#//no really. nobody at blueberry is having a good time huh

[kitakami-zorua-kin]

Dragons, it seems like - everyone's going through it, huh... I wish I could... help. -Bzzt! You need to help yourself first!- I told you I'm fine, Superconduct, please - there's - there's bigger issues right now, I think. I just... Had some mean words said to me, it's fine, I'm fine. ... it wasn't like he was wrong, either.

#pkmn irl #russet yaps #Superconduct the Rotom #dash commentary #//no really. nobody at blueberry is having a good time huh #//aergearg i like. want to interact more. but also. gods. intimidating #//mod has social anxiety. russet doesn't but. aaergerga. everyone else seems so cool i am nervous- #//also russet normally would reach out to the kieran blogs. but he like. just had The Worst interaction with his own kieran so. #//he is. looking. and he is worried. but he's... not in a place to push right now-

[undertale-writing-times]

🎊Swap with Stretch?

Babies!

This one was so fun to write.

Today Stretch got woken up by his brother who shook his shoulders pretty hard. His sockets snap open and he grabs Blueberry’s hands, looking at him shocked. “Bro! What are you doing?” Holy shit, his bones felt like they were vibrating with how hard he just got shaken! What the heck?

“Stretch!” Blueberry hugs onto him, letting out soft sounds of distress as he asks, “What happened? You’ve been asleep for days.”

Stretch blinks at the hug and that, making a soft oh sound, before slowly hugging back, “What do you mean?” He had been asleep for days? What in the… what was Blueberry talking about?

Blueberry pulls back looking at him, frowning, and responds, “I told you that I was going to be spending time with Dream and Ink; I was gone for a few days and nobody has seen you so I came to check on you, and saw you were still asleep. What happened?”

“Uhh…” He starts, then stops, turning his head down. He knew that he hadn’t been feeling the best, and said he was going to take a nap after Blueberry left. Did that… did he really sleep that long? “Dang…” He rubs at his neck, “Geez, sorry Berry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, I know you didn’t mean to!” Blueberry says and starts to look him over, “But you need to be more careful. What if something happened? You don’t have enough magic to do something like that.” he tugs up Stretch’s hoodie, which made him laugh since he was used to Blueberry’s worry.

He didn’t really mind this… “My magic levels have been getting better, I’m all good.” He was going to keep going but realized that Blueberry was still holding up his hoodie so he looks down and then pulls it back to look at whatever Blueberry was looking at.

Huh?

Oh, that… huh… alright then, that’s his ecto and that is… that is a soul forming in there. Damn. Would you look at that? “Brother what… what is this?” He looks up at him with big eyes. Stretch wasn’t really sure how to respond to his brother. What is he supposed to say to that?

He sure as hell had no idea! Yeah, he had been with Y/n for a while now, and they were really happy together and everything, but he didn't think that they were... how in the world did they have a souling?! Stretch was a monster and Y/n was a human, plus they hadn't even been trying to have a souling.

With monsters and humans, could they have an accidental baby? That makes sense but... fuck. He puts his hand over his mouth letting his hoodie drop back down. "Brother?" Blueberry says, looking worried. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know how this happened," He responds, looking over, "Me and Y/n weren't trying for a souling, do you think that's what made me sleep? To regain my magic or... something?"

"Maybe?" Blueberry shrugs his shoulders, scratching at his cheek then starts to punch lightly at his brothers shoulder, "You can't worry me like that, Stretch! Something could have happened. Then what would I have done?"

Stretch laughs and leans away, waving his arms, "This is abuse of a pregnant person. How could you?" Blueberry just lets out a sound and starts to hit his arm harder. They both knew that he couldn't do any damage unless he REALLY wanted to. That's just how monster damage and magic works... at least to each other, "But really, knock it off. What are we going to do, you think?"

Blueberry huffs and puffs, then sighs, and stands up off the bed, "Well... you should tell your datemate, they have a right to know that they are going to be a parent and... my friends and I will search for someone with the same magic type as you. Maybe they'll be alright sharing?" he rubs his chin mumbling to himself as he walked out of the bedroom.

