he might have gone too far, pushed too much on her too soon. But then a floaty, satisfied smile ticks onto the edges of her mouth, the lewd grin widening around her bitten lip. She was right— she wasn’t delicate, and she could definitely take it. 

He cradles his face into her neck, words scalding into her flesh. “Want me to fuck you like the darling little slut you’re trying so hard to be?” 

Her hips lurch in response, causing him to sink deeper. “Yes, please.” 

And with her swollen pouty lips, her calves tied around the backs of his thighs, and the greediness mirroring his...How could he ever turn her down?

Harry’s fingers loosen around her wrists, intertwining between the cracks of her own. The softness of her skin somewhat fastens the last remnants of his self-discipline together, the bridge of his nose burrowing into the spot right below her ear. He snaps his hips forward into her as far as they will go, then recedes, repeating the action over and over and slowly beginning to gain a set rhythm. 

Y/N convulses with every stroke, teeny whimpers and gasps strangling from her each time the head of his cock hits the trench of her belly. Harry isn’t much better at controlling his noises, not that he’s really trying. He knows she loves it when he’s vocal, hence why he lets himself go, his frail grunts and whines hot and tacky under her earlobe. The thick cotton material of his fitted t-shirt is sticking to the sweat along his back, his belt buckle slinking along to his strong pace, which is gradually losing its curt rhyme, becoming slack and harsh. His cross necklace dangles above her chest, dabbing across her bruised nipples and sending waves of heat flooding through her stomach.

Y/N’s open mouth flushes against his temple, taking in rattling inhales every time he draws out and exhaling them in the form of a prompt puff when he slams back in. Her fingers curl around his own, nails imprinting into the back of his hands, her mind drunk on the ecstasy he’s feeding into her bit by bit. She takes the shell of his ear between her teeth, biting down until he shudders above her, lips parting open in a silent moan against the nook of her neck. 

“You feel so good, baby. You always feel so good.” Her breathy compliment sends a current racing down his spine, the simple pet name flogging the fire boiling in his stomach. 

Harry’s voice doesn’t sound quite his own, but rather a vulnerable, watered-down version. “Love it when you call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you—” A fractured cry plucks her vocal chords when he gives a particularly intent ram. “Keep going.” 

Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to drive into Y/N, her whole body jostling against the ground, wrinkling the cloth of the tapestry and sifting the half-melted candles out of their specifically chosen sites. The intense span of time never sees a quiet moment, instead littered with noises of damp skin connecting and needy sounds of pleasure, which take the shape of half-conscious mewls of approval whispered onto impatient tongues and overzealous lips. 

Harry extends her arms further above her head, stretching out her back and chuckling along the pulse in her throat when she gives a curious yawp at the fortified sensations the new position brings. The wider range makes it feel as if he’s touching deeper inside; it translates into a heightened throbbing along her inner thighs and heat flashes pooling at the base of her backbone. 

“Better?” He mumbles against her mouth, milling his hips in long circular motions that make her lungs stammer.

“Yes— yes, yes, yes! You have no idea.”

“How about now?” Harry passes both of her wrists into one of his hands, the other one coming down to wrap around her throat. His dark-polished nails catch a firm hold and he can feel her neck straining under his palm. “Like it?”

The constraint of the whole situation makes her go lightheaded, but in the best way possible. It amplifies the ache between her legs and she’s never felt more sinful than now, with a demon’s rings tight around her jugular as he fucks a sixth sense into her system. As much as it shames her to say it, she doesn’t like it, she loves it. 

“Y-Yeah.” Y/N croaks out, fingers twisting into feeble fists in his grasp. “Love it.” 

“Mm.” Harry hammers into her harder, appreciating the little cries she squeaks out. “Thought you would.”

After a couple more minutes of cramming inside her harshly and delighting himself in watching the way her furrowed, surprised expressions mold into ones of awed sexual relief, he clears his throat softly, hips coming to a still. Her eyes fly open in protest, but the way he’s worrying at the corner of his mouth tells her it’s far from over. 

“Want you on top.” 

Y/N blinks at him sleepily, swallowing the lump in her throat. “On top?” 

Harry’s head gives a small bow of agreement, eyes glazed. “You just look real cute bouncing in my lap.” 

“I do?” It’s an honest question; she can barely think straight right now, let alone hold a conversation.

He purrs in confirmation, wincing at how she gives a sudden squeeze around his cock. “At the risk of a cheap joke, the only way I can describe it is by saying that you look like an angel.” 

She laughs lightly as she stares up at the ceiling, the shadow of his broad body pictured over its expanse. “You’re lucky I love you and your cheap jokes.”

“My astonishing good looks outweigh the shitty humor.” 

“Debatable.”

He lets go of her hands and throat, one of her unfeeling arms coming down to hang across his neck as the other runs the pads of her fingers over his cheekbone affectionately. “You want me to ride you?”

Harry releases a tight breath at her bluntness, his sanity slipping through his fingers. The way she can so easily flip back and forth between her normal tender personality and this unapologetic, sexually confident alter-ego always leaves him shell-shocked. “So fucking bad.”

She nods once feebly, whispering into his ear. “Put me on top, then.”

Harry scoops her fully into his arms and maneuvers accordingly, twisting and turning carefully to assure he doesn’t crush her in the process. After a flurry of limbs and a decent amount of extra wrinkles on the drapery, Y/N ends up in Harry’s lap once again, except this time around they’re wearing way less clothes, are way sweatier, and he’s buried to the hilt. 

He sits back onto his palms as she balances her knees on either sides of his bare hips, hooking her socked feet along the inner parts of his knees as she settles herself comfortably against his thick, warm thighs. His belt buckle is cold against her backside but the sensation somehow docks more pleasure. Especially with the way Harry’s mooning at her, almost as if she’d put the stars in the sky. 

Y/N remains unmoving for a few seconds, her hands traveling down the extent of his clothed torso, the fabric itchy against her palms. She wanders below the hem of his maroon Mickey Mouse tee, his happy trail bristling the pads of her curious fingertips. She glimpses up at him amidst heavy lashes, gnawing along the inside of her bottom lip. “Want it off.”

Without hesitation, Harry sits forward a bit, lifting his arms above his head obediently. Y/N slowly rides the material up his toned stomach and over the swell of his hard chest, yanking the shirt off and letting it crumple to the ground. 

She shamelessly bounces her gaze all around his torso, from the rippling tendons along his shoulders, to the deep creases that separate his pectorals, to the graceful wings of the butterfly tattoo that ink his golden skin. She allows herself to be distracted by the flexing of his large biceps and the veins sculpted along his forearms and the back of his hands, which have found their way onto the subtle dips of her waist. 

She traces her digits over each aspect, reveling in how his muscles jolt beneath her feathery touch. She stencils over the skull and boat tattoo on his left arm, following the sharp peaks of the three nails and the tissues of the highly detailed heart. She trails upwards, looping her nail along the cursive “g” he’d had ingrained on behalf of his sister, and along the printed dates that lay in the nooks of his clavicle, which are a tribute to a part of his life she knows little about. Then, she mills down over the feathers of the birds suspended in flight, counting each one. 

She soaks up every faint detail painted across his body through the ridges of her fingerprints, admiring him in an instance of raw intimacy that he hadn’t received from anyone else in eons. He studies her with his lips parted in awe, ears tingling at her gentle, affectionate nature, not daring to interrupt. 

Y/N descends the dips of his collarbones towards the very center of his torso, winding to a stop when she mounts onto the rough scarring that runs down his stuttering chest. The wounds are old and faded, but even now— centuries later— their appearance communicates the pain they had yielded. The marks are jagged and uneven, obviously left by an animal with no compassion and an intent to kill. Harry’s scars had been a touchy subject for him for a long time— he had been using an illusion spell for decades as a means to cover them up, not trusting anyone to see the leftover strains of his humanity. 

All demons have some form of this scar on their bodies, whether it be teeth or claws, and it was purposefully inflicted to stain them for an eternity, as a reminder of who they are and who they belong to. It’s a leash, created to commemorate that he can’t outrun the disgraced identity of what he had become, and that his soul belonged to Lucifer, for as long as it exists. 

Due to the heaviness of this reasoning, he had kept them a secret from Y/N even after they had started dating. They were tied to so much emotional turmoil and undealt fear on his part, he had been terrified to bring them into his new budding relationship. He hadn’t revealed their existence until a few months ago, when he had felt comfortable enough to share them, and he was grateful that he had. 

She didn’t judge him for his afflictions and took the news rather well— almost too well, which had made him uneasy at first. Harry never would have expected that an angel, of all people, would help him come to terms with such a sensitive topic that had tormented him since he had been released from Hell, but she had taught him that he shouldn’t feel ashamed of something he couldn’t control. 

These scars were a part of who he is, and if anything, they were memorabilia of the caring, loving, brave person he once was in a previous life. She put into perspective a view that had never crossed his mind: he should feel proud of the marks, not embarrassed. He had given up his life to protect the people he loved and there was nothing more noble than that. Since then, Harry had taken down the mirage enchantment, and he wore his scars with pride instead of humiliation. 

This breakthrough had sunk deeper than just his emotional issues; she had cured him of his physical hesitations, too. Harry had never let anyone knowingly touch the marks until she came along and aided him in ridding his baggage, which goes to show that she truly holds a special place in his heart, despite the fact that it no longer beats. 

Y/N does that now, delicately nursing her graze over the healed claw wounds as the candlelight dances across their darkened appearance. She ducks down, pressing a tender kiss over each one, feeling his breathing catch beneath her lips. He takes a penetrating inhale through his nose, letting it out in one long sigh, managing to tame the minute red flag that had instinctively flared in the back of his brain. 

Y/N lifts her head back to level with Harry’s, cupping the sides of his neck and pecking at the stud pierced through his left eyebrow. “You okay?”

He clears his throat shakily, nodding passively. “Yeah, m’fine.”

She leans forward and speaks against the shell of his ear, the movement shifting him from within her, the head of his prick pressing deeper and causing a tiny noise to string his lungs. 

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” 

Harry’s entire face flushes a burning red. He tries to play it off with a boast of humor and a snort. “Well, you sure know how to make a girl blush, don’t you?”

Y/N draws back, clasping his jaw in her palms and urging him to look up. Her irises hold a form of determined sincerity he often sees when she’s talking about something important, their message obvious: Stop deflecting. “I’m serious, H.” 

He’s well aware of the basis behind her words— it’s a check-in, of sorts, to make sure his old insecurities aren’t bleeding back into his recovery. On a surface level, he’d claim he doesn’t need his girlfriend treating him like a rehab patient, but below his ego, he’s thankful for her concern. 

The corners of his mouth quirk into a tiny reassuring smile, the smugness in his eyes dissolving into genuine affection. “I know. I’m alright, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Y/N returns slowly, roping one of her arms across the back of his neck, palm flat between his shoulder blades as her other hand stays settled along the curve of his throat. “Just making sure.” 

“S’nice of you to do so.” Harry shrugs his brows nonchalantly, squeezing at her hips jestingly, voice ironic. “Especially now, while we’re sitting half-naked on a pentagram and I’m buried up to my balls.”

Y/N sputters into a round of easy giggles, the tension in the atmosphere turning to dust as he breaks out into a shit-eating grin, pinching at her sides playfully. 

“Probably not the best timing.” 

“Y’don’t say?” He marvels with an exaggerated expression, doing some boyish giggling of his own. 

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t pick up right where we left off.” His girlfriend murmurs suggestively, lifting her thighs a few inches and allowing herself to plop back down against his. 

The swift action makes his socked toes curl, bliss spiking across his veins, a pained grunt vibrating deep in his stomach. Y/N thumbs across his chin, sewing their lips together as she begins to rock over his cock, swaying her hips in small circles to get him wired up like before. Harry slumps back onto one palm, legs splaying carelessly as the other hand cups the dip of her spine, providing support. 

She starts off agonizingly slow, working his length with patient strokes that purposefully tighten when she gets to the top. She teases the tip, swimming in how he bites down onto the edge of her lower lip, brows creasing with intense need as his lashes flutter. He pants a strained, “Fuck.” under his breath, nails digging into the skin of her lower back as he starts to buck upwards ever so slightly, chasing the snug feeling she provides. 

Y/N sinks back down at the same gradual pace, gasping at the sensation of him stretching her out as wide as possible, feeling every chisel and bump on his skin grate against her walls. She’s doing this to play with him, but the collateral is that she’s putting off her own climax and it’s difficult to maintain a solid plan when her boyfriend’s angelic face goes slack, his sharp jaw dropping open as his rainforest green irises roll back into his head. 

His fluffy, frizzed curls drape over his forehead and stick to the water coating his temples, his chest gleaming with a thin sheet of sweat that he had worked up from before. Veins carve themselves along his neck and above his left eyebrow, his composure coming undone by the bundles and he can’t help the strangled groan that emits from the back of his throat, head falling to dangle between his shoulders. 

Y/N glances down to where their bodies connect, nearly drooling at the manner in which his fern tattoos stretch and contract with his clenching tummy, his skin tinging a desperate shade of red beneath the dark ink. She eases into a set medium rhythm, moaning softly every time her clit catches across his pelvis or dabs against the tiger head tattoo on his sticky thigh, leaving damp smears across each. “You’re just s-so fucking big, oh my God.”

Moist sounds jump against the matte walls of the living room, suspending in the heavy air above them and making it hard to breath. Y/N’s nails claw down one of Harry’s pecs, her other forearm bracing against the nape of his neck as she swings her hips back and forth around his prick, both of their orgasms inching closer to completion. 

By some miracle, her tee had managed to remain folded over her chest, but the increase in her thrusts gives it away to gravity. The shirt falls loosely down her torso, pooling around her thighs as they slap sloppily against his, the figure of her bouncing breasts imprinting through the fabric. Despite that image being prim and proper in front of his face, Harry barely pays mind to it, much more interested in her facial expressions and the noises she’s trying to stifle. “You like how full I make you feel? Like how I stretch you out? You’re such a snug little thing, darling.”

“I just—I can’t even—”

The palm he has resting on her lower back hikes upwards, his fingers fanning out across the center of her bare spine and pulling her closer until their chests meld. The cotton of her shirt rubs a rash into his skin but he honestly couldn’t care less. She’s close to him and her breath is smoking over his jugular, trickling past the region where a pulse would otherwise be present, his poise going up in flames that burn brighter than the ritual candles. “Never get tired of how well I fit between your thighs. Feels so right.”

Y/N grapples both hands down his strong back, massaging at the taut muscles that convulse with every plunge she gives, her forehead thunking down against the slope of his ticking jaw. Harry wrinkles the tapestry between the cracks of his fingers, using it to keep some type of hold on himself, his mind too occupied on the different shades kaleidoscoping past his faltering eyelids. 

Y/N speeds up her grinding, fully bouncing in his lap eagerly, his whole body jolting against the ground at the vigor behind her actions. She seems to be enjoying it way more than she expected, strokes unforgivable and wild. There’s no real rhyme to her movements, any strategy she’d had prior abandoned to pursue the pleasure that is quickly inflating the pit of her belly. 

Harry loves it. Y/N had been raised on always having a system of thought— a proposal to follow or rules to bend over backwards for— and the idea that he has her so whipped she’d decided to throw away her agenda and give into carnal desires— it has him twitching inside her. His sweet, pure, soft-spoken angel, so caught up in the heat of the moment that she’d traded in her morals to become a loud, filthy, pleasure-drunken mess. All for him.

Harry cranes his head forward, vision foggy as he stares off into the distance, feeling himself throbbing under her influence. His words are throaty and barely audible. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.”

Y/N mewls softly in response, the vibrations muffled by his neck. His fist curls and releases repeatedly under the material of her shirt, itching to grab onto anything it can get but not wanting to part with the warmth her skin provides. Harry gulps thickly, speaking into the hair glued along her hairline, her sweat the scent of lavender and honey. “Fuck me.”

The angel huffs into his throat, a whimper running along the undercurrent of the bated breath. “I...I am. I think. Am I doing okay?” 

He chuckles into her locks, feeling her spasm around his cock at the coyness behind it. “Yeah, princess, you are. You’re doing so fucking good.”

And at this moment, a certain analogy dawns on Harry and he finds it utterly poetic considering the circumstances: Making love to Y/N is like a ritual. 

Though it’s a strange comparison, he’s willing to lay down his second life on it; the similarities his brain conjures are too satisfying to pass up. The plants and herbs he uses in his magic are present in her smell— it’s earthy, yet fresh and delicate, like flowers and sunshine and the sensation of a sunrise. The warm surge of power that travels along his blood when he’s casting a spell is depicted by the heat her lips bring, stemming from where they connect at the base of his throat, traveling through every crevice in his body and leaving a glowing comfort in its wake. The beauty of the gemstones he utilizes is in her physique— it’s in the way she smiles against his mouth, and in the way she giggles when he cracks a joke. It’s in the song-like aspect of her moans, and in the gorgeous shade of her skin amidst the lulled candlelight. The beauty is in her caring touch and soft demeanor, in the neediness she channels when she tugs his curls between her fingers, and in the milky suppleness of her chest and thighs. And most prominent, the fulfillment that comes with undergoing an incantation correctly is evident in the way she drives him to finish, the fizzing in his fingertips and the empty content in his belly identical down to the last drop. 

Giving Y/N pleasure is a ritual as much as any other he’s ever performed, and it’s one he’s more than happy to provide his whole being to. Harry has bedded a lot of people in his time— that’s not uncommon knowledge; immortality is practically synonymous with a high body count— but no one, human or otherwise, had ever made him spiral the way Y/N does. Not since he was mortal, at least. He’s learned that anyone can find a way to satisfy someone physically, but it takes a rare type of bond to truly satisfy someone down to their soul. That’s what Y/N was to him— that golden commitment that could gratify him down to his core. 

That same commitment grabs onto the hair along the back of his head now, nails raking up the middle of his back as she yanks him into another kiss that is full of clacking teeth and feverish tongues, his nose dying a darker shade of crimson. She spills a moan into his mouth and it singes his lungs. “‘I— ‘m close.”

“Yeah?” His teeth catch on her bottom lip, his hold on her body helping her rock against him at a rising flow. “Gonna cum for me?”

Y/N wobbles her head in a tipsy nod, their noses bumping as she rides him messily. “Wanna cum for you so bad.” 

Harry grunts into her mouth with every rough pound of her hips, having trouble forming valid sentences when she’s hugging around him so tightly. “Want to see how good I make you feel, baby. Think you can show me?”

“Y-Yeah. It feels so— oh!— so fucking good.” Her forehead collapses onto his, the tip of her nose running along the side of his. “Please, please, please.”

“That’s my fucking girl, hm?” The hand he has on the ground works as reinforcement as he leans against it to throw his hips upwards, meeting her thrusts. “Look at you, taking me so deep and loving every inch.” 

Y/N whines brokenly and he knows he’s got her right on the edge. 

“Can feel me in your tummy, can’t you? Touching that spot that makes your entire body shiver?”

She sobs into their slack kiss, gripping onto him like a vine. 

“Be a good girl and show me just how much you love my cock, hm? Show me how dirty my perfect little angel can be.”

Every nerve in Y/N’s body suddenly bursts, electricity shooting through every bone and concentrating at the bottom of her abdomen. Teeny gasps spurt out from her mouth as she continues rocking over him, the pleasure originating from between her thighs causing every one of her muscles to contract, her head falling backwards to hang off her neck and she’s lucky he has his hand between her shoulder blades or she would have toppled right off. Her thighs grow sore quickly, but she refuses to let her orgasms flush out at the same pace. She rides it out for all it’s worth, bright white lightning webbing across her closed eyelids as Harry tends her dangerously fast pulse with his warm tongue, murmuring encouragement against her sensitive skin. “You look so fucking gorgeous when you cum for me.”

In his opinion, she never looks more heavenly than when she loses herself like this. There’s a certain pureness that comes with dwelling in such a vulnerable state; it makes her skin glow— literally and metaphorically. The veins along her neck and jaw flare faintly, almost as if liquid skylight were pumping through them instead of blood. He watches with wonder as they crawl up along her cheeks and below her waterline, her eyes momentarily brightening below her eyelids. 

It’s a view he’s seen a handful of times, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to its beauty. 

Y/N’s climax begins to die down along with her irises, the bow in her stomach gradually untangling, and she gives a sudden clench as an aftershock. Harry had failed to realize he’d been teetering over the edge, as well, too caught up in watching her come undone to pay much attention to himself. That one squeeze shoves him over. 

A sharp tremor tumbles down his spine, his orgasm starting at the tips of his ears and the heels of his feet, racing up his thighs and down his heaving chest. It plunges into the pit of his belly and along the underside of his prick, radiating deep in his gut to the point where he thinks he might pass out at the intensity. He spurts inside Y/N in messy ribbons, pulling her into his arms and burrowing his face away into the crook of her neck, eyes snapping shut as a gurgled groan tears his throat to shreds. “Christ, that’s it, pet. That’s perfect, just don’t— shit— don’t stop.”

Y/N blindly cradles his head against her upper chest, scratching at the back of his skull and kissing along his hairline, swinging her hips in slow, deep circles to milk him of every last trace of bliss. Her voice is shaky and soft against his prickling scalp. “Love how warm you feel.” 

He’s spilling into her to the point where he feels like it’ll never stop, thighs and abdomen flexing as she draws his composure from him. All he feels is satin and all he tastes is her sugary skin as he throws the arm he has as support forward, clasping so tight around her lower back that if she wasn’t supernatural, he’s sure he would have snapped her in half. 

“Fuck, you’re so good to me.” He whispers into her throat, feeling the last trickles of ecstasy bead into her from his cock. “You’re fucking magical.”

Y/N gently coaxes his face from her neck, tilting his chin up so that their gazes meet. Their eyes are both groggy with exertion, but the specks of colors around their pupils are shining with a form of fulfillment that they only ever get from each other. She lifts her thighs attentively and he winces at the loss of friction, his cock falling limb against his inner thigh.

Y/N pets at his cheekbone lovingly, moving a stringy curl away from his face and planting a kiss to the corner of his swollen lips. “Love you.” 

“Yeah,” Harry clears the gravel from his words, cracking into a weak smile, irises twinkling like a million diamonds. “Love you, too.” 

He slowly falls onto his back on the tapestry, bringing Y/N down with him. She lays on top of him for a bit, ear pressed over the vacant area where a heartbeat was present centuries ago, her fingers following the outline of the many tattoos across his flesh. Harry’s own fingertips slink up and down the line of her spine, chalking out random shapes and words over her back, merely for the silky sensation that comes with touching her so gently. They stay like this for a while, bare and dreamy as his digits comb through his tangled curls, her cheek snuggled into his scarred chest as they watch shadows waltz in the buttery dim lighting. 

After what feels like decades, Y/N eventually rolls off of him onto the ground, hissing softly at the sting the occult object below angrily delivers.

Harry turns his flushed face towards his girlfriend, chin propped on his shoulder and eyebrows jumping up in concern. He sounds raspy and depleted. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think your tapestry likes me very much.” She scoffs, lifting her arm a smidge to show him where a vague burn mark is already fading. 

Her boyfriend jerks back in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at the disappearing patch. “Has it been burning you the whole time? Were you planning on telling me?”

Y/N shrugs leisurely, tucking her disheveled hair behind her ears and resting back against the stinging cloth, ignoring it out of stubbornness. “It wasn’t too bad before, but it seems to be grumpier now.”

“Yeah, maybe because you just came all over it.” He quips, laughing childishly when she reaches over and punches him in the shoulder.   

“This was your idea, Harry!” She protests, her argument half-aimed at the tapestry, despite the fact that it’s an inanimate object. Mostly. 

“Maybe so, but I get home court immunity.” The demon mocks, sticking his tongue out at her and wagging it humorously. 

Y/N’s hand lifts up once again to swat him on the head this time, but he catches her wrist and wrestles it towards his mouth, teeth gnashing as if to bite her. His girlfriend wrenches her fingers back, giggling nonstop when he chases after her. He turns entirely onto his side, scooting across the space between their bodies to burying his face into her neck, blowing raspberries where he knows she’s most ticklish. 

Y/N pushes against his chest, laughing fully now and smothering his nose with her palm to form a decent barrier. “Okay, enough!”

Harry’s fingers find their way to the sides of her torso, wriggling against her cushiony love handles. “I don’t think so.”

The angel writhes and squeals in his arms, the smile on her face easily outshining the sun. He leans forward and presses a caring kiss between her brows, his digits abandoning their post on her waist and instead tangling with her own. He brings her hand to his mouth, kissing across each knuckle and up the length of each finger, pecking at their pads delicately. The edges of his eyes wrinkle with smile lines, his dimples plucking into place, giving him a wholesome appearance despite the face jewelry and dark tattoos glinting under the candle flames.

Y/N tries to stifle a heartfelt grin, but her mouth refuses to obey, lips pursing into it without her approval. “Pest.”

Harry scoffs, pitching his voice higher for the hell of the joke, the result being a very shitty American accent. “Only for you.”

She leans forward and smears the tip of her nose against his, the gesture small but packed with affection. “Guess I’m just the luckiest person in the world, huh?”

“I’d go as far as to say the luckiest across all worlds, human, demon, and angel alike.” He returns her actions, blinking his sleepy lashes. “But I think that’d make me sound like a bit of a pompous dick.”

“Right. And you’re definitely not arrogant at all.” Y/N remarks, shaking her head with faux exaggerated agreement. 

“Exactly!” The snark in his tone is almost palpable. 

Y/N snorts at his expense, the couple falling into a comfortable silence afterwards, continuing to play handsies as the clock ticks off a few more minutes. Harry doesn’t seem to be in any hurry and therefore she isn’t either, feeling happy and content within the bubble of domesticity that had submerged around them. It’s an innocent form of love, accompanied by fleeting kisses and chaste touches, too sweet to burst so soon. Harry skims his index nail across the vanishing love bites littered across her neck, his finger hooking into the collar of her t-shirt and pulling back, a quick peek confirming that her chest is undergoing the same fate. 

He pouts up at her, grumbling under his breath. “Thought I’d get a picture. For bad days, y’know? But we waited too long.” 

Y/N sucks on her teeth with fake sympathy, yanking her shirt out of his grip and letting it fall back against her clavicle. “Sucks. Better luck next time, I suppose.”

Harry rolls his eyes dramatically, blowing air through his lips. “The pain of waiting. It’s worse than Hell. I would know.”

“I think you’ll survive.” She pats his cheek with finality, climbing up onto her forearms with the intention of sitting up. “Now why don’t we get our clothes back on. Can’t do a ritual naked, can we?”

“Well, technically—”

“Shut up and go put on your shirt.” 

Y/N busies herself with retrieving her leggings and panties from across the room, where Harry had so kindly tossed them in a fit of disinterest. She shimmies into her pastel blue lace undies and then her bottoms, the abrupt motions causing her to flinch at the ache throbbing deep between her thighs. He’d definitely kept good on his promise. 

She pulls her arms into her oversized shirt and fixes her bra back into place below it, well aware that if she lifts it up to get the job done, Harry will surely sprint across the room and offer to help— a cover for some much more lewd motives. She glances over at him as he finishes looping his belt, tucking his fitted tee into the brim of his high-waisted pants and dusting off his thighs. The bruises and teeth marks she had left behind have long faded by now, his skin as flawless as ever. Though the self-healing feature that comes with their supernatural status is handy, she finds herself wishing it acted a little slower at times. She’d just like to be able to admire her hard work. 

Harry saunters over the tapestry, stopping midway to set the apatite rock back in its designated spot for the spell, adjusting the candles back into frame and tending to the corners of the large cloth, straightening it out to get rid of the evidence their little escapade had left behind. He slides up beside her, leaning down to fetch the golden ritual bowl from the floor, tucking it between the inside of his elbow and hip. He slinks his head to the side as he watches her brush out the last couple flyaways from her hair, her appearance as pristine as before, not giving away a single clue as to what had unfolded not even twenty minutes prior. She reaches forward, finger-combing his curls into a presentable state and thumbing her tinted lip balm off the edges of his quirking mouth, tugging his inverted cross necklace from under his clothes and laying it against his chest with a content sigh.  

Harry lifts his brows up curiously, a certain smugness coating his expression. “All done cleaning up your mess?” 

Y/N narrows her eyes at him pointedly, mood deadpan and cool. “Yup. I’ll clean up yours later, which I think we can both agree is way sloppier than mine.” 

It takes him a second to understand, but then it hits him. She’s talking about jizz, which is probably pooling in the lace lingerie she has on right now, and for some reason that thought makes his ears and neck tint a bright rose. She muffles a laugh at his fidgeting; it’s so amusing to see Harry—who is normally so calm when it comes to raunchy topics— blushing up a storm. The tables have turned and it feels like solid karma on her part. 

“Let me just— uhm...” He stumbles over his words, mumbling them towards his feet as his eyes blink black for a millisecond, fingers fiddling with his lip ring. “I’ll just get the spell going.” 

“Mmhm.” 

Harry finds himself sitting in the same position as before, cross-legged in front of the giant satanic symbol, the antique pot resting on the floor before him. Y/N finds herself in the same position she’d taken previously as well, standing behind her boyfriend with her arms crossed loosely over her chest, looking over his shoulder with mild interest and a protective undertone. Harry mixes the contents in the bowl slowly with the muddler, whispering lowly what appears to be lines of a preparation enchantment. He’s priming the ingredients for use, making sure once again that all the powdered elements are all blended together well and are connected to all the gemstones loitered around the pentagram. Everything has to run on an identical wavelength for this to work, or else who knows what could crawl out of the gateway he’s about to unlock. 

Y/N is at ease— or at least as relaxed as she can be given the circumstances— as she watches Harry spew riddles in Latin and mix the disintegrated plants together, her demeanor soothed since everything seems to be unextreme. 

That is, until Harry sets down the basin and pulls his demon blade out of thin air— quite literally. He holds his hand above the dish and swiftly slashes open his palm, the gash spurting a heavy stream of black blood into the herbs. He clasps his fist shut, controlling the flow of liquid so it trickles cleanly instead of splattering, his spoken incantation continuing without a hitch. 

Y/N can’t help her reaction. She yelps out in startled fear, surging forward with angered worry flooding her features. “Oh my God, what the fuck, Harry?!”

The dumbfounded look on Harry’s face pricks her nerves. He’s staring at her with crinkled brows and parted lips, communicating that what had just happened isn’t anything out of the ordinary. His voice comes out just as mystified as his physique. “What? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?!” His girlfriend shrieks, wild gaze bouncing back and forth between his bleeding hand and startled eyes. “I didn’t think— you just— that was—”

Harry continues to stare at her as if she’d sprouted devil horns. 

“I thought it’d just be a little blood!” She finally sputters out. “Like maybe you’d prick your finger or something! Not cut your hand open!”

The demon then has the audacity to break into laughter. He looks borderline psychotic, sitting on the ground nonchalantly, cackling as blood overflows from between the cracks of his fingers. “Darling, is that seriously what you expected? Have you not listened to a word I’ve said? Most advanced spells require blood, and when it’s a ritual as tedious as this one, it calls for quite a bit.” 

Y/N pushes down the bile threatening to rise up her throat, gawking with obvious disgust as her boyfriend reaches for the dish rag she’d brought him earlier, cradling his spilling hand into it and staining the snowman pattern pitch black. “I’m gonna be sick.” 

Harry sucks his teeth at her theatrics, giving her a humorous scowl. “Oh, c’mon, it’s not even that bad. And I’m finished! See!”

He holds up his wrapped hand for emphasis, the blood stain spreading wider over the cloth and Y/N can taste acid in her mouth. “Why isn’t it healing?”

The demon shrugs carelessly, wiping his onyx and diamond embedded knife across a clean patch of fabric on the towel. He tosses it up towards the ceiling, the weapon soundlessly disappearing in midair, back into the magical invisible locker it had come from. “Demon blade cuts take a little longer to heal. I’ll be good in a few minutes.”

“Bullshit.” Y/N grumbles, her concerned girlfriend meter running dangerously high. She crouches down to level with him, taking his enclosed fist into both of her smaller hands. “I’ll handle it.”

Her fingers begin to glow a faint neon blue, a soothing warmth undulating across the wound in his palm, his brows rising as he feels his skin begin to stitch closed. After a couple of seconds, Y/N releases his hand, unwrapping it gently and setting the rag down on the drapery so as to not stain the rug below. He uncoils his fingers and sure enough, the tear is gone. 

Harry curls and stretches his digits testingly, a pleasant hum running along the back of his throat. “Wow, that’s pretty neat. Got myself a proper doctor to patch me up after training matches now, huh?”

“Don’t make this a habit.” Y/N warns, pushing herself up by her knees. “And be more specific next time you want me to watch a blood sacrament. I don’t think I’ll be able to control my stomach again.”

Harry looks back down at his concoction, smirking softly. “Yes, ma’am.” 

He incorporates the liquid and dry factors together with a patience she oddly admires, the dusted plants dissolving into the blood as the mixture begins to bubble lightly. He’s taken up his satanic prayers once again, reciting the verses evenly as the brew amplifies from an easy simmer to a boil. The stones around the pentagram begin to glow with their corresponding shades— purple, green, amber— as the largest rock in the center washes the room in a hazy blue light, the fire within the candles rising in intensity. The sigils engraved in the metal bowl flare a fiery red, the golden lines of the occult star on the tapestry glowing as bright as its companions. 

Y/N begins to drift around the perimeter of the tapestry, drawing her arms across her torso as she rounds the far corner of the lengthy blanket, eyes trained on the shimmering pentagram. The longer she stares at it, the deeper her unsettlement roots. It’s as if the object is daring her to touch it again now that it’s been activated, teeming with power and capable of revenge. It’s tempting, for some unknown reason. The pull is undeniable and her fingertips itch to run across the unexplained dark stains that paint its surface, every cell in her body bending towards its energy and mystique. In order to curve the impulse, she finds herself running her socked foot along its edge, simply to sedate her strange need. As soon as she makes contact with it, it feels like she’s stepped on a bed of nails, the material glowing slightly brighter as if angered. 

Y/N jumps back slightly, quickly glimpsing up at Harry to check if he’d seen. To her sheer luck, he’s clueless, too focused on the churning in his bowl to pay her much attention. She goes about her business, pretending it never happened, though it feels as if the artifact is quietly laughing at her.

Once she gets to the opposite side of where Harry is seated, she comes to a slow stop, her sight peeling away from the demented mat and pinning onto her boyfriend. The potion in the bowl is now toiling violently, the carved glyphs shooting off sparks in every direction as the ritual delves into more volatile magic. Harry’s chanting swells to match the enthusiasm of the spell and for the first time since he had started, she is able make out the stanzas he’s quoting. She can’t deny that the words twist her stomach into knots. 

“Dico tibi usque ad foveas, ubi damnati habitant, alto in terram ferox canes inferni.”

I call upon the pits where the damned dwell, deep in the earth, unsound hounds of hell.

“Ortum ex sulphure et aeterna flamma, bestiæ gravehill cum tacita nomina.”

Rise from the brimstone and eternal flames, beasts of gravehill with unspoken names.

“Acuta de dente et longa ex ungue, nigro et tunicam et lata bulga.”

Sharp of tooth and long of claw, black of coat and gaping maw.

“Videte mea vocant et calcaneum meum erit, ut vobis notum est ubi habitabant molendinum.”

Heed my call and heel my will, make yourselves known upon the realm where the living mill.

Harry repeats the incantation over and over, each run-through amping in volume and lowering in pitch. With every reiteration, his voice drops another octave and Y/N’s ears pop when he breaches past the human hearing spectrum. It dives into unnatural territory, beginning to sound less and less his own, almost as if an array of spirits were possessing his body and using his tongue as a channel. She listens attentively, noticing that his typical accented drawl has started to split into multiple dark voices, each one a different tone and texture. Some are grating and baritone, while others are raspy with more trill, but the similarity shared among the various articulations is that they’re all religiously spewing the same lines in unison. Collectively, the sound created makes her bones splinter and her blood boil. The event is what she imagines it would be like if all the demons in Hell were to chant all at once. It’s terrifying and mesmerizing in the same breath. 

A bizarre fog begins to collect around the center of the pentagram, the smoke from the candles mixing with colored tendrils of vapor that stem from the gemstones, forming a loose spinning cloud around the apatite rock in the middle. The artificial tornado— which stretches up to the ceiling— picks up speed to keep in timing with Harry’s monologue, creating a draft that wafts across the tapestry but doesn’t spill beyond its bounds. Y/N squints, managing to make out the image of her boyfriend from amidst the magical phenomenon. What she sees gives her pause. 

The first thing she notices are the veins. The usual black arteries have emerged below his waterline, creeping down his cheekbones and defining the darkness below his lashes. However, they don’t halt at his cheeks. They web across his entire face, down his jaw and up to his ears, licking down his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt. His eyes, which she had expected would ink black due to the situation, catch her ever further off guard. They’re not black at all, but instead a color that for some reason ices her heart: they’re tinted a haunting red. It looks as if human blood had been pumped into his irises and poured over the white area surrounding them, the reflection of the satanic star in front of him seeming crueler upon this shade. Trailing further down, Harry’s soft lips have spread into a wide grin that sends an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. It’s different from his usual smirk, appearing sinister and evilly delighted and she vaguely wonders if sorcery brings any pleasure, or if it hurts. 

Y/N had never thought on it before, but now that she's standing here watching the detached smile on Harry’s face grow, it peaks her interest. Or rather, it peaks her concern. She speaks up, soft and scared. “Are you okay?”

Harry’s lips don’t stray from the spell and his eyes don’t wander from the center of the pentagram, simply nodding his head in response as he continues blindly mixing the ingredients below his hand.

The fog has thickened heavily, twisting with more vigor and it eventually becomes so opaque that Y/N can barely make out Harry’s silhouette across the room. The flames of the candles suddenly swell grandly, casting new shadows across the walls of their home and when she focuses on them intently, figures start to form in the images. They’re distinctly humanoid, prancing across the matte surface of their flat, ebbing and flowing to the rhythm of Harry’s hex. An uneasy coldness trickles down the back of her neck and she realizes that what she’s looking at is a portal into Hell— the shadows are the outlines of the souls within the realm. 

She thinks she’s gonna be sick. 

As she looks on, two of the dark shapes begin to morph before her watering eyes, shrinking down into a form that looks faintly like the body of a hound. Gradually, all of the other figures begin to burst into dust against the walls, disintegrating away one by one as the two main shadows solidify from blurred sketches into hard silhouettes. She can make out their shoulders and lean torsos, limbs dipping and rising as if they were walking towards something. 

The hue of the cyclone spontaneously changes from multicolored into a blood red that matches Harry’s eyes, its spinning vapors slowly starting to thin out. The fires surrounding the tapestry begin to die down from their agitated state, the gemstones following their lead. As the smoke and fumes gradually dissolve, the two figures that had been glued to the wall seem to have come unstuck and jumped into the eye of the miniature tornado. Their dark appearance chisels itself into reality and the longer she gawks, the more real they become. A large paw the size of her hand here, a matted patch of black fur there. Claws the size of her fingers and teeth so ghastly white she winces at their brightness. A tattered ear, a huge wet snout, and suddenly two pairs of red beady eyes flash by her vision. 

Y/N scrambles back from the edge of the mat, heart lodged in her throat. She’s definitely going to be sick. 

Harry’s praying has died down in intensity, as well, lulling back into a barely audible murmur. He slowly stops mixing the muddler, propping it along the side of the metal bowl and setting it down off to the side. As soon as his hands remove themselves from the pot, the glowing sigils extinguish and the satanic star abruptly stops shimmering, the half-melted candles and enchanted rocks blowing out along with them. The demon’s chanting dies off permanently, an eerie silence falling across the living room as the last traces of smoke dissipate. 

Standing at the center of the tapestry, looming on all fours and at least five feet in height, are Onyx and Nimbus. 

Y/N is relieved to say they’re not as terrifying as what she’d imagined. She thought she was accepting two distorted monsters into her apartment, but in actuality, the two hellhounds look pretty normal. Their coat is coal black, matted in some areas with a dried liquid she really doesn’t want to know the identity of, and they resemble Labradors. Just three times the size and with eyes of burning embers. 

She studies them as much as she can from her position behind their backs, noticing that the slightly buffer hound has a jagged scar running across its left eye and a tear in its right ear. She gets the feeling that’s Onyx. Harry had told her that he was the more rash and unhinged of the two, so it makes sense that he's scruffed up. The other dog is slightly more delicate in frame, less bulky and more lean, its figure almost feminine despite the fact that both are males. Without a doubt in her mind, that has to be Nimbus— his name fits his presentation. 

In ancient scriptures, nimbuses float above the heads of the divine, but what humans don’t know is that they are actually shape-shifting angelic weapons. Halos look delicate, but are strong and can withstand just about anything since they are created out of pure celestial energy, wielded and harbored into a physical form. They don’t look like much, but are capable of dangerous results, and something tells Y/N that this dog fits that description. He doesn’t seem to have any battle wounds and his coat is cleaner and shinier than his partner’s, giving her the impression that he’s somewhat sane and level-headed. She can already tell she’s going to get along better with Nimbus than Onyx. 

Harry and the hellhounds contemplate each other, the veins across her boyfriend’s face fading away into his skin, the red tint retracting from around his pupils. He pushes himself up from the floor with a light grunt, dusting off his lap and rolling out his neck and shoulders as if to relieve tension. He combs his curls back from his forehead, muscular arms crossing over his broad chest, head tilting expectantly at his dogs. 

A long moment of silence treds by, and then Onyx’s deep voice booms inside Harry’s head, as sarcastic and sharp-tongued as always. 

‘Fucking finally, you prick.’

Harry breaks out into a round of easy laughter, stepping forward with his hands outstretched and Y/N watches in awe as the two humongous beasts cradle their snouts into his palms. “I’m sorry it took a while. Fashionably late and all that.” 

Onyx is unrelenting, narrowing his cherry red eyes at Harry. ‘I thought you were gonna keep us waiting for another century. Took your sweet ass time then, didn’t you?’