The taller skeleton watches him go, then looks down and rests his hand on his tummy. Okay... alright this was... this was gonna be fine. He'll just call Y/n and ask them to come over and explain to them that... they were going to be parents.

...

He lays back down and tugs the blanket up over his head. He's going back to sleep.

#Underswap #Underswap Papyrus #Stretch #Stretch X Reader #Reader X Stretch #Mpreg #I guess? #Weird... #anyway #Baby #undertale alternate universe #undertale alternate timeline #undertale ask blog #undertale au #undertale imagines

[fernetic]

An Animal You Have Never Seen

Somewhere, right now, in this very moment, there is an animal nobody has ever seen before. People discover thousands of new animals each year, so it might not seem like a big deal to you, but trust me, this is different.

Well, if this animal is just so special, then what’s it look like? You’re wondering that, right? Well, I don’t know! It wouldn’t be an animal that nobody has ever seen if I’d seen it. Duh.

I was hanging around the woods near my house after school, not doing much of anything. I didn’t want to go home, I didn’t really feel like being anywhere, and the woods were the closest I could get to that feeling—of being nowhere, I mean. Mom says not to go in the woods because I might get murdered by an insane person or something, but I haven’t died yet so she might be lying. I’ll have to gather more data. Either way, I didn’t find a murderer in the woods that day, I found words. Scratched right into the dirt, which was soft and damp from recent rain, they read: 

I AM THE ANIMAL NOBODY HAS EVER SEEN. I WAS HERE.

Huh, is what I thought. Weird. Then I went home. It was a long way back to my house, longer than I had realized. For one brief electric moment, I was afraid I was lost. 

What if I’m lost forever and have to live in the woods and eat acorns like in My Side of the Mountain? And grow a beard! One so big and bushy that if someone I knew saw me, they wouldn’t even recognize me! 

But then there was my house in front of me again, appearing like magic from behind a tree, and that fear-worry-hope-fantasy was crushed like a blueberry between someone’s fingers. I felt real stupid right then. I didn’t even know anything about wilderness survival, would’ve died within days. Girls don’t grow beards either.

School the next day passed in the same mindless blur it always did. I’m in the fifth grade and there’s really not a lot to say about it. I don’t have any friends, but it’s not like that bothers me. Sometimes the boy behind me pulls my hair, which wouldn’t even be a problem if my mom let me cut it short like I want to. That day I didn’t think about the words in the dirt; people do dumb stuff in the woods all the time, and after the bell rang I went straight home. 

My sister was back from college that week, so Mom was being weird again, like, happy-weird. So cheerful I wanted to punch something. Maybe I’m just a bad person, I don’t know. My sister’s okay though, I barely see her anyways. She and Mom mostly just talk about Dad, who she remembers more, or her boyfriend, or life in the city and how awesome it is. Mom loves it when she talks about that stuff, gets all wide-eyed. Me, I don’t get the big deal. What’s wrong with where we live now?

During dinner I sat crouched on my chair, with my legs pulled up under my shirt and my shoulders hunched, pretending to be a gargoyle. I’ve seen pictures of gargoyles and yeah, they’re weird looking, but I think they’re kind of cool. They just get to hang out on buildings and watch people, it’s not too bad of a life.

I was still thinking about gargoyles when I noticed Mom talking to me, something about getting my knees out of my shirt because I was stretching it out. Whatever. I don’t care about those things like Mom does, and I think it makes her kind of mad. She’s afraid if I’m ‘the way I am,’ I’ll get bullied, but really, I’m not! I’m good at keeping to myself. So what if I don’t like to wear pretty clothes or care about boys or know how to make people like me? The world doesn't make any sense, people are always hung up on stupid things that don’t matter! 

I pretended to listen to Mom so I could go to my room, and then tried to draw the bug crawling on my windowsill. It’s hard—bugs are really complicated for being so tiny. I’m not the best at drawing, but if I keep at it I might be able to become a professional bug artist when I’m older, if that’s even a job. I hope it is. The bug was a beetle, I think, with a glossy black shell like volcanic glass and six thread-thin legs. How does something with such delicate legs support itself? Are beetles not subject to the same laws of gravity we are? I’ll have to look into that more. 

I was so focused on that bug that I didn’t even notice the pouring rain that had started outside, splattering blobs of water on my window and covering the inside with that fine mist windows always get when it’s cold and wet out. I made a little squiggle on the glass with my finger and the line stood out bright and clear, before slowly filling and blending back into nothing again.

For some reason, I thought about those words in the woods. They weren’t very deeply scratched into the dirt, and the soil was all soft and loose. In rain like this, they were probably getting washed away right as I sat on my bed. This really freaked me out, I can’t explain why. I felt like the sun was gonna explode if I let those words disappear. So, I grabbed my raincoat and my sneakers and went out the back door, so quiet nobody even saw me, and bam! I was gone. 

Running through the forest, dim in the evening light, that was the first time I felt awake in a long, long time. I could barely see where I was going, just had to dodge on instinct, let myself be moved around in the spaces between the trees and trust my legs to take me where I needed to go. Before long, I came to that spot in the woods again, more of a bald patch than clearing, panting and heart racing. The words were still there, but barely. They read: 

I  M TH   AN M L NOB DY  AS EVE   S  N. I WAS HE E.

I got an idea then, and took out my knife. It’s just an X-acto knife I stole from school, but it's sharp, and I bet it could do some real damage. Into the trunk of a nearby tree I scratched the words, whole again. Not super neat, but hey, they’re not missing any letters and will probably last a lot longer than lines in the dirt.  

I waited a moment, just standing there, admiring my work. Then I went home. I hung up my raincoat, which was my dad’s and gigantic and warm and I took off my shoes, which were squishy with rain, and Mom yelled at me for running off and dripping water everywhere, and how ‘sometimes it feels like she only has one daughter,’ and I ran up to my room and I shut and locked my door and I didn’t even care, I swear I didn’t care at all. Then I saw the words. Written in the fog on the window, in small neat letters, they read: 

I AM THE ANIMAL NOBODY HAS EVER SEEN. I DO NOT KNOW WHEN I WAS BORN AND I DO NOT KNOW WHEN I WILL DIE. I HAVE NO NEED FOR HUMANS TO SEE ME, THEY WOULD NOT UNDERSTAND. I HAVE NO DESIRE TO HELP THEM UNDERSTAND. BUT YOU HAVE MADE YOURSELF MY RECORD KEEPER AND SO I WILL MAKE MYSELF YOUR OWN. I AM THE ANIMAL NOBODY HAS EVER SEEN, BUT I HAVE SEEN YOU AND I WILL REMEMBER YOU, UNTIL THIS EARTH HAS GONE TO DUST.

I stared at those words. I read them over and over again until they were engraved into my mind, until I was sure they wouldn’t budge, and then I watched as they faded back into fog, and the glass was milky and blank once more.

Now you know my story. Do what you want with it—you can forget it for all I care. For as long as I’m alive, there will be someone who remembers.

#Short story #Fiction

[skyfcx]

There seems to be a basket for the twin-tailed fox that contains some freshly picked blueberries. Fresh from a certain echidna's garden.

     Flares of orange light spring from a welding torch in short and controlled bursts. The glow is bright against a welding helmet clasped tightly around the head. Repetitive buzzes of fused metal, of sheered metal. Thoughts streaming through the mind as to what motion to make next, what step would follow for the creation of his latest project... 

     These senses all easily clog and beat out any and all noise that could have interrupted the fox’s concentration from outside interference.

     ...That is, until a hearty knock made an ear flick, head snapping in the direction of his house-proper’s door. Goodness, someone had a heavy hand. That was enough to punch through several walls, rooms, noises, and thoughts-worth of sound-blockage! He was in his garage at the back of his house for crying out loud! 

     Well, tools were deactivated for the time being, a cloth dabbing across the face as a welding helmet was removed. Hopefully that was the first time they knocked. Knock any harder and his door might come off its hinges!