“It wasn’t on purpose! I got...caught up with something.”

Nimbus’ softer, high-pitched voice chimes inside Harry’s skull, less abrasive than his brother’s but its words pack just as much bite. ‘I thought you’d forgotten about us. Was already daydreaming about what your liver was gonna taste like.’

Harry scoffs in dramatic insult, scratching behind the dogs’ ears gently, thumbing over the rip in Onyx’s cartilage. “I’d never forget about you two! The fact that you thought I would…Hurts my black little heart.” 

Nimbus huffs in amusement, shaking his head at his owner’s ironic pout. ‘What heart?’

The demon’s grin widens. “Exactly.”

Y/N watches the whole exchange with confusion pinching her face. From her perspective, as someone who lacks a telepathic connection to the two guests, the whole conversation appears one-sided. Harry is the only one actually talking aloud and though she can keep up with the simplicity of this specific conversation, she can already tell that her inability to communicate with them is going to get annoying. She doesn’t know how to go about introducing herself and she doesn’t want to interrupt their reunion, so instead she keeps her distance, arms tightening around her torso as her fingers squeeze at the inside of her elbows— a nervous mannerism. She’s perfectly fine being an onlooker at the moment. 

According to the bits and pieces of the dialogue that Y/N is able to catch from Harry’s behalf, he and his friends seem to be catching up on the last couple of weeks. Most of the subjects mentioned file under harmless gossip about other demons and hellhounds, though Lucifer’s name does pop up here and there. Harry talks about how he’s been rotating stations regularly between combat training and occult practices, and from the way Onyx huffs at certain mentions of magic, Y/N can tell he has more of Harry in him than Nimbus does. 

He’s always preferred combat, despite his impressive expertise in sorcery. There’s no invisible trickery in sparring like there is in witchcraft; everything is calculated, from the footwork to the strokes of a blade, and there’s just something so satisfying about taking down an opponent with nothing but physical force of will. Onyx appreciates that, while Nimbus thinks it’s “barbaric” and “outdated.” To each their own, Harry supposes. He gets the feeling Nimbus will get along with Y/N fairly well, once they get past the initial default hatred. 

Harry had been so distracted swapping stories and bonding with his hounds for the last few minutes that he almost forgets Y/N is there, standing at the other end of the room using the shadow from the spiral staircase as a hiding place. 

He clears his throat softly, sewing his words carefully to try and find a civil way to break the ice about his relationship. “So, I’ve got some news.”

The two dogs blink up at him, eyes shining brighter with curiosity. Onyx’s passively joking voice echoes in his head. 

‘Oh, this should be good. Last time you said that, we got the story of how you almost slept with Stevie Nicks.’ 

Harry’s teeth crunch and he’s thankful Y/N can’t hear the exchange. “Trust me when I say it’s something pretty different from the usual.” 

Nimbus sits down casually on top of the tapestry and even in a submissive position, his ears still easily level with Harry’s shoulders. ‘As if we’ve never heard that before.’

Onyx follows his brother’s lead, posture less eloquent, shoulders sagging and back hunched. He takes a small pause, sniffing at the air and then shaking out a harsh sneeze. ‘Before you start, I think something died in your air vent. Can’t you smell it?’

Nimbus nods in agreement, copying the other hound’s gesture and making a hacking sound in the back of his throat. ‘It absolutely stinks in here. Could smell it even before we crossed the threshold.’

‘Yeah.’ The scar-faced dog leans forward and sniffs at his master’s shirt, gagging and grunting. ‘It’s all over you, H.’

Harry immediately knows what they’re referring to: Y/N. Harry had gotten used to the squeaky clean smell that chases angels, due to the fact that they had been living together for months now. But this is the first time Onyx and Nimbus have been exposed to her presence. Their heightened senses don’t help the situation any.

Harry wrings his hands, twirling his ruby ring nervously around his pinky. “That actually has to do with what I wanted to tell—”

Onyx interrupts him, dark eyebrows scrunching as he takes an even deeper whiff than before, snout twitching. ‘It kinda smells like…’

He trails off, looking over at his sibling in bewilderment. Nimbus nods once in confirmation, startled voice resonating in Harry’s head. ‘It does, but that wouldn’t make any sense…’

The demon glances over their heads anxiously, watching his girlfriend shift her footing with unease. She can tell the dogs are sussing her out. 

Harry feels Onyx’s eyes bore into the side of his face, following along to his gaze and glancing over his shoulder questioningly. ‘It smells like—’

Harry panics, trying to cause a distraction to buy himself some time to explain. “Well, actually—”

But it’s too late. Onyx’s sight lands on Y/N’s still silhouette across the room, eyes widening in shocked alarm, which immediately molds into burning hatred. Nimbus chases his brother’s view, spotting the girl instantly, as well. His pupils dilate, reflecting the same cruel intentions as his relative. Their voices snarl in unison inside Harry’s brain. 

‘Angel.’

Y/N— who has quickly come to terms with being outed into the open— raises one of her hands and waves awkwardly, voice meek and unsure. “Hi.”

Hellhounds are top predators across all the worlds, mortal and supernatural alike, and that’s no secret to anyone aware of their existence. They were created with a purpose to hunt and kill, their characteristics hand-picked to perfection to succeed in their mission. Their reflexes are razor sharp and their physical abilities support their instincts flawlessly, which is why it takes them less than three seconds to spot and recognize an enemy, less than two to hone in, and less than one to pounce. If it wasn’t for the fact that Y/N was made with rivaling skills and celestial impulses, her head would have ended up rolling across the ground before she could bat an eyelash. 

She jumps sideways not a second too soon, the two beasts baring down onto the spot she had just been occupying, teeth gnashing and claws scraping against the polished hardwood ground. The angel stumbles back a few feet, horrified beyond what she had expected. They had been so calm not even a minute prior, and now they’re examining her jugular with a type of hostility that sends ice through her blood. 

The hellhounds split ranks, circling around her with spit frothing at their maws and penetrating growls scratching at her hot ears. They size her up bitterly and she may not be able to read their minds, but she can read emotions just fine and the murderous intent behind their attitude is unmistakable. 

Y/N’s fight or flight mode kicks in, electricity crackling defensively across the tips of her twitching fingers, her irises sparking a bright blue glow in warning. The dogs hesitate, the white hot lightning in her hands mirroring across the glossy surface of their crimson eyes as their claws crunch into the ground below their paws. Not a word is exchanged, but the challenge hangs in the air, heavy as the stench of sulfur that wafts from their fur. 

If it wasn’t for Harry’s peace-keeping, the tapestry would have ended up adding some fresh stains to its extensive collection. 

The demon scrambles forward, cementing himself between his dangerous girlfriend and his very lethal pets, arms out to block any possible attacks. “Stop!”

The hounds glance up at him momentarily amidst their snarling, catching the way his eyes paint blank, his mood authoritative and serious. “Desino.”

Heel.

Nimbus is the first one to accept the ceasefire, which Harry’s extremely thankful for. For once, he admires the animal’s general distaste towards violence. The dog slowly draws back, the hair sticking up along his spine gradually giving way. He remains standing, but abandons his fighting stance for a less intimidating alternative. However, the glare on his face doesn’t fade. 

Harry turns his attention towards Onyx, who is still sneering and baring his fangs, pacing back and forth in barely contained rage. The venom in his voice stings the back of Harry’s skull. ‘Intruder.’

Harry repeats his phrase from before, teeth grating and stare unwavering, establishing dominance over the mutt. He knows how stubborn Onyx can be, but he didn’t spend seven hundred years taming him for nothing. “Desino. Now, Onyx.”

After another round of growling and a few more dirty looks, the broad dog finally retracts, begrudgingly taking the seat next to his brother. He huffs in protest, but bends to Harry’s will nonetheless.

Y/N swallows heavily, the rods of electric current popping across her fingers slowly dying down along with the glowing around her pupils. She clenches her fists at her sides, forcing down her fear until her face shows a stoney facade of indifference. Concealing weakness is something she had been raised on. 

Harry releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, shoulders slumping and back unknotting. “Thank you.” 

The two sides contemplate each other coldly, all the bloodshed avoided concentrated in their gazes instead. Harry’s never been afraid of Y/N in any way— her gentle nature makes it almost impossible— but the look behind her eyes at the moment is enough to make any demon back off. He slowly lowers his arms, glimpsing back and forth between his two friends and his significant other, making sure neither will make a drastic move. 

He turns towards his dogs, sighing grandly through his nose before releasing a strained cough. He tries to put humor into his tone, but it proves difficult. “Surprise, I guess.” 

Both of his charges snap their head in his direction, their expressions anything but amused. Onyx’s gruff voice yells in his head first. 

‘Surprise?! Is this a joke to you? What the fuck is that thing doing here?’

“She,” Harry corrects in a cautionary manner, “is my girlfriend. This is Y/N.” 

The hounds break into telepathic screaming chaos. 

‘Are you insane? Have you actually lost your fucking mind?’

‘Out of all the demons and humans to ever exist, you pick an angel? You choose one of those brainwashed stuck-up prudes?’ 

‘Does Lucifer know? Does God know?!’

‘You have a death wish. For fuck’s sake, you genuinely have another death wish.’

‘Now that we know, does that make us accomplices? Would Lucifer kill us, too? There’s no way I’m dying for your hate kink booty-call.’ 

“Enough!” Harry’s voice booms, loud enough that it echoes across the apartment, stern and unwavering. “She’s my girlfriend and I love her. She’s a part of my life now, just as much as you two are, and you’re going to learn to respect and live with that. Do I make myself clear?” 

For the first time since they arrived, radio silence washes across his mind. 

Harry’s temper flares and he mumbles a spell beneath his breath, a puff of black smoke enveloping the large monsters. It dissolves as quickly as it had appeared and in their place sit two tiny, caramel brown chihuahuas, yapping and jumping in the air angrily. 

Y/N stifles a laugh with the back of her hand. 

Harry clears his throat mockingly, crossing his arms over his strong chest and leaning down to their level. “Unless you want to permanently stay in this form, you’re going to agree.” 

One of the puppies— probably Onyx— snaps his teeth at the demon’s ankle. Harry grabs his entire snout with his palm, easily wrestling the hyperactive mutt to the ground. Y/N can’t cap her giggle this time. 

“Now,” black veins flash under Harry’s eyes for a millisecond, “do I make myself clear?”

Nimbus pipes up quietly, sass evident but not enough to cause concern. ‘Yes.’

Harry turns his focus to Onyx with an expectant aura, waiting for his promise. After a few seconds of headstrong silence and trying to gnaw at his owner’s fingers, the dog’s response comes through, low and relinquished. ‘Yes.’

“Perfect.” 

Harry rises up from his knees, snapping his fingers with a happy sigh. Another puff of dark smoke later, two full grown black German Shepherds sit before him and Y/N, eyes the color of rich chocolate and coats black as night, shining like a thousand jewels. Onyx’s scars are nowhere in sight, disguised away along with everything else. 

Harry reaches over and tugs Y/N into his side, hanging an arm nonchalantly across her shoulders and planting a sloppy kiss to her temple, which in turn makes her nose wrinkle. “You’re all going to get along great. Just give it a few centuries.” 

She shifts on her feet, shrugging one shoulder lightly as she glances at the dogs gingerly, grateful for their more acceptable appearance. A dog whose height reaches mid-thigh is much easier to handle than one who surpasses her neck. “I’ll give it go if they will.” 

“See?” Harry squeezes and shakes her playfully. “Baby steps, boys! Baby steps.”

The German Shepherds huff and sneeze and Y/N gets the feeling they’re cursing her out in secret. A look at Harry’s entertained face confirms her suspicions. 

Her boyfriend nudges her cheek with the tip of his cold nose. “Could you do me a favor, sweetheart? Could you run upstairs and fetch me those collars I made? I left them on top of the nightstand.”

Harry had bought two chain collars at Petco earlier that week in anticipation for this day, as well as for the fact that the two dogs looked absolutely identical in their mortal-friendly forms. He’d fastened a polished onyx stone to one and a golden metal hoop to the other, corresponding with their given names and giving their personas a bit of extra pizazz. It was better than a regular leash with an embroidered name; the custom collars are a neat way of distinguishing them and frankly, quite the fashion statement, in his opinion. Expensive jewels and gold never go out of style. Plus, it’s going to look great with their dark fur. 

Once Y/N’s trotting footsteps are out of earshot, Harry turns to his hellhounds, kinking a brow offhandedly when he catches them staring at him with half-lidded eyes. “What?”

Nimbus scoffs in his mind. ‘I’m just impressed, is all. I never thought I’d see the day you, of all demons, would settle down.’ 

Harry chuckles softly, tangling his ringed fingers through his roots and tucking curls behind his small ear. “Neither did I, trust me.”

After a pause, the canine speaks up again, all snark replaced by genuine concern. ‘Does she make you happy? 

The demon scruffs the tip of his socked foot against the corner of the satanic tapestry, folding and unfolding the edge distractedly. A dreamy smile smudges his dimples across his cheeks. “She makes me really happy, yeah. Haven’t felt like this since I was alive.”

Nimbus rises from his seat, leisurely coming up besides Harry and rubbing up against his leg almost comfortingly. ‘You know we’ll stand by you through any decision you make...but is this really worth the risk, Harry?’

“It is.” His answer is automatic without any hesitation whatsoever. “I don’t have a single doubt about her.”

Nimbus lays down on the drapery, folding his paws over each other and resting his chin on top, eyes softening with empathy. He had always been the understanding one out of the two siblings. ‘You better be careful, then, and keep this under wraps. We’d already heard rumors bouncing around back home. We didn’t think they were true— no one really does— but if you’re not careful, this could blow up in your face.’

Harry exhales, nodding solemnly. “I know.” 

Onyx breaks his hiatus, voice piping up from where he’s remained seated. ‘This is stupid. You’re a moron, y’know that?’

The young man gives him a taunting scowl. “Y/N thinks I’m a moron, too. Now you have some common ground to build on, eh?” 

His pet doesn’t even blink at the joke. ‘This is gonna come back to bite you in the ass. Even if Lucifer lets it slide, I highly doubt God would be okay with you screwing one of his minions. And once he gets wind, no one’s gonna be able to save you. Not the Boss, not the angel, and not any of your friends. You’re putting everything on the line. Are you prepared to face those consequences?’

Harry sighs in exasperation, shoving his hands in his pockets and tightening his fingers until his rings imprint across his skin. “I know, alright? I’m not a fucking child. I can make my own choices and deal with the aftermath. Just let me be. I deserve a little happiness after everything I’ve been through.”

It goes quiet for a while, the only sound being the thrum of the air conditioning and Y/N rummaging around upstairs. Onyx finally talks once more, mood less harsh and strangely accepting. 

‘You’re going soft, H.’

Harry laughs boyishly, looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head in amusement. “Only a bit. Caring for someone tends to do that to you.”

‘Yeah, well, you were definitely caring for her before we got here. Hence why her stench is all over you.’

The demon gifts his hound a deadpan expression. “Bold words from someone who smells like rotting flesh.” 

‘That’s a compliment.’ Onyx snuffs sarcastically, finally walking over and taking the spot besides Nimbus on top of the blanket. ‘Her smell really is everywhere, the entire room reeks. Out of all the places, it had to be in the room you used to summon us? Are you serious? Have some respect.’ 

“If you’re that mad that we had sex in the same room, then I probably shouldn’t tell you exactly where we did it.” He glances down at the tapestry below them suggestively, shrugging his brows smugly.

Both of the German Shepherds copy his action, their dark brown eyes filling with extreme disgust as realization dawns, irises flitting bright red. They both tumble up onto all fours, snorting and snarling in angered disbelief as they bound off the tapestry, pawing and rubbing up against the rug below it as if to clean off whatever they’d just laid in.

Both of the hellhounds’ voices shriek in his ears, so appalled that it sends Harry into a round of evilly delighted, full-bellied laughter. 

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’

[alovesongshewrote]

If you’re taking requests, maybe something about Doux finding the reader absolutely delirious from lack of sleep? I may or may not have gotten literally any sleep last night and although I managed to get through my morning routine pretty efficiently I FEEL my body just wiping out. I will be comatose within the hour.

Sleep, Darling | Hisirdoux Casperan x Reader

Plot:  you’ve been awake for too long and it is not doing you any favours.  Thank god for punk wizards who care about your wellbeing, amirite lads?  (Also, the pure Irony that this is getting posted at like, 2:40 am where i am, rip me i guess)

Word Count: 2,292

Warnings:  A bit of blood is mentioned in passing, the reader isn’t human and probably has adhd or smthn.  Also, Friends is mentioned, like, the tv show, so that’s a thing!

A/N:   if you look closely, you can actually see me projecting onto this one.  I hope you got some sleep anon.

Tags:   @furblrwurblr @einahpetsyarcip @sorrels-scribbling @anxious-stitcher @alive-and-afraid @animedweeb333 @douxiesdamsel @saroski05

Time isn’t real.  It’s a social construct made to bring order to the general chaos that is human existence.  That was why you were up at 5 a.m for the second, maybe third, night in a row.  Was it healthy?  Probably not, but you didn’t need sleep, you needed answers.  Answers to what?  Who knows at this point, honestly.

You couldn’t say you were surprised when you finally noticed the late, or early hour.  You just shrugged it off and went “fuck it, all-nighter,” which was fine for the moment.  But time’s a bitch, and that moment was over pretty fast.  By noon, you were ready to collapse.  The three cups of coffee did not help.  Instead, they made you vibrate at a frequency that could quite possibly break glass.  As much as this sucked for you, it was worse for your lovely friend and co-worker, Hisirdoux Casperan.

Now, our boi Douxie was and is madly in love with you, but shhh, it’s a secret.  You also love him, and that’s a secret too.  Neither of these secrets are well kept, and the only reason you aren’t together is general stupidity.  Literally, anyone else who watches the two of you interacting can tell that you're in love.  Hell, half the town assumes you’re together already.  The other half keeps trying to get you together.  It is not working very well.  But that’s all a digression.  What you really need to know is that Douxie loves you and watching you suffer from a lack of sleep was Not A Pleasant Experience.  You were delirious, shaky, and constantly off-balance.  You could work well enough, but it was clear that your health was not in the same zone.

The final straw came when you cut your hand on broken glass.  You’d dropped a cup, and instead of using magic, you’d tried to fix the mess by hand.  That plan did not work, and you received a bloody slash across your palm for your troubles.

“Ah.  Fuck,” you said, thinking you were whispering but instead speaking at a normal volume.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“‘S nothing, I’ve got it,” you did not got it, especially not in this state, and Douxie had the good sense to figure that out.  The blood was a pretty good hint though.

“Oh, fuzzbuckets.”

“I told you, I’m toooootally fine, there is nothing to worry about.”

“Here, (Y/N), let me help you-”

“No, no, this is, this is-” it was then that your sleep-deprived brain decided to cut off your train of thought and replace it with another, more chaotic train.  You stopped talking and just stared at Douxie for a solid minute.  Or at least it felt like a solid minute.  Time isn’t real, remember that.

“(Y-Y/N)?  You alright there, darling?”

“You’re really cute, did you know that?  Like… really cute.  Steve was right, you could be a model.”

“I-”

“Also, just gonna put it out there, I freakin’ love it when you call me darling.  Like, I know you call most people darling, but it makes me feel special.  Don’t ask why, it just does.”

Douxie wasn’t planning on asking why.  He wasn’t really planning on anything.  Your sleep-deprived half-confession had turned him from a capable individual into a blushing mess in less than a second.  You always had that effect on him, but it looked like your exhausted state was giving you a bit of an edge.

“Oh, sorry, I made it weird.  Anyway, do you think if I brewed my next coffee with Monster instead of water it would wake me up?   Because I’m still tired, and it isn’t fun.”

“I- you- I’m-”

“I think I might try it, honestly.”

“Ok, how about you don’t do that,”  Archie said, swooping in, literally and figuratively, to save the day, “Douxie, can you please get (Y/N)’s hand patched up?  It looks quite painful and they’re dripping blood onto the carpet.”

You were, in fact, dripping blood onto the carpet.  That wasn’t good, “Oh, that’s- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t fret, just go do something about that hand,” with that, Archie smacked Douxie upside the head in an attempt to snap him out of his flustered state.  It was super effective!

“Ahh, yeah.   C’mon, (Y/N), let’s,,, go,,, fix,,, that.”

“Ok,”  you stood, too tired to protest, and followed Douxie into the back of the bookstore, which was literally just his apartment.  

It was a nice place.  Very cozy, very him.  It made you want to curl up and take a nap, but to be fair, literally everything made you want to curl up and take a nap at the moment.  Regardless, his home made you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside and you never wanted to leave it.  Maybe it was the interior decorating, but you knew it was because your favourite person lived there.  What you didn’t know, or didn’t realize, was that you’d just spoken your entire thought process out loud and Douxie heard every word of it.  Once again, the boy was a blushing mess.  If you were awake enough to process things, you would have found it cute.  Or you’d be dead from embarrassment, that one is a bit of a toss-up.