     Scoot through the house with a light jog. Reach the door, unlock it, open it up with a “H’llo?”, and... spot nobody. Huh. Maybe that really was a visitor’s upset swan’s song before storming off in a huff. Sky-blue sights glance around, looking down the street, above the house, and at his doormat   

     “Oh heck yeah! Blueberries!” Ah! What a wonderful surprise gift! And what a wonderfully weaved basket at that. It was common knowledge that mint candies were a highly-favored treat for the kit’s, but it was a rarer factoid indeed that blueberries stood as his favorite fruit! This came from a friend, a mind was made up instantly as the basket was lifted by an outstretched tail and passed off to gloves. And after popping one of the fruity treats into his mouth?

     “Mmm-mm~!” The clean, crisp air of Angel Island filled the nose like that. He had taken a Warp Ring to the pure and sparkling waters, the greener than green grass. Fruits and vegetables like pieces of heaven plucked from trees and vines alike. Oh, Knuckles was getting something nice in return for a gift like this, that much the fox was sure of.

     Another four berries were tossed down the hatch before he even got back in the house, a chuckle of pure delight leaving lips soon after. Then, a loose two-finger salute given coolly up toward the clear blue sky, door only then clicking behind the grinning kit. Hats off to you, Knuckles! You sure know how to pick’em!

#(IC.) ''Just call me Tails!'' #(ANSWERS.) ''And that's my scope of the scene!'' #fastfists #((knuckles gets the good samaritan award for this Forever)) #((thank you for this; this is Extremely pure))

[aajjks]

dhp!jungkook

the movie is so good but i really can’t hold it anymore, i have to go potty! yn, will you come with me? oh shush kookie, it’s a girl things! come on, yn! so are you enjoying the movie? it’s been so long since kookie and i have been to the movies! it’s not the same as it was but this is nice. oh you don’t know? me and kookie use to have a little.. thing between us. when we went to the movies we’d either make out the whole time or you know, he’d shoved his hand down my pants the entire time haha i think that’s why he sat beside me tonight, muscle memory haha. it must be weird huh? holding his hand knowing his once had his fingers shoved so deep inside me, his best friend, before. but that’s why we’d always get red slushes, so nobody could tell we have each others tongue down each others throats. worked like a charm! i’m finished, let’s go. i’m done! let’s grab a slushy! one for us and the guys, kookie almost out.

hey boys, we’re back! what all did we miss? here, we got a slushy for everyone! we all got cherry but you yugyeom, you got blueberry since you said you liked it! yn, you going to drink any? you liked kookies, you drank half of it haha. oh! kookie i forgot to grab napkins, will you go get some for me please? i don’t want to miss anymore of the movie!

“ yeah, I really like the cherry one.. yn likes it too don’t you? You know what I’ll grab the napkins but can yn come come with me please? Yn I need something from you… haha.. let’s let sara and yugyeom enjoy themselves… Go ahead, come with me yn.”

#GIRL SHE’S LYING THAT DISGUSTING LIE. HE WOULD NEVER DO THAT TO ANYONE BUT YOU. #ask: dh: prisioner!jungkook

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of 

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

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

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

word count: 26.4k

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, thank you! 

My pleasure.

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

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

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

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

I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It happens Thursday on two occasions. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to regret that. 

Pinky promise?

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What...What are these?”

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

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

Then it all clicks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just...it’s like…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, it fucking worked.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am, I can’t hold—”

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

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

“Do I make myself clear?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm-mm. What?” 

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

He feels her heartbeat trip. 

“And you know what I do to brats?” 

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

“I fuck them until they break.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

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

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

“I...I want you to spank me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yours.” 

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

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

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

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

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

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

“You drool in your sleep.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Truly. His dad was hotter.” 

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

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

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

“Couldn’t be me, either.”   

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

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

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

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s definitely something.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How chivalrous.”

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

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

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

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

“You’re a dick, you really are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?” 