Fighting through his flustered state, Douxie pulled you into the bathroom and collected a first aid kit from under the counter.  While he focused on getting things done, you curled into a ball in his bathtub.  For some reason, your exhausted brain decided that sitting on the edge of the bathtub simply did not Vibe™ but sitting inside the tub was better than nothing, and so you just,,, curled up there.  Douxie was only a little surprised to see you there.

“(Y/N)?”

“D’you remember that time on Friends when Winona Ryder played a closeted lesbian?  That was a fuckin’ trip, man.”

“(Y/N), darling-”

“That whole episode is just- it’s just strange.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Hehe, Stranger Things.”

“(Y/N), love, I need to see your hand.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah, I forgot.  Here,” you sat up, extending your hand out to the wizard.  He took it, sitting on the edge of the bathtub which was fine for him to do, I guess.  Not you though, you were stuck in bathtub jail for sleep deprivation crimes.

You squinted up at his face as he tended to the nasty scratch you’d given yourself.  You didn’t have the capacity to focus on what he was doing, so instead you focused on him.  He was pretty, as you’d said before, but that was always true.  At that exact moment, his brows were furrowed in concentration, his eyes concerned and his jaw set.  His hands were steadier than yours could ever hope to be, especially since you hadn’t been sleeping.  Overall, he looked kind of mad, so you sunk down into your bath-prison, silent and waiting for him to finish so you could get back to work.

Douxie was not mad at you.  He was upset that you hadn’t been sleeping, but he wasn’t mad.  He was just worried for your health.  Your wizard did not appreciate seeing you shaking and sleep-deprived.  He didn’t appreciate it when your current state led you to injure yourself, either.

He wrapped up your hand and gave it a small pat, “Done.  Now, come on, you’re taking a nap.”

His voice surprised you.  It was gentle, calm, not at all angry like you’d suspected.  You found yourself so lost in it that you didn’t realize what he’d said until he said your name, trying to snap you out of whatever haze you were in.

“Oh, wait, what?  No, shit, I have to get back to work-”

“No, you need sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak, I need to go-” you stood and almost fell over.  You probably would have broken something if Douxie didn’t catch you.  You hadn’t exactly expected to end up in his arms today, and despite the heat rising in your face and neck, you were not complaining.

“(Y/N)-”

“I’m sorry, Douxie, I-”

“You need to sleep.  Please, (Y/N), don’t make me use a spell on you.”

You froze for a second before a smirk crept onto your face, “You wouldn’t.”

“I-”

“You wouldn’t use a spell on meeeeee-” the smirk grew into a full smile as you let yourself go limp, forcing him to move his hands to support you better and pull you closer to him.  Was that your plan?  Maybe.  Was it part of a second, bigger plan?  Also yes.

“You wanna bet?”

“Sure.”

“I-” and then he went silent.  There was a moment of tension where you just stared into each other’s eyes, holding your breath to see what the other person would do.  Your gaze fell to his lips as his fell to yours.  For that moment, your thoughts began to wander far out of your control.  Douxie’s mind was also running rampant but in a different direction.  You were right, he thought.  He couldn't use magic on you.  As far as he knew, you were a human.  Just a mortal being who crawled their way into his life and stayed there, improving the quality of it greatly.  If there was even the slightest chance that a spell may have negative side effects, which most sleep spells did, he wouldn’t dare risk it, especially not on you.  He sighed, tightening his grip on your waist, “You’re right.”

“What?”  Oop, plan going sideways, PLAN GOING SIDEWAYS!

“I’m- not going to use magic on you,” he helped you to stand, and moved to take a step back before you grabbed his hoodie and pulled him back to you, ignoring the sharp sting in your hand.

“Ok, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, hang on there wizard boy-” you took a moment to pull yourself out of the bathtub entirely, “You can’t give up that easily.”

“Wha-”

“Come onnnnnn, make it fun, make it exciting.  Put a spell on me or whatever, just-” you went quiet for a second, but for once you weren’t distracted.  Just quiet.  You had to face facts.  Your plan had failed, and now you had nothing but the truth.

“(Y/N)?”

“Just make my brain stop.  For just two seconds.”

“What?”

“Please.  I’m running on a motor and I can’t stop myself.  I haven’t slept and I have no choice in the matter.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Look, just, take away my free-will if you have to.  Knock me out, magic or otherwise, I just want five seconds where I’m not on hyperdrive,” you were standing on your own now, though Douxie’s arms were still wrapped around you and you hadn’t let go of his hoodie, “Please.”

The bathroom was silent for a minute.  It took that long for Douxie to process what you’d just said.  You feared, for that moment, that you’d said too much.  You hadn't.  Not to him, anyway.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he said, picking you up, effortlessly sweeping you off your feet.

“Wait, what!?” your voice was slightly more frantic, surprise lacing through your words.

“There’s more than one way to get a person to sleep.”

“Oh-?”

He didn’t respond to your question, instead, he carried you out the door and into what you could only assume was his room.  You had no choice but to wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him for dear life until he set you down on the bed.

“Stay here, okay?  I’m going to make you some tea-”

“Wait!” you stopped him, grabbing his wrist as he turned to leave, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, my darling,” he sat in front of you on the bed, “You just need to get some sleep, okay?”

“But what about-”

“I’ll cover your shift, you don’t need to worry.”

“I-”

“Just rest, for now, love.  Please.”

“Ok,” your words were a whisper, something that Douxie could only just hear.  The next thing though, he didn’t have to strain to hear at all, “Yeah.  I meant what I said earlier, by the way.  You’re so pretty, it isn’t fair.”

He laughed at this, at you, finally seeing some humour in your shenanigans.  He relaxed now knowing that you may actually get some much-needed rest.  He stood, kissing your forehead and tracing the side of your face with a hand, rough from guitar strings and 900 years of sweeping.

“Worry not, love, you’re pretty too.”

“Hey, wait-”

“Don’t ‘hey, wait,’ me.  You are.  Now lie down, I’ll be back in a second.”

A smile crept onto your face as you followed orders.  Your emo wizard man thought you were pretty.  And he cared enough about you to let you sleep during work hours, in his home, no less.  You let yourself relax into the bed, grinning once again.  It smelled like him, like thyme and peppermint, lemongrass and sleep.  It was nice, comforting.  You could only vaguely think of Douxie as your brain finally took a fuckin breather.  It was everything you needed, honestly.

By the time Douxie came back, you were long gone, lost to your dreams and finally asleep.  He sighed a smile that matched yours on his face.  He placed the cup of tea on the bedside table before grabbing a blanket out of his closet and draping it over you.  You looked so peaceful.  Good.  You deserved some peace every now and then.

He took the cup and left you, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes as he did.  After making his exit, he placed the still-hot tea on the counter, disregarding it for now before returning to the bookshop.

“How are they?”  his familiar asked, tail twisting in concern.

He gave a final fond look at the door before returning to business, “They’re just resting.”  And for once, you were.

[mermaidxatxheart]

A Beautiful Lie

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: This one is rough, guys. Trauma, torture, blackmail, Bucky being dangerously charming. If torture isn’t for you, please don’t read. 

Prompt: The truth is, I was only using you. (will be in bold)

Summary: You’re forced to do something terrible, something you would give your soul not to have to do. 

A/N: Y’all, it’s been a hot minute since I posted anything, almost all year. I’ve really been struggling to find the inspiration to write and I really appreciate everyone who has stuck with me and followed me through this dry spell. Hopefully, I’m reaching the end of it. This is for @coffee-with-bucky‘s 2k writing challenge. I am beyond late, and I am so very sorry. Congratulations on your milestone, and I hope you reach many more. 

“You didn’t have to walk me home, Bucky. It’s in the complete opposite direction of where you need to be.” You tell him as he dutifully walks you up the steps to your apartment building. 

 “Are you kidding? My mother would be rolling in her grave if I let my date walk home by herself. She raised me better than that.” He defends, raising a big hand to his chest. “And I’m right where I need to be, making sure my girl gets home safe.” He nudges your arm playfully. “Besides, I get to spend more time with you this way.”

 “Those are all very good points.”

 He pulls open the heavy door for you and you step inside. You’ve only been dating Bucky a couple of months, but so far, he’s the most amazing person you’ve ever met. Old world charm without being a creepy serial killer; a gentleman without assuming you need to give him something in return. 

 It’s nice to be doted on just because. 

 He pushes the button for your floor and watches the numbers. You watch him. His long eyelashes, his perfectly sculpted profile, strong jaw, pouty lips. They twitch at the corners, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the numbers. The creaking of the elevator stretches out the silence as it descends. 

 “You’re staring.” He points out. 

 “Am I? Oops.” You shrug, still looking at him.

 “Do I have something on my face?” He sighs.

 “Why does there have to be anything wrong? Maybe I’m just watching so you don’t disappear.” You turn to face him.

 Slowly, he twists his head to look at you, a frown tugging at his mouth now. “Disappear? And where exactly would I go?” 

 “Wherever it is that perfect men go when the dream ends.” You lean against him with a smile. 

 “Y/N, I’m far from perfect.” He shakes his head and you capture his face in your hands, having to rise up on your tiptoes. 

 “You have been everything I could have ever wished for. You’re perfect for me.”

 He dips forward to kiss you softly and the doors ding open. He wraps his big arms around you and lifts you up, carrying you into the small box. You yelp in surprise and cling to his shoulders. He grins and sets you back against the wall, leaning down to kiss you again. 

 He’s soft. So very soft and gentle with you. The cool metal of his left hand brushes down your cheek and his eyes search yours, the smile on his face growing with each passing second. 

 “What?” You ask quietly. “Do I have something on my face?”

 He laughs quietly. “You’re beautiful.” He shakes his head. “No, I was just thinking about something.” He says so casually. 

 “Care to share with the class, Barnes?” You tease. 

 “Well, I was just thinking that I love you.” He says, turning around to face the doors. 

 Your heart tumbles in your chest as you look at his shit eating grin. “You do?” 

 “Why wouldn’t I? You’re perfect for me.” He shrugs and you smack his arm. He laughs, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

 “I love you, too.” 

 He pulls you against him and picks you up, kissing you hungrily. You rake your fingers through his hair, moving with him in perfect harmony. 

 The doors open on your floor and he carries you out and down the hallway, stopping just outside your door. He kisses down your neck and you tip your head back, breathing heavily. He presses you against the wall, finding all your sensitive spots. You let out a breathy moan and he pulls away with a small chuckle. 

 “Do you want to come in?” You ask as he sets you back down on wobbly legs. 

 “I think one milestone is enough for tonight.” He smiles, brushing your hair back behind your ears. 

 “Nope, not enough.” You shake your head. He has you in a state of frenzy now. 

 He grins. “Another time.” He promises. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

 He waits until you’re inside your apartment to leave. But that’s when you could have used him the most. 

 Hands grab you from behind, a strong arm curling around your waist and the other covering your mouth. You still scream, try to wriggle out of the strong hold they have on you. But it’s no good. A large figure clad in all black appears in front of you, arm raised and then everything goes black.

 ***

 The aroma of delicious smelling food wafts through the entire building. It permeates into every room and causes several heads to poke out their doors. You smile sheepishly, knocking on Bucky’s door. 

 He pulls it open, sweat pants low on his hips as he towels his hair dry. “Y/N.” He says in surprise. 

 “I thought you might be hungry.” You hold up the bags of takeout. “But I didn’t know what you liked, so I got some of everything.”

 “Did I hear there was extra food?” A voice says behind you and Bucky groans with a roll of his eyes. 

 “No one invited you, Wilson. Go away.” 

 “No, it’s okay, Bucky. Honestly, there’s so much-we can share.” You smile back at his friend. 

 Inside, your stomach is roiling with nerves. 

 It takes you a long time to wake up, your pulse pounds in your ears, giving you a headache. Or maybe it was the chemical they used to knock you out.

 “Finally. We don’t have a lot of time, so we’ll get right to the point.” A man’s voice says roughly, grabbing your chin.

 Your eyes flutter closed as you fight the effects of whatever they gave you.

 “I hope you’re paying attention because I definitely don’t like to repeat myself.” He warns.

 “But I don’t like to share.” Bucky protests.

 “Great, it’s settled.” His friend grins, taking the bags from you and leading you away from Bucky. “I’m Sam. I’m sure he doesn’t mention me much. He wouldn’t want you to come to your senses and leave him for someone smarter, handsomer, superior in every way-really.” Sam smirks and you give a chuckle. 

 “You’ll have to let me know when someone like that arrives.” You return and he groans. Bucky laughs, kissing the top of your head. 

 “That’s my girl.”

 More of the Avengers file into the kitchen and you back up out of the way. Unfortunately, you bump right into Tony Stark. He squints down at you suspiciously. 

 “And where do you think you’re going?” He asks, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you back into the crowd. 

 “Oh, I was just moving out of the way.” You say awkwardly. 

 “Relax, kid. I’m messing with you.” He says easily. He opens a cabinet and turns to you. “Hands up.” He says and you hold your hands out automatically. He gets down a bunch of plates and sets them in your grasp. “Table. Go.” He turns you around and points to the large dining table. 

 You set out the plates while everyone brings the food over and it feels so surreal, sitting at a table surrounded by the most powerful humans on the planet and they’re just talking and laughing like one big family. 

 Bucky squeezes your hand as everyone starts helping themselves to food. Bowls get passed around and you only take small amounts of food, your nerves ratcheting high with every passing second. 

 “Not hungry?” Sam asks, looking at you.

 “No, we had a big catering thing at work and I overate. I really just brought food as an excuse to see Bucky.” You shrug with a glance at the man next to you. He gives you a cheeky smile in reply, his perfect eyes crinkling in the corner, a genuine smile full of affection that you wish you could return. 

 “Well, you can use that excuse any time. Natasha grins, biting into an egg roll. 

 You chuckle, taking a sip of your water. They start asking you questions, what you do, where you’re from, how’d you meet Bucky. 

 They’re easy enough to answer and for a moment, you’re distracted. But then you remember your situation and you sit back from your plate. Bucky takes your hand under the table, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back. 

 Everyone eats until the food is gone, even tiny little Natasha Romanoff packs away the lo mein. 

 “You can stay for a movie, right?” Sam narrows his eyes at you. 

 “Depends. What movie is it?” You ask. 

 “Bucky’s never seen James Bond, so we’re starting with the first one.” Wanda says, pushing herself up and carrying her plate to the sink. 

 “I’ll stay.” You nod, standing and grabbing yours and Bucky’s plates. 

 “Just pile them in the sink, Y/N. They can wait.” Tony calls and everyone files into the living room, settling on the comfortable couches. 

 You slide down next to Bucky and he shifts you against his side comfortably. “I missed you.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your hairline. 

 “I missed you, too.” You mumble. 

 “Long day?” He asks, his hand rubbing your arm gently. 

 You nod, faking a yawn. “And I have to be up early tomorrow. Stupid budget meeting.” You roll your eyes as Tony starts the movie. 

 “You don’t have to stay long. I’m just glad you came.” He smiles. 

 Instead of replying, you rest your head on his shoulder. Wanda starts the movie and you don’t have to wait long. About ten minutes into the movie, Sam starts to snore, his head tilted back awkwardly against the headrest. They all fall like dominoes shortly after that. 

 Bucky’s fighting it, his eyes drop closed before flying open again. You look up at him, feeling each time he jerks himself awake. 

 “Bucky? You okay?” You whisper, heart breaking in your chest for him. 

 “Mhm.” He hums, rubbing his eyes.

 “If you’re tired, it’s okay. You guys had a long mission.” You mumble, brushing his hair back gently. 

 “Feel like a jerk.” He manages and you kiss his shoulder.

 “Don’t worry about it.” 

 His eyes drift close and his head drops back onto the love seat cushion. You grab a pillow and carefully lift his head to support it better. His eyes flutter again and you pause, watching him carefully. But they stay closed and you sigh in relief. 

 Easing yourself up and away from him, you grab another pillow and prop it under Sam’s head so that he doesn’t get a neck ache in the morning. Natasha and Wanda have shared the couch, laying at opposite ends, both soundly asleep. You pull the blanket off the back and drape it over them, tucking them in. 

 Tony is in an armchair, not much you can do for him there, but you cover him with a soft blanket, your stomach twisting into knots. 

 You wash the dishes quickly, getting rid of any evidence, placing them back in the cabinet. You gather up all the trash back into the delivery bag and set it on the counter. 

 Turning to Bucky, you wipe away at the tears that are collecting in your eyes. You really love this man. It hasn’t been long, but he’s treated you better than anyone else in your life. And if something could be both the hardest, and the easiest-it would be this. 

 You make your way back over, carefully sliding your hand into his pocket for his wallet. You find Tony’s lab card and make your way to the hallway.

 “Your boyfriend is going on a mission tomorrow with the rest of the freaks. When he gets back, you’re going to show up, the loving girlfriend, with enough food for all of them.” The man in black instructs. He grips your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. “This goes in the food. It’ll knock them all out so you won’t be disturbed. Even your super freak boyfriend can’t fight it.” He grins, holding up a vial of liquid.

 “You’re crazy.” You snap, twisting your chin out of his tight grasp. 

 He sighs loudly. “I can see we’re gonna have to do this the hard way, then.” He shakes his head and opens a laptop screen. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to use this option.” He turns the screen around and your eyes widen. 

 “No.” You gasp.

 The building is so quiet, eerily silent with everyone being passed out in the living room. You’ve memorized the layout, you know which way you’re supposed to go. But your feet drag. You don’t want to do this. Every cell in your body is fighting against it, against betraying him. 

 The glass doors slide open noiselessly and you step inside. You almost wish one of them would catch you. It would be a relief to not be able to finish, but you know they won’t. 

 You find the right terminal and plug in the external hard drive. Tapping away at the keyboard, it doesn’t take you long to find the right file. You make a copy of it, doing what you can to ease your conscience before leaving. 

 You’re tempted to stop in and see Bucky, just to look at him one last time, as though that would stop your heart from breaking. But you don’t. 

 You can’t. 

 You leave the building in a hurry, anxious to be done with this whole thing. A part of you believes that you won’t be seeing the sunrise. But they aren’t kind enough for that. As you pass one, you toss the trash in a dumpster, further obliterating the evidence. 

 The coffee shop is unfamiliar to you. It’s far from your apartment, so the anonymity is a bonus. 

 You slide into a booth, tipping your cup right side up. The waitress comes over, filling the cup. “Can I get you anything?” She asks in a bored tone. 

 “Not yet. I’m waiting for someone.” You answer automatically. You tongue is like cotton, your stomach churning with guilt and anxiety. There’s no way you could eat, even if you wanted to. 

 You don’t have to wait long, your hands have barely started to warm from the cup when a big man eases into the seat across from you. 

 “You’ve done well.” He praises. 

 You can feel your face twist in disgust. A compliment from him is about to make you sick. “I’ve got your stupid thing. I’m free to go now?” You ask hotly. 

 “Sure. Not like we don’t know where to find you if we need you again.” He grins wickedly at you. A wolf looking at a sheep. 

 You set the flash drive on the table and launch yourself out of your seat, rushing for the door. You need to escape, get out of the city. 

 A stop at the ATM empties your bank account, and then you’re a whirlwind, throwing clothes into your suitcases. There’s only one thought in your head: escape. 

 Escape those awful men. Escape your betrayal. Escape the hurt you’ve just caused to Bucky, his wrath when he finds out. But you deserve those things, his hatred and anger. You could take that because you deserve it. 

 But those men, they’re only out to cause more pain, to make you cause pain. And you can’t put up with that.

 You hail a cab, planning on never returning to your apartment again. You’ll become a shadow if you have to. Somehow. 

 Your chest aches, but you have to do it. You have to say goodbye.

 Bucky

 He paces the length of his quarters, listening to the ringing phone on the other end. You must be at work or something. He hangs up with a sigh. 

 He can’t believe they all passed out on you last night. What you must think of them. 

 “Sergeant Barnes, Mr. Stark would like to see you in his lab.” FRIDAY comes on the overhead. 

 “Sure. I’ll be right down.” He leaves his room and heads for the third floor entrance. 

 Stark is pacing, sharp pivots and staccato heel to toe steps. His face is turning various shades of red. He’s pissed. 

 “Tony?” Bucky starts. 

 “What do you think you were doing?” He asks instantly. 

 “I’m lost. What are you talking about?” Bucky frowns. 

 “Last night, you came into my lab and accessed the Dresden File.” He snaps. 

 “Last night? We were all together last night. I don’t even know what that file is.”

 “Oh right. And I’m just supposed to believe that you also didn’t make a copy of it and take it out of this building?” He crosses his arms defensively. 

 “Tony, I haven’t left the grounds since we got home yesterday afternoon. And why would I take one of your stupid files anywhere?” Bucky fires back. 

 “Well, explain how your access card was used to get in here, then. Hmm?” He demands. 

 “I dunno, genius. Have you tried pulling up the surveillance cameras?” 

 “I... I was just waiting for them to download.” He huffs, turning his back on the former soldier. 

 Bucky rolls his eyes. He might not be caught up on everything modern, but he sure as shit knows that you don’t have to download security footage.

 They both peer at the screen as you enter the lab. Bucky’s blood freezes in his veins as he watches you steal from Stark. 