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

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

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

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

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

The hand Harry has cupping the nape of her neck shifts over a smidge, ending up splayed across the side of her face. His palm rests on her cheekbone and his fingers in her locks, his wrist cradling the back of her skull as he patiently deepens the kiss. His chest begins to heave slightly, a familiar sensation already frothing at the trench of his stomach. Harry can feel Y/N’s clumsy movements as she unboxes the vibrators, digging through the packaging and trying to slip them on blindly, not wanting to break away from his embrace. The way he’s flirting his tongue along the inside of her top lip is just too consuming to leave. 

After a few seconds of grappling and a string of annoyed curse words, Harry giggles lightly into her mouth, nudging the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. The jade tint in his irises is waltzing with amusement, all at her expense. “Sometime today, love.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I just— I can’t— they won’t—” The mortal releases an irritated growl into their kiss, reluctantly splitting away when it becomes clear she won’t be able to get the rubber gloves on without giving the task her full attention. “God, I’m such a...Sorry.” 

Harry rolls his eyes in mirth, pecking sweetly along the angry creases present over her forehead and between her brows. He thumbs over her cheek affectionately to soothe her nerves, his other hand scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. He filters curls through his fingers as he waits, bicep jolting in the process. “It’s fine, I’m just teasing. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

“Thanks. Just give me—” The girl pauses her actions for a second, jutting her chin back up towards him and locking the vampire into another quick kiss, solely for the purpose of keeping him interested while she figures herself out. She breaks away again, returning to her mission. “Just give me a minute.” 

Now that she can see, Y/N successfully wriggles all five of her fingers into their designated molds. She prods at them gingerly, copying Harry’s actions from the night prior, using that experience as a manual. The mini-vibrators purr to life, a buzzing sensation trickling down her fingers. She glances back up at an awaiting Harry, who gives her such an easy, good-natured smile, she instantly reaches up and glues their mouths together again. 

“You’re so eager.” The boy grins into the kiss, jumping a bit when he feels her tittering fingers duck beneath the covers around his lower torso. “It’s hot.” 

“I just want to make you feel good.” Y/N mumbles, one palm braced to his strong shoulder as the other rides down his bare abdomen. She can feel his grip on her hair tightening the closer she gets to his cock. “That’s all.” 

“Guess I’m just the luckiest— shit.” Harry’s quip is interrupted when Y/N wraps her digits around his length, giving it one slow, testing pump. His jaw drops open and he begins panting into her mouth, the corners of his lips ticking upwards into a smirk as an intense pleasure swells between his thick thighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels— fuck, that’s incredible, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” The human asks timidly, gazing up at him dreamily from below her lashes as his eyes lull back into his head. “Not too much?” 

Harry loves how attentive she is— how she’s checking to make sure he’s alright before continuing. If he had a heart, it would surely be glowing right now. 

Harry gulps down the lump in his throat, voice more strained and needy than she’s ever heard it. “No, I’m good, I’m good. Keep going.” 

Y/N gradually sinks her palm back down to his base, feeling his cock twitch desperately as the vibrators work their magic. She slowly slinks back up to his tip, thumbing over it carefully, pressing the toy on her thumb pad right over his slit. The garbled moan that emits from Harry is a sound her ears will never forget. It’s a sound she wishes she could record and listen to on a loop. 

“Fucking hell, don’t— please, just— oh—” Harry stutters through a plead, voice bleeding, naked chest now heaving wildly against her own. His hips buck forward into her hand, but she maintains a steady grip, keeping the vibrator pressed to the center of his cock’s head. 

“Don’t what?” She whispers into his mouth, suckling at his Cupid’s bow and reveling in the little broken noises he pours onto her tongue. 

Harry’s breaths are shallow and pained, the grip on her hair stronger than she thought possible as the fingers of his opposite hand yank at his own feverishly. He’s barely able to choke out his next sentence. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Y/N begins to fish for a solid rhythm, her strokes setting into medium pace and gauging the receiver's reaction. “How’s that?” 

Bright colors web across Harry’s eyelids and he feels like his soul is being torn from his body. “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect, baby. It’s so good— you’re so good.” 