 “What’s in the file that she took?” Bucky asks through clenched teeth. 

 “A weapon. Or at the very least, it can be used as a weapon if modified correctly.” Tony looks up at him. “If she sells it,” he trails off unnecessarily. 

 Bucky knows exactly what will happen. You better hope he can’t find you.

 Bucky marches out of the lab and straight for the front door. He heads straight for you apartment, which isn’t smart; if you had any brains at all you wouldn’t be there. How can you do this to him? There has to be some kind of mistake, or misunderstanding. 

 You love him, you wouldn’t do this to him. Or maybe after 80 years in captivity, he’s forgotten how to read people. You were just a lie, a beautiful lie. 

 He pounds on your front door, nearly kicking it down but you don’t answer. He easily picks the lock, his anger and desperation warring inside him. He needs there to be some logic reason that you’ve done this. 

 Maybe it wasn’t really you. Maybe it’s like what Wanda does, an illusion. Someone making them think that it’s you.

 The door swings open as his phone rings. He steps inside, answering it. “What, Stark?” 

 Your apartment is a mess. Chairs tipped over, dishes broken on the floor. The cushions on the couch have been tossed. 

 “She emptied her bank account late last night. She’s gone.” 

 “See if you can follow her on security cameras when she leaves the building. Find out where she went.” He says with a sigh. 

 How can a guy be so wrong?

 ***

 The knock on your motel room door nearly sends you into a heart attack. You rise silently from the chair and creep to the door. If it’s those guys again, you don’t know how you’re going to get away. You’ve already refused maid service, no one knows you’re here.

 You look out the peep hole and your heart somersaults in your chest. You should have been expecting this, you should have known he wouldn’t let it go. Doesn’t make what you’re about to do any easier. 

 You square your shoulders, take a deep breath. Its for his own good. You swing open the door, your face cold and detached. “What do you want?” You mutter.

 “Are you kidding me?” He pushes his way into your room, taking in the dingy walls and ugly carpet. “Where is it?” He rounds on you, his handsome face contorted in pain. Maybe rage?

 “Where is what?” You sigh. 

 He surges forward, grabbing your arms and shaking you. “Don’t play stupid. The flash drive, Y/N. I want it back.” He snaps. 

 “I don’t have it anymore.” You reply dully. 

 “Bullshit.”

 “You think I’m gonna hold onto that? Got rid of it the first chance I got.” You snap back.

 “And now you’re just hiding in a shit motel in Jersey? Of all places-fucking Jersey.” He rolls his eyes. 

 “First stop on my farewell tour.” You mutter. “If that’s all, I’d like my arms back now.”

 He shoves you away from him and you bump into the wall with more force than you were expecting. “Just... tell me why. I thought...” he trails off and your resolve nearly breaks. 

 “I know what you thought. That’s what made it so easy. But the truth is, I was only using you.” You say, the words managing not to break. 

 His face crumples and he steps away from you. “None of it was real?”

 “Sorry.” You say flatly, but inside you’re shredded. 

 He leaves mutely, climbing onto his motorcycle and you worry about him driving home. But you can’t break now. You shut the door, cutting off your view of him and you sink to the floor. 

 Tony

 “Boss. Sergeant Barnes has returned.” FRIDAY announces over the lab speaker. “He’s headed for his quarters.” 

 “Is he alone?” Tony asks, his eyes drifting to the computer screen. 

 “Yes.”

 “When he gets there, put me through.” Tony says, spinning in his chair. Barnes had one direction. Bring back the girl, or at the very least, the stolen property. 

 Should’ve known he’d let his emotions get in the way. He’s just like Rogers.

 The screen to his left lights up and he can see Barnes tense in the entry way. He doesn’t wanna talk. 

 “Where is she, Barnes?” Tony asks, digging through the computer. 

 “I let her go.” He mutters blankly. 

 “I’m sorry? You let my thief go? You better have the files, then.” He retorts. 

 “She didn’t have them.” He sounds sick. 

 “So, now both are gone in the wind. That’s perfect. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you pulled your head out of your ass long enough to get the name of the terrorist group she sold it to!” 

 “Nope. Maybe this will teach you to stop making weapons.” The video clicks off and Tony shakes his fists, strangling the air, pretending unsatisfactorily that it was Bucky Barnes in his grasp. 

 “Dick. Prince Douche.” Tony mutters under his breath. “King Asshat.” He turns his favorite playlist on high, hoping to crush out his frustrations. The soothing tones of Black Sabbath pulses through the sound system and he gets to work, searching for whatever else Bucky’s girlfriend did to his system. 

 While he works, his thoughts wander. 

 You’re good. For someone who has never even been in this building before, you knew exactly where the lab was and what terminal to go to. You knew what you were looking for, almost like... 

 His Twizzler falls out of his mouth as a thought occurs to him. 

 Shit. He almost hopes he’s wrong. 

 He scrubs the rest of the files, finding just one anomaly. He backtracks the keystrokes and recreates it. 

 Finished, he sits back with a slump. 

 Oh. You’re very, very good. He bolts out of the lab and practically sprints to Bucky’s quarters, pounding on the door. Doubled over, gasping for breath-he pounds again. 

 “What?” Bucky snaps, yanking open his door, looking all kinds of disheveled. “Stark, do you even know what time it is?” He rubs his eyes. 

 “It doesn’t matter. We have a problem.” Tony gasps, trying to catch his breath. He’s getting too old for this shit. 

 “Yeah, you need to cut back on the caffeine.” Barnes sighs. 

 “No. I think your super secret spy girlfriend was put up to this.” 

 “Tony, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 “Even if she’s in danger? Even if the people who did this to her come after her again?” Tony challenges. 

 “Stark, if she really was being put on, or blackmailed, or coerced-why wouldn’t she come to us? We’re a bunch of super freaks. We could have protected her. Think about it. She did this on her own.”

 “Not necessarily. We don’t know what they blackmailed her with. Maybe she thought the threat was too much of a risk. Where is she?”

 “Some piece of shit motel in Jersey. But she made it clear that she was only... that she did it on her own.” He clears his throat. 

 “Let me guess, while you were looking at her with those big puppy dog eyes? Yeah, no wonder she made you leave.” Tony changes direction. “Get dressed. We’re taking a trip.” He heads for Wilson’s quarters, knowing he’ll need the big bird brain as backup. 

 An hour later they pull up outside the motel just as you leave your room. It’s still dark outside, you should be sleeping, not leaving in the middle of the night. But here you are, bags in hand as you load them into a rental. You glance around nervously as you climb in. 

 “What’s she doing?” Sam leans forward, squinting. 

 “Looks like Barnes spooked her. If this pea brain can find her here, anyone can.” Tony reasons. 

 Bucky punches him in the arm, but doesn’t disagree. Tony tries not to let it show just how much it hurts. 

 “What do we do when we actually get her?” Sam asks. 

 “Get her to tell us who she gave it to. Then take them out.” Tony says simply. 

 “You never really said what makes you think she was blackmailed.” Bucky sighs, shifting in his seat. 

 “I found the file she copied. She made a copy of it on the computer first, then she removed key components. Things you have to have to make it work. Without them, these guys have scraps of paper-not enough to complete one for themselves. She transferred that second copy and that alone to the flash drive. She did everything she could to make sure they didn’t get what they wanted.” Tony half smiles. He should hire you. 

 “How do you know she didn’t write it down? Just to throw us off.” Barnes huffs as Tony follows you out of the parking lot. 

 “Cameras, Barnes. She didn’t. She deleted key sections. If she had just deleted a line or a random number, they could have figured it out with a mild genius. But she deleted pages. They have no way of knowing what was on those pages. She deleted half the design, code instructions, equations-huge chunks of vitally important information. It’s useless to them now. But I’d certainly feel better knowing who they are in case they try again.” 

 They follow you from a distance, confused as you leave New Jersey going south. You should have been going back to the city, not away from it. 

 ***

 It’s hard. Hard to remember that you need to drive the speed limit, hard to forget Bucky’s face as you lied to him. That look will haunt you until you die. Maybe one day you’ll have a chance to tell him the truth. 

 Maybe it won’t matter if you do. 

 Your eyes itch. It’s been a long three days. But you can’t close them yet. No rest for the wicked. 

 You pull into another gas station, heading inside. Cash only, and you could use about five more Red Bull’s. You grab a variety of energy drinks; Monsters, Red Bull’s, Jolts, Nos. The guy behind the counter stares at you as he rings you up. 

 “Too much of these ain’t good for ya, sweetheart. Make your heart give out.” He says conversationally. 

 “That’s the plan. Gimme thirty on pump four.” You add, sliding the cash over. 

 He hands you your bag and you pop the top on one of the heart attacks in a can as you start the pump. You chug half the drink while your tank fills. You climb back in the safety of your car, slapping your face roughly. 

 Flipping the visor down, you glare at your haggard reflection. “Wake up. You have a fucking job to do.” You point your finger. 

 You turn your music back on, blasting it loud enough to rattle the windows and you pull out of the lot, heading back for the highway. 

 Christ, your eyes itch. They feel like sand is in them every time you blink. You can’t stop, can’t slow down. You might already be too late-no. You can’t think like that. Bucky can’t lose anyone else. 

 It’s dark by the time you finally pull into the nursing home lot. You pull into a spot near the door, taking a moment to check your appearance. 

 Death warmed up. Perfect. You smooth out your hair before giving up. After two days of solid travel, there was no fixing this. You twist slowly in your seat, looking at every car in the lot, searching for people in them, something to hint at being watched. 

 Nothing, empty. You climb out and head inside the quiet lobby. 

 It’s almost empty, the desk clerk and one other person, sitting nervously off to the side.

 “Chuck?” You ask, turning toward him. 

 He looks up and nods. “Y/N?” 

 You take a brief second to think about all the faces you’ve seen, but he wasn’t one. And looking closer, you can see Bucky’s eyes, the statuesque angle of his nose. 

 Yes, this is who you’re looking for. 

 “Thanks for agreeing to meet me. I know this is strange.” You sigh, stepping forward.

 “You said something about danger.”

 “I would feel better if we could speak in your grandmother’s room. It’s a little more private.” You say pointedly. 

 “Right.” 

 He leads you to the elevator and presses the button. “Are you okay, Y/N? You look exhausted.” Chuck comments. 

 “I’ll be alright.” You wave him off as the doors open. 

 “I’m surprised you know who this is.” The man chuckles. “Barnes’ sister. She lives in a home in Savannah. Abandoned by her family, left unprotected. So easily eliminated. She sits in front of this window day and night, reading. One well placed bullet if you don’t do what we say, well, it’s goodnight, Vienna.” He grins wickedly. “You don’t want this old lady’s death on your conscience, do you?” 

 “You’re a monster.” You curse, spitting at his feet. The men around him laugh. 

 “Maybe you have no feelings about dear old Becky. That’s alright, there’s always plan B, or is it part 2? Who’s to say we won’t kill both of them?” He changes the picture and your eyes fill with tears. 

 No.

 “I can see we have a deal.” He smirks, caressing your cheek. 

 Chuck pushes open the door and enters comfortably. You slide against the wall, keeping clear of the windows. 

 “Charles?” Rebecca looks up, a beautiful smile crossing her face for her grandson. 

 “Hey, nana. How are you feeling?” He asks, bending down to kiss her cheek. 

 “Ready to run a marathon.” She grins. “Visiting hours are over, sweetheart. What are you doing here so late?”

 “Nana, this is Y/N. She’s a friend of Uncle James’. She thinks you might be in danger.” He says, gesturing to you. 

 “Danger? From who? Surely you don’t think my brother-“

 “No, ma’am. Your brother doesn’t know I’m here.” You say. “He’s, well, he doesn’t really know about this. I couldn’t tell him before I left.” You wrinkle your forehead in hopeless frustration. 

 How to explain this?

 “Charles, give me a minute with her.” Rebecca says, shooing him out the door.

 “Alright, I’ll be outside.” He smiles fondly at her before leaving. 

 “Have a seat, dear.” She gestures to the bed, but you avoid crossing the window, instead sitting at the small table. “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.” She urges, taking your hand. 

 “I’ve done something terrible. Your brother trusted me and I had to betray it. There were these men, they wanted something from your brother’s job and they forced me to get it. If I didn’t, they would have killed you, and someone else. I couldn’t do that to Bucky, not when he just got you back.”

 “And why are you here now?” She asks.

 “To warn you. To make sure you’re protected. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. He loves you too much and he has so little good in his life. And after what I did... he’s going to need you.” You say, a thick lump of emotions choking your throat. 

 You know Bucky is lost to you. But she doesn’t have to be lost to him. “If I can give him this, it will make it a little easier to bear.”

 She studies your face for a long minute in silence. “You love him.” She states finally. 

 “Yes. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I had to ruin it, to make him hate me. For his own protection. Now they can’t use me again.” 

 She’s quiet again, thoughtful. “Alright. What do you need me to do?” She asks, leaning forward in her chair. 

 “Go with your family. Stay safe. Call Bucky and tell him you think people have been watching you, you’ve seen suspicious men around the building. He’ll come keep you safe.” Your voice cracks and a tear slips down your cheek. 

 “And if he doesn’t? I’m an old woman. I’ve lived my life.” She raises her chin a fraction of an inch. 

 “A life without your brother. Now you have a chance to share memories with him. To help him heal from all that time and trauma. You’re his family Rebecca. He talks about you all the time, shares stories about your family-his family. He’s so happy knowing he can just talk to you whenever. He thought that would never be possible. His whole face lights up when he mentions you. He’ll be there. He’ll protect you, I know it like I know my own name.” You promise. “Please? Stay safe for him?” 

 She squeezes your hand, surprisingly strong for a woman in her nineties. “I promise, darling. What about this other person you mentioned?” 

 “I’m going to him next. But I had to make sure you were safe first.”

 “I hope you can fix things with my brother. He’s lucky to have someone so strong.” 

 “Hardly. I don’t think it’s possible to fix this. Thank you for listening. It’s an honor to meet you.” You stand up and press a soft kiss to her weathered cheek. “I’ll send Charles back in.” You head for the door, opening it gently. 

 “She agree?” He asks. 

 You nod with a sigh. “Thanks for listening and not thinking I’m crazy.”

 “Good luck. There’s a motel down the road if you wanna catch some sleep.” He says and you shake your head. 

 “Thanks. But I gotta keep moving. I have another appointment to keep.”

 He bends down and kisses your cheek, surprising you. “Be safe. Thanks for looking out for us.”

 You squeeze his hand and turn away. At least they can be safe. 

 The window is rolled down as you pull back onto the highway. It feels good on your face and you crank the music to help you stay awake. 

 Savannah isn’t that far from FSU, your next destination. Just a couple more hours. You can do it. 

 You pop the top on your last Red Bull and chug half of it, hoping it’s enough. 

 The sunlight creeps over the horizon just as you reach the outer most limits of Tallahassee. You’ll reach campus just in time for classes. 

 You feel a sense of calm, despite your new energy drink addiction-the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight, so to speak. 

 You find the campus easily, pulling through to the main building. Christ, you hope you can catch him in time. As you reach to unbuckle your seatbelt, you spot him. 

 That beautiful, annoying boy that you’ll never complain about again. 

 “Your brother, he’s in his final year at Florida State University, isn’t he? Captain of the football team, maintaining a perfect 4.0 gpa. I believe his favorite teacher is Mrs. Yaira Morrison. She teaches his history class at one o’clock on Tuesday and Thursday.” The man says with a twisted smile. 

 Your chest heaves, watching your baby brother on the screen. They have you and they know it. 

 “What do you want me to do?” You mutter, wishing Death by a Thousand Cuts on him and his party of villains. 

 “See? I knew we could count on her!” He claps his hands enthusiastically. 

 You lurch out of your car, legs wobbly from lack of sleep, proper food, and being immobile for too long. You rush towards him, shouting his name. He’s too far away to hear you, but you know you can catch him, you have to warn him. 

 A body steps in front of you, blocking your way between the cars. You move to step around them, thinking for half a second that it’s just a student getting out of their vehicle. They block you again and you take a second look, recognizing his face in horror. 

 “Don’t make me chase you.” He warns, but you’re already taking off between the cars, trying to find a way back to yours. 

 But no, that wouldn’t be safe either. They had to have followed you here. Before you can think further on it, arms grab you from behind and your head is bashed against the hood of a truck, everything going black.

 Bucky

 There is absolutely nothing worse than listening to two grown men bicker like school boys. 

 “I can’t believe you lost her.” Sam snaps at Tony. 

 “Me? You were supposed to be watching her car! I was focusing on not dying in Florida traffic. How do people live this way?”

 “I told you not to take 75.” Sam retorts. Bucky can almost recite this argument word for word now. 

 “Don’t take 75? She took 75! What was I supposed to do? Take a different highway and hope we end up in the same place?”

 “Or don’t drive like a damn grandma! I see why Happy drives you everywhere.” Sam shoots back and Tony’s face gets beet red.

 “Take it back.” He demands.

 “No.” Sam crosses his arms. 

 “Take. It. Back.”

 “Make me, grandma.”

 “Take this exit, Stark.” Bucky mutters. That puts a brief pause to their squabbling. You’ve had them driving for days on end and they’re all exhausted. How you haven’t passed out yet is a miracle. 

 “Why?” 

 “Because I know where she’s going and if you drive the actual speed limit, we can make it there before tomorrow.” Bucky fires and Tony glares at him. 

 “Where’s she going?” Sam asks, leaning back in his seat, thrilled that someone else was taking shots at Tony, too. 

 “FSU. Her brother goes there. If she’s being blackmailed, chances are it’s with his life.” He sighs. He wishes, not for the first time, that you had just confided in him. He would have found a way to make your brother safe, to make you safe. 

 His phone rings in his pocket and he pulls it out to see his sister’s picture smiling up at him. His heart tugs fondly at the photo. “Becky?” He starts. Something’s wrong. He sensed it when he realized you drove directly past his sister’s assisted living building. That was no coincidence. 

 “Bucky, I met a friend of yours last night. Lovely girl.” She starts off casually, no sense of concern in her weathered voice. 

 “Y/N? You met her?” He asks with a frown. Why would you have gone to see his sister?

 “I did. She came to warn me about this danger that I seem to be in.” He’s alert in his seat now, all sense of weariness gone. 

 “Danger? Rebecca! Why didn’t you call me immediately?” He demands. 

 “Well, because I’ve thought about it, and I’ll do what she says-go on a trip with my kids. But I won’t do the second bit.” She says stubbornly and he presses his metal fingers to his forehead.

 “What second bit?” He sighs.

 “She said that I should tell you I’m being followed, that I’m in danger so that you’ll come here. But,”

 “I will!” He insists. 

 “But I think she’s in more danger than I am. She mentioned someone else was being threatened, someone she cares about.”

 “Her brother. We’re already aware.”

 “Oh, good. Then, you’re also aware that she loves you?” Rebecca says and he can just picture her squinting at him suspiciously, like she might hit him with her slipper if he gets the answer wrong. Just like his ma used to. 

 “Not according to her.”

 “Ah, my brother, the idiot.” She sighs wistfully and he cracks a small smile. 

 “What else did she tell you?” He asks. 

 “That she wanted to keep me safe and protected for you. She didn’t want you to lose anyone else. That she had to make you hate her for your own protection. And she doesn’t think she’ll be able to fix things with you.” She’s quiet for a minute. “But if the circumstances were different, Bucky. If she did what she did out of fear, out of loyalty and wanting to protect a complete stranger just to make one man happy-doesn’t that change things, big brother? She’s not entirely lost to you.” She finishes and he can’t force the lump in his throat to move enough to choke out words. “Just, just think about it, alright? I promised her I would keep myself safe for you. Now I need you to promise to keep her safe.”

 He clears his throat roughly. “Promise.”

 “Call me when it’s done.” She says. “I love you.” She hangs up and Bucky drops the phone into his lap, rubbing his face. 

 “What’s wrong?” Sam asks from the back seat. 

 “They threatened my sister, too. That’s why we were right there last night. Y/N went to go see Rebecca, to warn her. You were right, Stark.” He sighs dejectedly. 

 He thought he was better at reading people. But you lied so easily to him and he fell for it. How had he missed every micro expression telling him that something wasn’t right?

 “So, we really need to find her, then.” Tony says, stepping on the gas. 

 “Finally.” Sam mutters under his breath. 

 The campus is huge. They circle and circle and circle, looking for your car. Twice, they think they spot it, but checking it out further reveals no luggage in the back.

 “Maybe we missed her? Maybe she got to him and left already?” Sam suggests. 

 “Wait, is that it?” Tony points to one of the back rows of cars. 

 “Didn’t we pass that one already?” Sam asks, confused. 

 “Only one way to find out.” Bucky grumbles, already launching himself out of the car. His heart thuds to a stop when he sees your luggage in the back seat, empty energy drink cans littering the floor. He waves them over. 

 “This it?” Tony asks. 

 “Yeah, pull up that fancy camera hacking thing and follow her. See if she’s inside the school so we don’t have to spend hours walking around looking for her.” Bucky says. 

 Tony pulls out his tablet, sets it on the dark hood of the car and types a few command strokes. Bucky hovers over his shoulder, breathing down his neck, really irritating the older man. 

 “Back off, man.” Tony elbows his ribs uselessly as the cameras rewind. He might as well have hit a brick for all the pain it causes him. There are several different angles across the massive parking lots and the interior courtyards. Plus the interior hallways and classrooms. There’s almost too much to watch, but they have to. 

 Tony finds your car pulling in and he slows down to watch where you park. It’s a tense silence as they watch you get out, heading across the lot before someone cuts you off. He blocks out the rest of the screens, making this one camera the focus. 

 Bucky’s stomach seems to fill with lead as you take off running, despite how exhausted you must feel. The man chases you, but Bucky can see what you can’t. You’re not running away, you’re being herded. Another man, massive compared to you, grabs you from behind-a blitz attack-and he smashes your head into the hood of another car. It’s hard enough of a hit to leave a dent in the car. 

 It’s an extremely good thing that Bucky isn’t holding onto anything, or he would have broken it. 

 Before he can even speak, Tony is already working. A car pulls up and you’re loaded inside. Tony captures the license plate and dismisses the camera, opting for another program. 

 Bucky paces behind his friends, knowing anything he would say isn’t going to be helpful. His mind is racing, faster than he can even process what exactly he’s thinking. 

 You should have come to him. You should have trusted him. How can you love him and not trust him? Of all the things he wants to say to you, this thought burns hardest in his throat. 

 What were you thinking?

 “What do you think they want with her?” Sam frowns, glancing at both of them. 

 “Revenge.” Bucky mutters, his skin turning cold at the thought of you being hurt by their hands. 

 “The file.” Tony offers as an alternative. “Maybe they think she has another copy of it, or access to it again. Might buy her some time.” He glanced at Bucky, but he hardly hears him. 

 “Where is she, Stark?” Bucky asks tersely. 

 “Cameras are following their car, and I’m running facial recognition.” Tony says, but it doesn’t really soothe Bucky. 

 “Here. Get in. We can follow the map they’re making and maybe meet them there.” Sam suggests, taking the keys. 

 Tony climbs in the front seat where Bucky had been, Sam drives and Bucky sits in the back, his nerves ratcheting higher with every passing second that he’s not smashing their faces in. 

 “Got them.” Tony comments, typing furiously on his keyboard. The constant clicking is begging to grate on Bucky’s last nerve. 

 Sam follows the route highlighted on the dash screen, and at least he’s driving like a human. You’ve been in their grasp too long and it’s making Bucky irrationally anxious to not be able to see you. It’s strange that just ten hours ago, he never wanted to see you again. Now he can’t wait to get you back in his hands. 

 “There’s an old camera system in the building that they took her to. It’s half an hour away and they have a bit of a head start. I’m back hacking it now.” Tony says. 

 “You know no one says that anymore, right? No one calls it hacking. And back hacking is hacking someone that already hacked you.” Sam squints at him suspiciously. “Do you even know what a computer is?” He asks, swerving around a car going much too slow in the zoom-zoom lane. 

 “Better than you do, Bird Brain.” Tony snaps. “Got it.” The display changes and Bucky stares in horror. Sam inches the needle towards 100. 

 ***

 The thud pulses in your ears as the buzzing sting spreads slowly across your cheek. Another thud, more stinging as the blood surges to the surface of your face. The restraints around your wrists pull roughly as you’re shifted in the metal chair. 

 You don’t make a sound, happy to take this punishment. You deserve this for hurting Bucky, and if they’re this mad-they couldn’t recover the missing parts of the file. Even better. 

 “Where’s the rest of it?” The leader sighs, pacing behind his man. His fingers are steepled against the bridge of his nose as he sighs loudly. “I was told that Stark had a fully functional, working blueprint. What you gave me is useless.”

 His brute swings his open hand again, the force of his slap twisting your head to the side. Your eyes water and your cheek heats up to the point of burning. The man grabs a fistful of your hair and turns your head back to face forward with a low chuckle. Your face feels heavy, sluggish as the excess blood rushes there.

 “Where’s the rest of it?” The leader demands. You remain silent, willing to take the pain. Nothing can be worse than the feeling of being forced to betray Bucky. He sighs loudly, nodding to someone off to your left. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go back to Stark’s lab. You’re gonna get the full file. You’re gonna promptly deliver it back to me.”

 “No.” You say simply. 

 “No? That’s funny. It sounds like you think you have a choice.” He tilts his head and another man steps forward. This new man, half hidden in shadows, takes a drag off a cigarette, the burning end flaring bright burnt orange in the darkness. With an exhale of smoke, the shadow man presses the cigarette to the fleshy underside of your forearm. 

 You grit back a scream, but as he twists it in the raw wound, it’s too much and the sound rips from your throat. 

 “We’ll give you some time to reconsider your choice.” The leader sneers, nodded to the others.  They exit, leaving you alone with the shadow man. 

 He lights the cigarette again, the smell of your flesh burning floats around you, making you sick. He doesn’t ask you any questions, doesn’t talk to you. He just puts out the cigarette on your skin, any exposed spot he can find. 

 He braces his hands on your burned forearms, squeezing tightly. You scream again, the tears falling freely. You can admit it hurts, but you still won’t give them what they want. 

 You can’t. 

 He chuckles, blowing the smoke in your face as the bright ember flares just inches from your face. Slowly, he removes the cigarette trapped between his lips and floats his hand around, trying to decide where to burn you next. 

 “Ah.” He smiles softly, brushing hair back from your neck carefully, almost tenderly. You try to contain the whimper, but fail miserably. He pulls down the neck of your shirt, exposing your collarbone before pushing the burning point to the flesh just below. 

 You scream, thrashing against your restraints. You sob, trying to breathe against it. Doesn’t matter what they do to you, you won’t do what they want. 

 The door opens behind him and another man steps through. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “I don’t know how people can be cannibals. The smell is awful.” He laughs, clapping your torturer on the shoulder. “Brought you some more tools.” He places more cigarette cartons in the man’s hand. You whimper involuntarily and he grins, looking down at you. 

 “Ready to make a deal, sweetheart?” He asks lightly. You spit your answer at his feet. “Perfect. I love when they scream.” He shifts your shirt, his eyes turning thoughtful. “Well, she needs to be symmetrical. Every work of art is symmetrical, and you, my friend, are nothing if not an artist.” He smirks, stepping back. 

 The shadow man lights up again, taking a couple puffs before pressing it to your skin again, this time under your opposite collarbone. 

 Another scream tears through your lips as you fight against him with his rough hands and disgusting pleasure at your pain. 

 “Oh, one last one before we call the boss in, huh?” The newcomer suggests, pulling a cigar case out of his pocket. “It’s Cuban.” He teases, holding it out like an offering. 

 The shadow man takes it with a crooked grin and snips the end, smelling it appreciatively. He lights the end and takes a big drag off it. Your heart pounds erratically in your chest. This one is so much bigger than the others, a nickel compared to a pencil eraser. 

 He bites the end between his teeth and motions to his friend for a pair of scissors. His friend pulls out a pocket knife and the fear spikes through you for real this time. You thought they just wanted to torture you into compliance, but if they were planning something worse, you couldn’t fight against them killing you. 

 He bends over in front of you, ashes falling on your thighs. He taps the sharp blade against your right thigh, and then your left, as though unable to decide. He taps your right palm, his eyes widening in mock fear. Then he taps your left palm, nicking the heel of your hand. Then he drags the tip lightly up your arm, inside your elbow, up to your shoulder.

 The blade is next to your thudding pulse and all it would take it just one quick flick and you’d be dead. 

 But instead, he drags the tip along your collarbone and down along your sternum. One thrust and it would puncture your heart. Lights out. No more Y/N. You would never be able to tell Bucky how sorry you are, or how much you love him. 

 But you saved his sister. You can rest in peace with that knowledge. 

 You close your eyes, fixing Bucky’s beautiful face in front of you so he’s the last thing you see. 

 The tip of the blade presses into your sternum, breaking through the fabric of your shirt. But instead of going further, he holds that delicate balance. 

 And then he slides the blade up, slicing through your shirt like a hot knife through butter. He yanks when it gets to the seam at the collar, clipping your chin with the end of it. 

 You yelp in surprise at not being dead and blood drips from your chin. He puffs a few more times on the cigar before spreading your ripped shirt and pressing between the valley of your breasts. 

 You scream through a sob as he burns you, holding the extinguished cigar in your wound. The door opens and the leader steps through, wiping his hands dry. 

 “How’s our guest? Ready to reconsider?” He asks pleasantly. 

 Rage makes you spiteful. You can’t wait to throw anything you can in his face. 

 “Doesn’t matter what I say. You blew your shot.” You laugh, slightly hysterical. “Barnes knows what I did. I’m never getting near that building again. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Not for you, not for the next scumbag, or the next one. You might as well just kill me. I should have told you that from the beginning.” You slump back in your seat, shivering slightly at the clammy sweat that’s broken out across your skin from the torture. 

 Oh, how you wish you’d been strong enough to tell him to fuck off from the start. You might be a day late and a dollar short, but you’ll be damned if you don’t do the right thing this time. 

 Bucky will know about his sister by now, she’ll be safe and protected, him by her side where he should be. 

 Your brother... your eyes fill reluctantly with tears as you think about your younger brother, just starting his life. He’s smart, hopefully smart enough to stay away from this mess, no matter what happens to you now. 

 “There are plenty of other people to do your job.” He snarls, reaching into his jacket. He pulls out a large silver gun, a revolver as far as you can tell. “See this?” He asks, pointing the barrel right between your eyes. You can feel the cold from the metal, just centimeters from your skin. 

 “Hard not to.” You manage.

 “It’s my favorite. Smith and Wesson’s 460XVR 45 Colt. Gonna leave a hole the size of a potato in the back of your head from this distance.” He hefts the gun experimentally and you try not to flinch, his finger too close to the trigger for comfort. He turns to look at his men. “Feels a little unsportsmanlike to shoot a girl like this, doesn’t it?”

 “A bit, boss.” 

 He turns back to me. “So, let’s play a game. I’m sure you’re familiar.” He releases the cylinder and dumps out the bullets. Your stomach flip flops uncomfortably. 

 He’s gonna drag this out as long as possible. It’s still part of the torture. He holds up one bullet and slides it in, snapping the cylinder shut as he spins it. 

 “How about it? Feel like getting my file now?” He asks, leveling the gun back at your forehead. 

 You close your eyes, picturing Bucky’s face. The way he kissed you before everything went to shit, the smile he’d save just for you. 

 The hammer clicks, but nothing happens. Empty. Tears slip out, stinging the cuts on your cheek, and you have another moment to remember how much you love Bucky Barnes. His beautiful blue eyes, his perfect lopsided smile, his laugh.

 “How about now?” The cruel voice demands. 

 You murmur Bucky’s name. A quiet prayer, something beautiful and bright among the darkness surrounding you. You can almost feel his soft hair under your fingertips as he kissed you against your front door that last night. The night he told you he loved you. 

 Click.

 Another moment spared. The man chuckles, gripping your chin tightly and your entire face throbs in pain. “Your luck is running out, little girl. Make your choice.” He snarls. 

 “I have. You lose.” You sigh, eyes still closed. “Bucky, I love you.” You barely whisper, lips moving just a fraction. You don’t say it for anyone else, just yourself. 

 Bucky will never know. You’ll die here, with him thinking you were a cold hearted bitch. And that’s okay, because you were able to give him his family back. And you can live with that. So to speak. He might never even know you’re dead. Just that you left. 

 And that’s okay, too. Better really for him to move on. 

 The cold muzzle and front sight press roughly against your forehead, tearing at the skin there. 

 “I don’t lose.” He growls. 

 There’s a loud banging noise, making you jump. The gun disappears from your face and it takes you a long second to realize you’re not dead. And then to realize there’s a violent fight progressing in front of you. 

 Slowly you open your eyes to see three familiar men fighting your three torturers. Sam is fighting the shadow man, Tony-his companion. Bucky is fighting the leader, with the gun. 

 Bucky’s metal hand is holding onto the wrist with the gun while his right hand is trying to strike at the man with a long, silver knife. The man backs up quickly, trying to stay out of the reach of the wicked knife, but he trips, falling backward and taking Bucky with him, the gun between them. 

 There’s a muffled boom, like a cannon and both men freeze on the floor. You scream for Bucky, fighting against your restraints, unable to move, unable to check on him, sobbing with fear and frustration. 

 Slowly, unsure, he lifts himself up, glancing down at his chest, hole-free. Carefully, he walks over to you, kneeling in front of you as both Sam and Tony subdue their adversaries. 

 He’s okay. He’s alive. 

 He cups your face gently, like he’s cradling a delicate bubble. Carefully, softly, he brushes away your tears before cutting your wrists free. His eyes linger on the burns, a dozen on each arm and you pull them back from his inspection. The movement hurts, but no worse than seeing his face, knowing what he must think of you. 

 “Why are you here?” You ask quietly. 

 “I thought I made myself pretty clear.” He frowns. “I distinctly remember saying I love you.” He smiles gently. 

 “You’re supposed to be with your sister. She needs you.” You protest. “You’re not... you shouldn’t... not after what I did. I’m not...” you trail off, your throat tight as a tidal wave of emotions crash over you. 

 “Sh, sh, sh. It’s okay. We can talk about this later. We need to get you looked at.” He shakes his head. He holds out his hand for me to take, but you can’t bear it, so you use the arms of the chair to push yourself up. You sway on the spot, your body aching, dizzy with pain. 

 Bucky catches you before you can fall, lifting you gently, holding you against his broad chest. You close your eyes, trying to fight the tears as he carries you out of the building behind his two friends. Sam and Tony are leading our their prisoners, taking a certain amount of pleasure each time they trip. 

 “You needed me more.” He whispers after a minute. 

 “What?” You frown.

 “You said Becky needed me. But you needed me more.” His eyes drop to your neck, the burns there and your split shirt. A growl rumbles low in his chest and he shifts you closer. 

 He sets you carefully in the back seat, climbing in next to you. He pulls you against his side and you resist slightly, feeling guilty. You were cruel to him. He shouldn’t just forgive you, not like that. You betrayed his trust, took his heart and threw it back in his face. You don’t deserve him, his love, his comfort, or his forgiveness. 

 “Y/N?” He starts quietly as Sam and Tony cram the two men into the trunk, lingering behind the car. Probably to give you some privacy. 

 “How can you stand to be near me? After what I said to you... you should’ve just let me...” you squeeze your eyes shut, so you miss him flinch. 

 “At first, I was just gonna pretend you did. But then Tony found out what you did to the file. He’s the one who figured it out, what was really going on. And then Becky called. She really likes you.” He says with a fond smile. “We were already on our way to Florida to get you. I’m sorry we were almost too late.” He whispers, his thumb brushing your cheek again. 

 “How did you find me?” You ask, anything to keep him talking. 

 “Tony found out where they had taken you and got into the camera system. We tuned in just in time to see the cigarettes...” his jaw locks shut for a moment and you can feel him struggling. “I nearly lost my mind when he pulled out the gun.”

 Sam and Tony climb back in,  effectively cutting off your conversation. Bucky tries one more time to hold you, but you can’t let him. The image of his face as he left your motel room haunts you. 

 You don’t deserve him, no matter your reasons for doing what you did. There’s a special place in hell for hurting someone as good as Bucky. 

 “Samuel, to the airport, please.” Tony says pompously. He flips down his visor and catches your eye, smiling. “Do you drive in Florida a lot?” He asks randomly. 

 “I grew up here.”

 “How did you survive? The roads down here are insane.”

 “Says the guy who lives in the city with some of the worst drivers in the world.” You return, your heart not really into the banter. 

 “Your brother’s safe.” Bucky mumbles, his hand twitching towards you. “We alerted the police.”

 You glance back at him and nod before turning to look out the window. You just need a minute alone, to think, to process, to cry. You need to figure out what to say to Bucky so he can see that he needs to leave. 

 ***

 The jet isn’t spacious enough to give you space, and they never leave your side at the airport. 

 Bucky sits next to you on the plane, keeping you far from the two men. That’s easy, you want to be around them just as much as he wants you around them. 

 You can feel him staring at you, the words bubbling up to your memory easily, but you don’t want to say them. 

 The plane lands at JFK and he sighs softly, helping you stand. He leads you out to one of the two waiting cars. You glance back at Tony and Sam, but they’re already getting into the other car with their prisoners. 

 “Guess you’re stuck with me.” Bucky says off-handedly. 

 “Other way around.” You say, climbing in. You start to pull the door closed but he catches it easily. 

 “Y/N. I know why you did what you did. I know it wasn’t your fault, or your choice. I can’t imagine what you went through, being forced to do all that. Because I know how you really feel. And right now, yeah, you feel like shit. It’s understandable. And that’s okay. Because I’m gonna be here to help you through it. When the nightmares start, and the panic attacks, and when you feel like you can’t stand under the weight of it all. I’m gonna be here. Because I do love you. And you might not be ready to forgive yourself yet. But I am.” He cups your face, swiping away your tears. 

 “You can’t.” You manage, trying to catch your breath. “Don’t you understand? If it happened once, it can happen again. I’m a liability to you, to Tony, to what you do.”

 “Bullshit. Because next time, you’re just gonna come to me and trust me to keep everyone safe. Do you even understand the amount of people at my disposal? I can call on fifty men right now to go sit on my sister’s place. And another hundred to protect your brother. And still have plenty to protect you.” His hands trail down your neck and his shoulders visibly tense. “I need to get you checked out. Then I can breathe.” He mutters, backing away and shutting your door. He walks around and climbs in next to you, taking your hand. The car starts moving and you stare at him, feeling a bit of wonder at this man. 

 “What?” He asks, a small smile on his face. 

 “You know it’s not because I didn’t trust you, right? There’s nobody I’d trust more.”

 “So, why not come to me?” He frowns. 

 “I was afraid. I was afraid for my brother, for your sister, for you. Bucky, you’ve tried to hard to shed your past, to stop all the hurt and nightmares that Hydra caused. I didn’t want to start that cycle again. You’re so good, you deserve so much. And I hate myself for what I said to you, I truly do. But I couldn’t put you in that position to be used again.”

 “Sweetheart, I would go through all of that just to have you by me again.”

 “You’re certifiable.” You mutter, turning to lean back against him. He wraps his arm around you, under your arms so he doesn’t hurt you, but otherwise remains silent. 

 ***

 There’s a knock on the med room door, and you look up from your crossword puzzle to see Bucky poke his head in. 

 “Aren’t you sick of me yet?” You sigh, setting your book and pen on the side table. 

 “Nope. So, it looks like you’re free to go.” He says happily, rocking back on his heels.

 “I am?” You ask, surprised. 

 “Yup, they said there’s no infections in your burns, and the hairline fracture in your cheekbone healed just fine.” He smiles, crossing the room. 

 You frown as reality settles over you. “Um,” you drop your gaze to your lap.

 “What is it?” He takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

 It’ll be fine. Tony has given you the best security around. Your apartment is safe. “Nothing. Just dawned on me that you won’t be right down the hall anymore.” You shrug. 

 He grins. “You love me.”

 “You’re an idiot.” You roll your eyes. 

 “True.” He lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing it and inhaling deeply. “Whenever you’re ready, I can take you home.” He promises. 

 “Right.” You let his play with your fingers for a little longer, procrastinating to the fullest extent. “How’s your sister?” You ask and he smiles. 

 “She’s good. Demanding that I bring you to dinner.” His grin widens, as his nose skims along the soft flesh of your wrist. “Threatened to disown me if I didn’t. Apparently, you made quite the impression.”

 “I’m happy to go, with or without you.” You tease and he laughs. 

 “I’m not surprised.” He kisses the back of your hand one more time before setting it on your leg. “Go get dressed, doll. I’ll be right here.” He says.

 You sigh dramatically and swing your feet over the edge of the bed. You can do this. It’ll be okay. 

 ***

 The creaking of the elevator sets your nerves on fire. You clench your jaw as the numbers climb. Only Bucky’s hand in yours keeps you from hyperventilating all together. 

 You can do this. You’re an adult. 

 Bucky unlocks your door for you, holding it open for you to step inside. You hesitate for a moment and his smile tightens. He steps inside first, walking through and opening doors. He makes quick work of checking your whole apartment before coming back to you. 

 “Clear.” He promises. 

 Your vision gets blurry, but you fight the tears, forcing yourself to step across the threshold. How can you trust this place? How can this be home ever again?

 “Let me show you the security system. I know Tony explained it, but it’s a lot to take in.” He says, wrapping you in his big arms. 

 “I’ll say.” Your forehead furrows together. 

 “He wanted you to be safe.” He turns you to the front door. “This camera allows you to see who’s outside. But, it has a camera facing inside, too. You can control that from your phone, so you can see if anyone has broken in.” He explains quietly, burying his nose in your hair. “There’s a panic button in each room. You hit that button and help is on the way.” 

 Bucky takes you through the apartment, showing you exactly how safe Tony has made it for you. And it helps... a bit. 

 But really, what you see is the kitchen chair you were tied to while people you care about were threatened. 

 However, Stark went to a lot of effort. And you know if you don’t at least give it a go, he’s going to whine and complain. 