“I am?” Y/N swipes her thumb over his tip again, and when he whimpers brokenly against her lips, she does it again. It urges the same exact reaction, but more shattered. So she does it again. And again, and again, and again. And each time it happens, his hips jerk more violently, chasing her intoxicating touch. She can feel Harry’s precum drip down his length and leak between the cracks of her fingers. 

“You are, you’re just so fucking good to me.” Harry’s spewing words at this point, brain half conscious, half floating in bliss. Whatever dam of common sense holds his mind together crumbles, all of his thoughts rushing out in the form of jumbled phrases and cracked whines. “You get me going like nothing else, pet. You get me going so easily, it’s embarrassing. You make me cum so hard, it feels like I’m touching h-heaven. And your mouth— God, y-your mouth. It’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s so soft and warm, and your lips are so pretty and silky. I could kiss you for hours. And your tongue— you know how to use it so well. You lick me once and I’m already on edge. And every time you get down on your knees, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Y/N sighs shakily at Harry’s string of confessions, staring up at him with wide eyes as his own stay shut loosely, long lashes perched on his rosy cheekbones, handsome features slack with euphoria. She doesn’t halt her motions, continuing to pump him excitedly. The girl passes her thumb over his tip every time she gets to the top, and gives a hard squeeze every time she thunks down against his base, twisting her wrist as she glides back and forth between the two points of reference. That combination seems to work well, evident in the steady stream of vulgarities falling from Harry’s swollen lips as he thrusts upwards to match her pace. His groans splash across her tongue, traveling down her throat and burning into her stomach. She wants him to cum probably more than he does.

Y/N glimpses down, watching her sheets tent as she works Harry over, the outline of her knuckles pressing into the turquoise fabric. It’s such an erotic scene and she knows it’ll be branded across the front of her brain for years to come. She cranes her neck back up to look at the vampire, her breath catching in her lungs. He looks so pretty with his dark pink lips parted in pleasure, his damp ringlets matting along his sweaty hairline, his structured jaw ticking, and his usually sharp traits softened by ecstasy. She’ll do anything to make that image last.  

“Tell me more.” Y/N murmurs, swimming in the praise he is so willing to dish out. 

His eyes flicker for a heartbeat and in that instance, they look oddly darker than normal. Almost crimson, but she knows it’s due to the shadow of his lashes. The words that spill from his mouth next make her forget all about that occurrence, his voice melodic and dark, sticky against her wet lips. 

“Your hands are one of my favorite things about you, I think. They’re smaller than mine and I love how your fingers don’t touch when you wrap them around my cock. I love how they leave my back raw with scratches, and I love how they look tied to the bedpost. I love it when they press flat against my chest when you ride me, and how you lean back on them when I’m on my knees with my head between your thighs. I love how they yank at my hair when you’re about to cum, and how they grip my upper arms when we make-out. I love how your nails dig into my thighs when you're going down on me, and how they look fisting at the sheets when I’m taking you from behind. And I love how they feel tugging me off, like you’re doing now. I just love how perfect they are— how perfect you are.” 

Y/N is left speechless, Harry’s monologue ringing in her heated ears as he gazes at her intensely amidst heavy, barely-cracked eyelashes. His broad chest gasps for air and he takes it upon himself— despite his wrecked appearance— to smush their mouths deeper together, pooling moans across the roof of her own.  

“I’m—” His breathing throttles, voice coming out softer than she’s heard it in the last three weeks. “I’m gonna cum.”

Y/N nods her head numbly, strokes becoming lazy and fast, eager for him to finish. “I want you to. I want you to cum for me so bad. Please?” 

Harry’s hips writhe in a tell-tale sign that he’s about to tip. His whimper tastes sweet on her tongue, the meaning behind it pure syrup to her ego. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this good.”

The mortal whines gently in return, eyes falling shut as she feels him grow heavier in her palm. “You’re the only one I want to make feel this good.” 