 Bucky finished his tour back at the front door. This doesn’t feel right. You frown. 

 “Did you wanna stay? I can make dinner.” You offer hopefully. 

 “Sorry, doll. We have a mission.” He says, pulling you close. “I’ll come see you when I get back, okay?”

 You nod, heart sinking. “Stay safe.” You mumble and he gently puts his finger under your chin, tilting your face up. 

 “Can I please, pretty please, have a smile? I need to see it.” He begs and despite how hard you want to resist, you can’t. 

 The corners of your mouth tug up and ride even further in response to his own teasing smile. 

 “There she is.” He sighs happily. “I love you so much. I’ll call you later.” He kisses you slowly, pulling you closer until he breaks away, his eyes slightly unfocused. 

 “Sure you can’t stay?” You sigh. 

 He chuckles. “Positive. I can’t miss this one.” He backs up to the door, holding your hand, unwilling to let go. 

 “You’re not leaving.” You remind him, secretly happy that it’s as hard for him as it is for you.

 “I’m not? Feels like I have already.” He grins. 

 “I love you.” You mumble softly, trying to force the tears to stay in the back where they belong, at least until he leaves. 

 “Just what I needed to hear.” He smiles. 

 You roll your watery eyes and push him out into the hallway. “I don’t need Tony any angrier at me than he already is.” You stick your tongue out and shut the door in his face. Otherwise you’d never be able to let him go. 

 He knocks on the door and you press the speaker. “Go away.”

 “I miss you already.” He says.

 “Don’t make me call Sam.” 

 You can hear his answering laugh and then his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

 You can do this. You have Bucky. Everything else will get better with time, and help, and support. 

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[meltwonu]

| 🎃 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖍 🎃 |

↪ ✦ bitch ✦

this chapter pairing; warlock!seungkwan x witch!reader

genre&warnings; warlock!seungkwan, witch!reader, enemies!au(not hate fucking tho), hallucinations/tripping, high sex, cockwarming, overstimulation, forced orgasm, the smallest bit of switch!seungkwan, dirty talk 🥴

notes; it’s the way the draft for this chapter was completely different for me 🤪 He was a lot meaner in the draft but my natural thought was like HE WOULDNT BE THAT MEAN 😩😩 lmao fjkhkfh also can we just have a laugh at the fact seungkwan was doing a we remember kpop vlive and todays his monster mash fic day? thank u sir for all the content 🤣💕 As always, thank you for your interest with Monster Mash~ 3 chapters left! Say a prayer that maybe drunk me will post the last three in order!!! Have a great weekend! Be safe!! I love you!!! 💕 👻 🎃 

word count; ~1700

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - x - x - x

we do things a different way;

it’s up to you and it’s up to me

i’m your bitch, you’re my bitch!

boom, boom!

You hurry down the dirt path towards the small home where you knew Seungkwan would be; adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Of course this would happen.

You let out a frustrated noise, hoping that you were right in assuming Seungkwan had taken the spell book from your own home; there was no time to waste if your assumptions were wrong.

“That fucking bastard, I swear when I get my hands on him!” Mumbling angrily, you enter the clearing in front of his small abode; hands balled up into fists at your sides.

In fairness, part of it was probably your fault for leaving the spell book unattended and without a protection spell to keep it safe, but also, you’d only been gone for about ten minutes.

Unfortunately, that’d been enough time for Seungkwan to sneak in and take the book for himself.

You’d known Seungkwan for a while now and you’d even go so far as to say from your early teens. He was always using his magic for silly pranks and while he’d never done anything harmful with his magic yet, there were definitely spells in your spell book that could be used for harm if in the wrong hands.

You march up to his door, forcing it open as you storm in.

“Where the fuck are you, Seungkwan!?”

Scanning the small space, you walk around, no sign of the male anywhere in sight. You head up the small set of stairs to the second floor; noting one of the two doors was cracked open slightly with light coming from inside.

You all but sprint towards it, flinging the door open as you find Seungkwan holding a vial of liquid with the spell book open in front of him on the table. “You son of a bitch, Seungkwan!”

“Hey, wait, don’t----”

You slap the vial out of his hands as it knocks another one off of the table, plumes of purple and red smoke filling the air as the two of you start to cough violently. “Fuck, why did you do that!?” He shouts, trying to cover his mouth and nose from the odd smelling smoke.

“What the hell are you trying to do!?” You scream back, eyes watering as you, too, try to cover your mouth and nose.

“Fuck!” His fingertips wrap around your wrist as he tugs hard, pulling you out of the room and into the one directly across from it. He slams the door once the two of you are inside, coughs and gags filling up the space.

“Seungkwan, what---what the hell!? What was t-that!?” You shoot him an incredulous look, brows furrowed when he starts to look a little weird in your eyes.

Did Seungkwan always have four eyes? Or was it eight?

“Damn it!” Seungkwan mutters, sitting down on the bed in the middle of the room. “It was just one of your stupid illusion spells, okay? And maybe if you didn’t slap the damn vial out of my hands and make it knock off whatever god knows was in that other vial, I wouldn’t be seeing two of you right now!”

“Wait? You’re----You’re seeing t-things too?”

“Well, duh. I mean I don’t think it’s supposed to be quite like this but then again neither of the liquids in those vials were meant to mix on the floor either.”

You stumble over to the bed where Seungkwan sits, mouth hanging open as you stop in front of him. Leaning down, you stop until you’re face to face with him, shaky fingers reaching out to touch his cheeks where his other two eyes seemed to be.

“You have, um, four eyes?” You whisper.

“Oh, god. What did those vials do.” Groaning, he flops back onto the bed. “I don’t know what the hell that mixture is doing but it’s not good.”

You sit on the bed next to him, throat oddly dry.

There’s a weird warmness that floods your senses at the same time the room starts to shift; body swaying slightly as you let out a soft moan.

“Seungkwan, there’s s-something weird h-happening…”

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re feeling it too…”

There’s two things you always promised yourself.

One: Keep the spell book safe.

Two: Don’t fuck Seungkwan. Even if you thought he was really handsome.

“Stop moving, damn it.” Seungkwan growls; hands on your hip as he keeps you in place. You drool slightly in response, head rolling and blown out pupils finding it hard to focus on the male when he had two heads. “M-me? You’re the one who w-won’t stop moving!”

You sit in Seungkwan’s lap, his cock snug inside of your pussy. His lap is exorbitantly covered in your wetness as the two of you stay unmoving; accusing each other of moving every few minutes. Or so what you both thought.

God only knew how much time had already passed.

Blinking slowly, you convince yourself you’re as still as a stone; soft giggles spilling from your lips. “What---what the hell are you laughing at?” Seungkwan mumbles, pupils shaking as he tries to focus on your swaying body.

“I’m---I’m suuuuuper still right now. Can’t you tell?”

“No, you literally w-won’t stop moving. How many times am I going to say i-it?”

Groaning in response, you swivel your hips slightly, “No, see idiot, that was me moving!” Seungkwan’s already overly sensitive; moans spilling from his lips at the simple movement.

“This is the worst, I can’t believe you’re sitting on my cock like this right now. I mean you’re hot, yeah, but fuck.”

“Wow, thanks Seungkwan, that made me feel great.”

The two of you fall into a somewhat comfortable silence and you find yourself slowly leaning down until your head rests against his shoulder. You can’t stop the drool that pools on his skin underneath your mouth; eyes focused on the wall that seems to warp endlessly.

“Seungkwan…”

“Hmm?”

“I think I want to cum.”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“Okay.”

You lift your head from his shoulder, a trail of saliva connecting your mouth to his skin making you laugh. “Oops.”

Seungkwan’s blunt nails dig into the skin of your waist, mouth parted slightly. “Didn’t even have to do anything and you’re already gonna cum, huh?” You reach a hand down between your bodies, a shocked expression on your face when you feel just how wet you really were. “I’m---s-soaking…”

“I can tell.”

Your fingers rub circles on your clit, loud moans and whines falling from your lips at the way your body is already on the edge of an orgasm. “Ngh, ‘m already c-close…” Your eyes clamp shut as you start swiveling your hips; odd patterns dancing behind your eyelids as you start to feel the tension snap.

“Ah, Seungkwan!”

He feels your walls fluttering around him and despite him trying to resist all of his urges, he can’t deny the way he wants to press you into the sheets underneath him.

So much for self control, he thinks.

It only takes a split second before Seungkwan is using all of his strength to reverse your positions as your back meets the bedsheets. You let out a choked sob as the pleasure continues to wash over you and Seungkwan starts to chase his own pleasure as he starts fucking you.

The sound of your wetness makes you blush a little as Seungkwan chuckles under his breath. “Don’t worry, I know this isn’t all my doing. I’m not that big of a jackass.” You open your bleary eyes; attempting to focus on Seungkwan as the ceiling behind him turns into a black hole. “Uh---uh huh…”

The remnants of your orgasm start to ebb away and you honestly can't even tell when your fingers went still on your clit, but you close your eyes, moving your hands to his forearms. “You okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, s’just everything’s f-fuzzy and--and it feels like I’m f-falling…”

Seungkwan fucks into you faster, brows furrowed. “Shit, I--I’m already close t-too.”

A weird wave of emotions wash over you and you find yourself oddly wanting to dominate Seungkwan. “Yeah? Gonna cum? You get to fuck my pussy for what, 2 seconds, and you’re already close? You’re so weak, baby boy. But okay, go ahead.”

You laugh deliriously, nails digging into the skin of his forearms as he lets out a choked sob. “Ah, ‘m s-sorry, I just--I can’t help i-it…” He whines, overcome with an odd feeling, himself.

“I know you can’t help it, baby boy. You’re just so easy.”

His moans become breathy and he finds himself mentally trying to fight off the way he wants you to keep talking to him.

Seungkwan bites his lip, growling. “Fuck!” His hips piston into you, cock throbbing as he finally cums. The feeling makes you moan and Seungkwan quickly finds himself annoyed almost as quickly as he felt himself wanting to submit to you.

He places his thumb on your clit as his orgasm washes over him, rubbing harsh circles on the nub as your back bows off the bed and his hips stutter.

“Ah, S-Seungkwan, wa---wait, I--I can’t, I’m t-too sensitive…” You mewl, thighs shaking as the sting of overstimulation starts to bleed into pleasure quicker than you can process.

“Don’t care, you’re gonna cum again. I know you want to.”

And you hate how right he is.

Your choked cries mix with his sultry groans and when your second orgasm hits you, it feels like it lasts forever.

You can only assume that Seungkwan feels exactly what you’re feeling.

It takes a second for your body to finally go slack and your chest heaves in deep breaths. “O-oh my… g-god…” 

Seungkwan groans, pulling out of you as he lays down next to you in bed, completely spent as the room continues to spin. “It feels like I’m falling but I’m--I’m not...” He whispers. Your thighs continue to tremble even when you sit up, slumping forward slightly as you gain some of your senses back.

You turn to Seungkwan, watching as he starts to get overcome with the desire to sleep. 

“Are you tired, Seungkwan?” He only nods once, eyes already closing as he gives in. 

“I jus’ needa s-sleep for--for one minute...” Seungkwan mumbles. 

You had to get the book before he got up. 

Whether or not your body wanted to cooperate.

When Seungkwan wakes up, he doesn’t know how long it’s been.

His head is pounding and he’s naked is all he knows. 

“What... happened?” He whispers to himself; eyes dancing over to the window. 

It was still night time.... 

...Ah, shit! The book!

Seungkwan gets up from the bed, tripping over his own feet as he all but rips the door open to find the door to his study still open. He sighs frustratedly, turning back to get dressed before he assessed the situation.

Clearly, the two of you had experienced something bizarre together. That was for sure. 

Once he gets his clothes back on, he heads over to his study, already noticing that some of the things on his shelves were gone. He groans, knowing you’d taken important ingredients that it’d taken him weeks to collect.

A small note sits on his table, held down by a small dagger and he leans in close to read what it says; rolling his eyes almost immediately.

“An eye for an eye, bitch! x” 

[toaarcan]

One ship exposes everything wrong with TRoS

Heaven help me, I’m back on my bullshit.

Alright, so, I enjoyed The Rise of Skywalker when I watched it. I actually watched it twice, once on my own when I rushed to see it as soon as possible in order to beat spoilers, and once with my family, in what was a semi-annual new year tradition for us during those four years that a Star Wars film released.

But that doesn’t mean it was good. I enjoyed Transformers: Dark of the Moon the first time I watched it, and that movie’s still a steaming pile of shit. I was admittedly fifteen when I saw DotM, but still. 

My point is that I’m fully capable of enjoying crappy films.

But there’s one thing, one thing about TRoS that exemplifies so many of the problems with TRoS as a whole, if not everything (And by that I mean with TRoS specifically, the woeful treatment of John Boyega and Kelly Marie Tran is a Whole Trilogy Problem). And it’s a ship. Specifically this ship.

The Resistance Y-Wing. I hate this ship with the fiery passion of an exploding star, and to talk about why, we need to first go back to The Last Jedi and its conspicuous lack of Y-Wings.

One of the things that I disliked most about the Sequels before TRoS put all the other problems into stark light was the lack of new ships. Instead of new vehicles, we got shinier, sleeker versions of the ships from the original trilogy. And I disliked this because it’s the opposite of what the Prequels did.

Episodes I-III don’t feature more primitive versions of the X-Wing and TIE Fighter, but instead have similar vehicles that evoke the classics while still having an identity of their own.

The ARC-170 looks kinda like an X-Wing, but it’s bigger and has more weapons and crew, and you get why the well-funded Republic can afford things like this while the scrappy Rebels can’t.

The Eta-2 is a predecessor to the TIE Fighter, but it being employed exclusively by Jedi makes a lot of sense, of course a precognitive wizard with superhuman reflexes can do well in a light, unshielded ship, while in the hands of the Empire’s military they’re just expendable swarm fighters.

But then in the Sequels, rather than evolve the ships into new forms, they just made new incarnations of the X-Wing, TIE Fighter, A-Wing, TIE Interceptor, B-Wing, and of course the Y-Wing.

Well, except for one movie: The Last Jedi.

At the outset of the film, we’re introduced to this ship.

This is the MG-100 StarFortress, AKA “That ship all the Star Wars Youtubers hate”. It’s designed to be a much heavier and bulkier version of the B-Wing Starfighter, and is even made by the same people.

From questions about how the bombs “fall” toward the Dreadnought (The answer is magnets) to claims that they’re completely useless because most of the ones in the film died so easily, these things have been put through the wringer by the fandom, and honestly they don’t deserve it? What destroyed the StarFortresses in the film wasn’t their own weaknesses, but them being deployed in too tight a formation. It was a tactical fuckup, not a problem with the ship’s design.

And given that the whole point of the battle over D’Qar is that Poe makes a tactical fuckup to kickstart his development into the new leader of the Resistance as a whole, adding another layer makes sense to me.

But we live in a post-CinemaSins world of media consumption, where every plot-point that isn’t spelled out with a flowchart and an audio commentary by the writers is actually a plothole. 

We also live in an era where Star Wars fans pine for the days of the Legends canon where everything about new ships, species, and worlds was explained in background lore and books, and are angry that the new Canon is... doing exactly the same thing?

Seriously, how much exposition and lore dumping is actually present in any of the Star Wars films? Not a whole lot. And that applies to all three eras. 

So the StarFortress’ appearance in the film and the lack of Y-Wings led to a bevy of armchair writers demanding to know why the Resistance weren’t using Y-Wings and why they were using those “Resistance Bombers” that are just ‘terrible’.

Answer? Because the Y-Wings sucked shit.

Seriously, go back to the Original Trilogy and try to keep track of the Y-Wings, and see what they actually do, and you’ll find that what they do is “Explode, mostly.”

We’re first introduced to the Y-Wings in A New Hope, and they’re supposed to be the ones performing the Trench Run while the X-Wings cover them, and to their credit, they try.

And then they all get blown up by Vader and his wingmen before they can even take a shot at the exhaust port. Well, except that one that appears with the rebel ships flying away from the Death Star.

Where the fuck were you when the X-Wings were doing the attack run?

The Y-Wings got absolutely wrecked.

Ancillary media would go on to explain that the Y-Wings were beat-up old vehicles that were no longer fit for purpose, but the Rebels had to use them anyway because they had basically no money. They’d stripped down the ships and removed a bunch of their more costly features just to make them viable, and the results of that were pretty clear.

Of course, the Y-Wings were still present in the later films. They don’t do anything in The Empire Strikes Back, but they play a role in Return of the Jedi.

Naturally, that role is mostly “Get blown up while the other ships do the important stuff”.

Despite supposedly being a fighter-bomber that was designed to do significant damage to capital ships, does the Y-Wing play a role in the destruction of the Executor? Does it fuck. Destroying the Imperial flagship’s deflector shields and the subsequent suicidal ram attack on the bridge are tasks that are both performed by the goddamn A-Wings. Y’know, the light interceptors?

The Y-Wings get shown up at their own job by the ships that are there to protect them from TIE Fighters.

Ancillary media again explains why they’re still there. While the Rebels have a newer, better fighter-bomber in the B-Wing, the B-Wing is expensive as fuck and also really difficult to fly. 

A non-centreline cockpit that rotates will do that to a ship.

Still, the B-Wing was a better bomber than the Y-Wing ever was (And the StarFortress was better than them both at that role).

All this adds up to a simple fact: There were very good reasons why the Resistance weren’t using Y-Wings. And there were even reasonable reasons to choose the StarFortress compared to the B-Wing itself, given that the Resistance are still undermanned and under-funded, especially with the New Republic getting nuked midway through The Force Awakens. It being easier to fly and having more armaments would have made it a viable choice for the Resistance.

Buuuut oops, people didn’t like the StarFortress and we can’t make the Internet angry at us again! Better put the Y-Wings back in for Episode IX, and show them destroying a Xyston-class Destroyer, that’ll make them happy!

And sure, okay, giving the Resistance a fighter/bomber is probably a good idea. And they already have New X-Wings and New A-Wings, so where’s the harm in a New Y-Wing?

Alright, alright, sure. But why the fuck does it look like this?

If this is a new ship, why is it already stripped-down like the ones in the Original Trilogy? Why doesn’t it look like the actual brand-new Y-Wings we saw in The Clone Wars? 

Now that’s more like it. Still visibly a Y-Wing, but with more of an identity of its own. 

Seriously, “Literally the same ship but without its armour pulled off” has more of a unique identity than the crowd-pleasing New Y-Wing.

And that, in and of itself, is the essence of The Rise of Skywalker.

It’s blind, empty fanservice, rushing to include as much nostalgia-pandering as possible to try and get the fanbase back on-side after The Last Jedi didn’t do what the fanboys wanted it to do.

This is a whole near- three hour movie whose only message is “Yes, Youtubers making TFA critiques longer than an entire season of TCW, we hear you, we’ll make it for you, please love us!”

And, almost entirely predictably, it was shite.

It was riddled with plotholes and none of the scenes had any time to breathe because the movie was too desperately trying to rush itself to the next crowd-pleasing scene in a desperate attempt to wank off as many disgruntled fanboys as it possibly could.

Luke with his green saber! Jedi Leia! Chewie gets a medal! Lando! Luke raises his X-Wing out of the water! The main villain is a testicle in a bathrobe again! Snork origin! Original-flavour Star Destroyers! Rose doesn’t exist! Rey had a super-special secret magical bloodline the whole time and Luke and Leia totally knew even though Luke has literally no idea who she is in Episode VIII! Luke actually was just afraid of the bad guys in Episode VII, none of that self-imposed exile for his own mistakes nonsense! Y-Wings.

I mean fuck. Disagree with Luke’s portrayal in TLJ all you like, I certainly have my issues with it, but I lay those at the feet of JJ for making Luke’s absence into one of his fucking Mystery Boxes, and then deciding that, even though last time Luke sensed Leia and Han might be in danger, he abandoned his Jedi training, hopped in an X-Wing, and flew halfway across the galaxy to try and save them, he wouldn’t do shit when the First Order pointed a star-powered System-Killer 9000 at Leia, and Han got himself killed trying to redeem Kyle Ron. Like how in fuck was Rian supposed to explain Luke’s inaction in VII?

But regardless of the problems with that Luke portrayal, at least Mark Hamill gave it his all. Hell, it might be his best performance in the Star Wars franchise!

 In TRoS, he shows up in a bad wig, waves a middle finger at TLJ, and ascends to his final form as a Lightsaber Delivery Boy, because apparently all you need to kill a Sith who literally clawed his way back from death is two lightsabers. Haunting Kyle Ron? Nope. Providing guidance as a ghost? Not really.

And y’know what the kicker is? It didn’t fucking work. Lucasfilm and Disney fucking gutted this trilogy, sliced out the integrity, surgically removed the soul of Episode IX in a desperate effort to make the Internet’s most unpleasable fanbase happy, and it didn’t work. They still hate it! Now they just concoct hour-long videos about how much they would’ve preferred to have the Trevorrow script (Which is admittedly much better, albeit still with it’s far share of giant flaws), which was probably thrown out because it wasn’t fanservicey enough!

The Rise of Skywalker is an awful film. It’s a loose collection of nostalgia-baiting moments, roughly stapled together around the skeleton of a plot that was never properly developed. It’s a Frankenstein’s Monster of a movie, but, and I say this with full offense, the Victor Frankenstein in this tragic story isn’t Lucasfilm or Disney or Kathleen Kennedy or Rian Johnson, or even JJ Abrams. It’s you, Star Wars Fandom. It is your monster. 

[abiteofnat]

If you’re reading this, I’m coming back to Chicago, beetch

The non-existent rumors are true. After a brief 10-month exit from the city to soak up the fresh air and social distance-friendly suburbs, I am now returning to Chicago as a single, slightly more anxious version of myself. While I’m still trying to kick some of the anxiety and OCD that COVID-19 pushed from “lifelong tagalongs” to “all-controlling demons”, I feel 97% ready to be back where I feel most myself, and cannot wait to welcome that change. While that 3% still makes me a little uncomfy and hesitant, I’m a believer in pushing your boundaries to allow yourself to grow, and also, I am really sick of suburbs food. 

Ha! I joke. I wouldn’t move downtown simply for access to more diverse & higher quality food... or would I? All I know is while there are plenty of gems in the North Shore, I’ve eaten take out from all of them ten times over, and I did not foster my dislike of cooking out of nowhere. My parents do not enjoy cooking, my sister pretends to enjoy cooking, and I will cook if it is 5 ingredients or less. My latest speciality is a toasted bagel with butter, hummus, and EBTB seasoning. Voila. So when it comes to dinner, we are living off of a carousel of suburban favorites, and are losing steam as we are still not comfortable with dining inside (or dining inside in the city, where the fun food is). 

All of this to say, it’s exciting to imagine what life is going to be like in a few short weeks. While I’m still extra precautionary, I can’t wait to have my own space downtown, where I can enjoy coffee on my little balcony (!!!) and dream of the days friends can come squeeze into my studio safely while I lay out an entire table of sharable spreads and snacks from Ema (Charred Eggplant Spread is the best one, don’t fight me). 

So you may ask, how did you come to this decision to move to the heart of downtown out of seemingly nowhere, you hermit? 

It starts with my mom and I having a brief, simultaneous breakdown and coming to the conclusion that we would both feel comfortable doing a staycation downtown, as long as we wore masks, sanitized always, and braved the cold to eat outside. This was big for me! As a person with real OCD, not cute TV show “I have to keep my pens straight” OCD, this would be the most exposure I’d had to a lot of uncontrollable variables since the pandemic started. If you’re thinking, “you get to spend a weekend downtown in a hotel with your mom, shut up”, know that I hear you. I am unbelievably grateful that I’ve gotten this time with my parents, and that we can do a staycation. However, having anxiety comes at a cost, and that cost is blowing everything way the fuck out of proportion instead of being able to rationalize it sometimes. Let’s! Normalize! Having! This! Discussion!

So, we went downtown in early March for a two-night stay, and oh my goodness. The realization that we got to be in a different space, and do different things, and eat different food for a weekend made it feel like a legit vacation, and not like we drove 30 minutes to get there. The view from our room was of Michigan Ave, and hearing the traffic and seeing the people out and about instantly made me feel a sense of peace I wasn’t expecting. I’ve lived downtown for 6 years, but it always shocks me how much the city feels like an extension of me once I’m in it after being away. My mom and I went out for a walk (gentle yet forceful reminder to please wear a mask), then decided to grab dinner while we were out. The plan was to bring it back to the room, but there was a warm spell, and there just happened to be a table for two at Topolobampo on Clark, and suddenly we were sitting on the patio under the lights eating masa quesadillas dipped in a spicy salsa verde. It just happened!!! 

Before getting downtown, I was tentatively looking at apartments for the spring. I was looking at Lincoln Park, Old Town, maybe Lakeview, and came across a listing in the Gold Cost that caught my eye. That one was swiped out from under me within days, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the area. Then I discovered another unit that was available, and couldn’t shake it from my mind. Over mushroom tacos I discussed it with my mom, and we decided to go see it. Totally not what I had been planning for in terms of location, but why not? 

Once we polished off breakfast the next morning (Eggs Benedict with fried eggs, extra hollandaise) we headed out to see the place. Let me say I have never seen my mom fall in love with a single apartment I’ve lived in, and she was ALL. FOR. IT. Unreal reaction on her part. Once I saw the west-facing views and the incredible natural lighting, I was 100% in as well.

We spent the rest of the weekend wandering the downtown area, enjoying another dinner outside at The Gwen and my mom’s first visit to the Starbucks Reserve Roastery, which was 95% more empty than I’ve ever seen it given we went in a pandemic at 8:30PM. Shit on Starbucks all you want, but that Roastery is an incredible use of space (in non-pandemic times) and the coffee & Princi pastries are really, really good. 

When we got back home feeling refreshed and like we had actually gone on a vacation, I jumped into apartment shark mode real fast and signed as many documents as the very kind realtor could send over. One week later, whabaam, I was a Gold Coast girl. Ahem, *lady*. What better way to celebrate than going to Somerset and having the Rapini & Roasted Garlic Flatbread and Wild Mushroom Risotto? No clue. As I sat outside, yet again with my mom, I felt a wave of excitement come over me and realized, this is it. This is the sign and feeling I’ve been waiting for, telling me it’s time to move back to the city and start over. The creamy, herbacious risotto also helped solidify that. 

SO. After all of that, the news is I’m moving, and you’re probably wondering why I shared all of this on a blog about food. I meant for this post to be about everywhere I ate during my staycation, but realized quickly we ate at some very basic places - DELICIOUS, but still basic. Oops. Below are all the dishes I had and a rundown of the flavors, textures, etc., however don’t expect to find any new, revolutionary restaurants. Sorry! 

1. Topolobampo 

This Rick Bayless restaurant has been around forever, and unfortunately, you can tell by the interior. We’ve eaten here as a family a couple of times before, but never had a noteworthy experience. I can confirm that in a pinch, the patio covered in fun lights & mini piñatas, and the sharable, filling bites will do just fine. This was my first time going to a Mexican restaurant as a non-alcohol drinker, and instead of my typical mezcal margarita, I opted for a Fresh Limeaide which was refreshing and flavorful. We split the Guacamole and Chips, which if you’ve ever stopped at the Frontera in O’Hare, you know is good as fuck. It’s smooth, creamy, tangy, and topped with chopped onions and cilantro for a little crunch. It’s not the most life-changing, but it is consistently satisfying. Next, we got the Mushroom Tacos and Masa Quesadillas. The Masa Quesadillas were a fun surprise, as instead of a tortilla, the masa is what makes up the outside. They are almost like empanadas and stuffed with gooey, melty cheese, and come with a spicy salsa verde on the side. I would come back for these alone - they’re rich yet light, warm, and comforting, all the things you would want when dining outside when it’s still a little chilly. The Mushroom Tacos were quite frankly unreal, because whatever they seasoned the mushroom slices with and grilled them on made them taste unlike any mushroom I’ve had before. There was definitely some meat crossover on the grill, so don’t order those if you’re vegan, or ask them to prepare the mushroom separately. I however was LOSING MY MIND. Over mushrooms. The joys of being vegetarian! 

2. The Gwen

On a happening Saturday night in Chicago, Upstairs at The Gwen is sure to be a packed scene. Located in River North, this hotel bar/restaurant offers a somehow cozy rooftop filled with loungey couches, fire pits, and ambient lighting, even though you’re surrounded by apartments and skyscrapers and there is nothing “cozy” about River North. Every table was filled, yet since you’re outside and it’s fairy spread apart, it still felt safe. I got my new classic, a Lemonade, and we got the Burrata to start. With sourdough, roasted beets, squash, pomegranate, pistachio, & arugula, this plate was nothing short of mouth-watering. It has textures! It has flavors! It has pomegranate seeds, the TikTok must have of the moment! The bread was 10/10, the burrata was 8/10, and all of the toppings made for a very find bite of salad on their own. For my main I got the Lobster Fettucine, a beautiful bowl of “charcoal fettuccine with saffron-tomato sauce, lobster, calabrian chili butter, and basil-brioche crumbs” as listed on their website. Take any of those ingredients and it’s going to be delicious, but all of them TOGETHER? INCREDIBLE. The chunks of lobster were huge, absolutely making the dish worth its price tag, and the sauce was flavorful, unique, and unlike any sauce I’ve tasted in the last few years. It’s typical to do a squid ink pasta with seafood and tomato sauce, but the saffron added a new element I very much appreciated. 

3. The Starbucks Roastery 

I KNOW. THIS IS A TOURIST DESTINATION. All I am saying is if there’s no line, go get an iced latte with two packets of sugar in the raw. That’s all. It’s really good after something like, I don’t know, Lobster Fettucine. 

4. The Penninsula 

You cannot go wrong with hitting up The Penninsula for breakfast or brunch, especially if you are staying there and have the option to do room service. Typically we would go to Pierrot Gourmet, the cafe in the ground floor of The Penninsula, however it has been closed temporarily. If there’s one thing to order with your breakfast, it’s the smashed fingerling potatoes. Delish. 

5. Somerset 

Somerset is becoming a quick go-to of mine for an impromptu dinner downtown, given it’s in the heart of Gold Coast and is cute if you’re sitting indoors or outdoors. The food is nothing too innovative, but it is done well, which is the most important part with “cuter” restaurants that may focus on the Instagram appeal over the food sometimes. Each time I’ve gone I’ve gotten the seasonal flatbread and a pasta or risotto, usually something with mushrooms, and it’s always been plate-licking good. To drink, I got -you guessed it- a Lemonade! For dinner I went with the Wild Mushroom Risotto which was everything you could hope for in a risotto, topped with olive oil, herbs, and local parmesan. We split the Rapini & Roasted Garlic Flatbread which was as it sounds, flatbread covered in rapini, garlic, and ricotta, which added a nice crunch and had enough rapini to feel like it was replacing a boring vegetable side dish or salad. The patio vibes were wonderful, the judgemental girls in the greenhouses looked like they were having a good time, and our waiter couldn’t have been sweeter. I will be going back to try the Fontina Arancini, which I just noticed on the menu. FRICK. 

So there you have it, a very long-winded explanation of the last few weeks of my life and where you can find me on a staycation in Chicago. Hopefully once I move back to the city I’ll have endless new spots to try and won’t be basic anymore! 

Until next time, Happy Eating!

-Natalie 

[curechocolattymilk]

TES V OC Thingie

[Got tagged by @jessaryss​ ! ]

Pause your game! Wherever your OC is in their game currently, tell me about their story so far.

✧✧✧ General

Current Level: 56

Name: Jeer-Tei Perdes

Name Meaning: Literally got it from a name generator lol. But lore wise it was a name gifted to them in honor of an Argonian who served beside Tei’s mother during the Great War

Pronouns: They/Them

Age: Early 30s where they are story wise???

Race(s): Argonian

Place of Origin: Hammerfell

Pick A Theme Song For Them: oof that's tough... From a Crowded Wound or maybe even Firstwake? If you really played around w personal interpretation/the lyrics that is haha

✧✧✧ Locations

Where Did You Begin Their Game?: Argonian Assemblage, Windhelm (Alternative Start)

Where Are They Currently In Your Game?: Whiterun

What Are They Doing There?: Just finished attending a party held in their honor (Post Blood of Kings)

Homes?: Breezehome, Proudspire, Lakeview & Autmnwatch

# of Locations Discovered?: 274

Dungeons Cleared: 104

Misc. Quests Completed: 87

Favorite Areas and/or Locations: Falkreath / Lakewview Manor. Both areas are where Tei heads off to in order to collect their thoughts/feel some sense of calm.

✧✧✧ Main Quest

Are They Dragonborn / Do They Know It At This Point?: Yes & yes

How Do They Feel About Being Dragonborn: It's...complicated, being thrust into the role of savior by gods of the Cult, which in turn are followed by the folk who see you lesser than them. Tei already has a dislike towards the Divines, this doesn't really help lol

Main Quests Completed: 21

Where Are They In The Main Story Line: Alduin's dead, currently trying to ignore the Civil War as long as they can before the Empire forces its hand into forcing them to join their ranks

Dragon Souls Absorbed: In total overall? 147. The amount currently stored in Tei? 45

Words of Power Learned: 64

Shouts Mastered: 21

Favorite Shout: Firebreath / Dragonrend

✧✧✧ Combat

Most Used Weapon(s): Daedric war axe OR Dragonbone battle axe. Tei technically has both on them at all times during adventuring, alongside a shield, so which they used depends on the situation/which they grab fastest.

Combat Style: Two/One-handed tank. Main tactic is to rush in, cause as much damage/chaos as possible to shake up the opponent, & clean up what the ranged attackers of the party (usually Rumarin, Inigo and/or Lucien) weren't able to deal with.

Armor Type / Level In It: HEAVY ARMOR BABYYYYY (Level 100 + 35 extra points via enchantments)

# of Training Sessions: 99 in-game, lore wise its a lot of self-teaching/keeping their skills learned from Hammerfell sharp. Some of these are magic but lore-wise this doesn't happen cus Tei is not a magic user, save for shouts. I just did those in-game for exp OR so I can help Lucien raise his magic skills :'D

Who Taught Them?: In-game?? Fuuuck so many npcs. Lore-wise? They learned this from their schooling in Hammerfell, going off the canon-lore that it's p much expected for everyone to have a grasp on combat & weaponry! Though they did learn a few things from Kaidan & Anum-La.

Favorite Enemy Type: Dragons! Despite the fact Tei does not have the best magic resistance, it's one hell of a challenge they love to meet.

Least Favorite Enemy Type: Automatons, because of a bad experience with them as a child. Also Undead, because they were raised not to disturb them & it just feels so wrong having to fight them/go into tombs.

People Killed: 945

Animals Killed: 749 (Hunterborn makes hunting fun lol)

Undead Killed: 766

Automatons Killed: 105

Daedra Killed: 136

✧✧✧ Magic

Favorite School(s): None, actually. Destruction is okay though....they guess

Most Used Spell(s): Firebreath or Dragon Aspect. Tei doesn't consider shouts spells though. It's totally different guys shut up they ain't no smelly mage gods

Spells Learned: 9 in-game, mainly due to the spells you're kinda forced to learn for some quests/the ones you automatically know

Items Enchanted: 19 (Tei technically doesn't enchant, and wont next playthrough for sure I wont give in this time >:[ )

College of Winterhold Quests Completed: 8

Where Are They At In The Questline?: Main quest is done bcus i dont like seeing unfinished quests in my journal lmao. Tei's involvement is completely different from canon though in my take. Moreso was hired as a guard for the expedition & was, unwillingly, dragged into the rest of the mess. Is not offered the Archmage position, that went straight to Tolfdir.

Opinions on Magical Guilds (Arcane University, Winterhold, Psijics, Synod, Radiant Dark, etc.): As they get older, they tolerate the guild & magic users more n more, BUT, Tei grew up in an environment that frowns upon the practice of magic, & it shows. They mainly mistrust necromancers/illusionists & still hold onto that belief that reliance on magic, especially for combat, is a weakness.

Bold words for someone with shit magic resistance.

✧✧✧ Crime

Current Gold: 10,640

How Did They Acquire Their Gold?: Odd jobs, selling a lot of the items they made/harvested from smithing & hunting (jewelers are their go-to hirers bcus Tei is great at getting things like ivory), Dwemer ruin diving (they refuse to loot the tombs), also yknow....being part of the Dark Brotherhood helps

Largest Bounty On Their Head: 11,240

For...?: Unfortunately they did not stand down when they were being falsely accused of murder in Markarth. First time Tei called down dragons (Sahrotaar, specifically, Tei managed to get command of Miraak's dragons post-Dragonborn) to absolutely smite some fools.

Current Bounty: None! They're good at not getting caught/threatening and/or bribing guards. :)

Locks Picked: 15 i think?

Jail Time: 1, Cidhna Mine

Jail Escapes: 1, teamed up w the Forsworn lol

Murders: 28

Assaults: 307....In their defense people keep getting in their way during dragon attacks

Items Stolen: 37, most of them from the nobles of Windhelm

Thieves Guild Quests Completed: N/A (wont be doing this storyline unless i cant find a mod that'll let me get the shouts locked behind it)

Dark Brotherhood Quests Completed: 20

Where Are They At In Those Questlines?: DB is completed main arc wise!

✧✧✧ Relationships

Relationship Status: Married to two lovely fellas

Current Companions: atm? none

Housecarls: Lydia & Rayya

Friends (outside of party): Zora Fair-Child, Inigo, Lucien, Anum-La, Morndas, Aela the Huntress, Nazir, Babette, Scouts-Many-Marshes, Isobel, Madesi

Children: Khash, Chases-Starlight, Ram-Ku. (going of where Tei is now - Otero & Mei come around later on in Tei's story!)

Romantic Interest(s): Kaidan & Rumarin.

Sexual Orientation:

GAY

✧✧✧ Religion

Pantheon: Yokudan, with a hint of Hircine worship in there

Patron Deity(ies): From the Yokudan pantheon: Tei mainly views HoonDing as their main patron, but also prays to/pays respect to Satakal.

They are also Hircine's champion.

Daedric Quests Completed: 3 (Hircine, Vile, Dagon - the last Tei didn't really help, moreso pissed off)

Aedric Quests Completed: 1 if you count the whole Alduin thing I guess?

How Devout Are They?: Tei is rather devout, esp to their Yokudan patrons, praying or making offerings daily. They aren't the type to really push it in your face though, but have no issues answering questions one might have.

How Do They Feel About Talos Worship?: Deep down they acknowledge & admit trying to ban worship is terrible, but....Tei also lets their bias/experience with Windhelm, the Stormcloaks & especially Ulfric kinda cloud over this. If the Nords want their old ways so damn much, why fight for a divine from the Imperial Cult? Why not go back to the actual old ways? No, this isn't about worship, not to the men leading this so-called rebellion, they just needed something other than their racist bullshit to fool the common man into throwing their lives away for the nobles sitting comfortable in their thrones.

Also during their whole thing of getting into their role of dragonborn, they get a bonus 'fuck this dude actually' towards Talos, Ysmir, whatever the fuck he calls himself. (tldr; it sucks but good luck hearing Tei say that fully)

✧✧✧ Politics

Gray-Mane or Battle-Born?: Neither, ask them again they will punch you for the love of Ruptga they get asked that every time they enter Whiterun.

Stormcloaks or Imperials?: Also neither, Tei hates em both n think they can all choke. Unfortunately they were forced to join the latter due to, yknow, calling dragons & causing massive damage in Imperial territories during isolated fits of rage and the group being more aggressive in wanting something in return for "letting it slide"....oops

Opinion on the Thalmor?: Oh absolutely despises them, they loudly complained having to work with them during the CW & would go out their way to disrupt their plans/piss them off. Sneaking was an option they did not take during the Embassy quest, if it helps paint the picture.

Opinion Of Ulfric Stormcloak?: Tei doens't say they hate people often...but they sure as hell hate Ulfric. Again, their experience in Windhelm added to this heavily, how both the Dunmer & Argonians were treated like shit, with no help whatsoever from the Jarl or guards when the local Nords targeted them. It's still up in the air if I keep this for Tei's story, but I have it where they knew Chases-Starlight's parents, who were killed. When Tei went up & demanded justice/an investigation, only to be brushed off because it "wasn't a priority," it completely destroyed what little empathy or hope they had left for Windhelm as a whole.

Opinion of The Empire?: Cowards too weak to continue fighting back against the Thalmor, in their opinion, & holds these views they grew up with even when being strong-armed into aiding them. If anything they're at least attempting to use their influence to hint towards a rebellion against the Thalmor, but the Empire could also full-on dissolve & they could give less of a shit.

Civil War Quests Completed: 0

✧✧✧ Personal

How Are They Doing? Need Some Juice? A Nap? A Hug?: The whole event of Blood of Kings has fucked with their head, to say the least. It's the starting point of Tei's eventual spiral. So uh...yeah they're not sure how they're doing everything they knew about reality was kinda challenged & they don't rlly have anyone to talk to about it so its cool, its fine, its all good.

A nap is probably needed, not sure about a hug theough they're super flinchy rn

Days Past In Game: 196

Hours of Sleep: 846

Food Items Consumed: 1833

How Many Playthroughs Have You Done With This Character: Tei actually is an older character from the 360 days so uh...maybe 5 at most? This playthrough & their S:EC one coming up when the mod releases being the main ones focusing on their story

Overall How's Your Level Of Fun: Alright I would say! I just been stepping away from Skyrim more often lately to avoid burning out from it

Must Have Mods To Play This Character (for story or other reasons): Ordinator, Wintersun Faiths, Immersive Armors, Sarcastic Player Dialogue, 3DNPC, Inigo, Lucien Flavius, Kaidan 2, Khash the Argonian, Alternative Start, Leviathan Animations, Beast Race Body Paints, Beast HHBB, Apocalypse Magic, Deadly Dragons, Growl: Werewolf Overhaul, Pronouns, uhhh....idk what else without actually listing my current modlist lmao

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And that's it for Tei! Anyone who wants to do this go on ahead!