The knot of white hot pleasure in his belly begins to unravel, his entire spine shuddering as a result, all strain beginning to wash out of his system in spurts if blissful electricity. He can feel his orgasm racing up his prick, pulling his composure along with it. He gives one last jerk against Y/N’s cupped fingers, feeling her press her vibrating thumb over his slit one more time for good measure. When the first milky ribbon spurts out, that’s when he feels it. 

Harry’s eyelids fly open in alarm as black veins protrude along the whites of his eyes, all his muscles contracting at once, defense mode activated. Y/N’s lips are on his neck. 

His first instinct is to do what he always does and guide her away from that sensitive, highly forbidden area. His fist tightens in her hair and he’s about to yank her back up to his mouth when suddenly, the icy tension present in his veins disappears. It’s replaced by a soothing warmth, which travels through every crevice in his body and kindles his climax, his impulsive hatred for being touched in that specific region funneling away completely. He can’t remember a time where this has happened before. 

Harry’s grip loosens hesitantly as he treads into this unexplored territory, allowing her to continue suckling along his throat. The sensation would usually garner a reaction similar to that of a molten metal brand being placed on his skin, but now— for some startling reason— he doesn’t feel any contempt. He just feels relaxed and cradled in the best way imaginable. The impact is pleasant this time around, and he finds himself wanting more of it. So, he lets her give him more. He lets this strange girl kiss and gasp and lick against his jugular while she finishes getting him off, his own desperate sounds of need bouncing around the brick walls of her bedroom. He lets her coax wave after wave of cum out of him, feeling it splatter against her bedspread and coat over her hand. He whines and grunts into the hair along the crown of her head, tears blearing his eyes as her scent of sugar and flowers clouds his mind. And when his release finally sputters to an end, he lets out an elongated groan so deep, it makes his chest ache.

“Fuck. You’re...You’re an absolute angel.”

Y/N draws her hand out from beneath the bed sheets, turning off the vibrating finger pads by pressing them against her palm. She looks down at the milky substance covering the toys and before Harry can make even a sound of encouragement, she’s already licking it off each individual piece. The girl looks up at the vampire as she cleans every trace of him off her fingers, swallowing it all down with a doe-like tint across her hazy gaze and murmuring a soft, “You taste good.” over a full mouth. Harry just watches silently, heavy breathing slowly starting to even out. God, she really is such a fucking godsend.

The next couple of minutes list by in a blur, all of his focus taken up by the feeling of unsettlement pricking at the back of his brain. Why had he let her touch him there? Why had he let her touch him in a place no one has since before his death?

Y/N puts the toys back in their box, putting them off to the side to thoroughly clean later. She reaches down, bunching up her bedspread in her hand and wiping Harry’s pelvis, thighs, and tummy down until he’s decently clean, as well as whatever is left on her hand. She then snuggles up to his side once again, laying her head into the crook between his arm and pectoral muscles, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully along with him. The irritating red tint across Harry’s chest, stomach, and neck gradually fades away, and he barely flinches when he feels her sponge her lips against his Adam’s Apple. She lulls the tip of her middle finger up along the vein of his cock one more time for finality, smiling slyly when he hisses in sensitivity.

The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”

Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.” 

Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”

Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.” 

Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.” 

The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.” 

“Whatever.” 

A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”

Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”

That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.” 

“Wow. I feel used.” 

“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”

Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!” 

Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”

“We could UberEats some iHop.” 

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.” 

Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.” 

“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“You’re so dumb.” 

The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow. 

An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.

“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”

Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”

“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.

Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”

“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?” 

“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.” 

“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.” 

Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?” 

“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.” 

The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance. 

“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.” 

Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”

“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.” 

“Oh, like you’re any better?” 

“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”

“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.” 

///

The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house. 

It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally. 

Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so. 

Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece. 

That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did. 

Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link. 

The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings. 

The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom. 

The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise. 

In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.” 

But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”

How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.

It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.

That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead. 

Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that. 

Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.  

The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.

Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily. 

The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video. 

A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect. 

“Uber for Y/N?” 

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.” 

“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.” 

Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.” 

Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”  

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her. 

Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place. 

Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?”

Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago. 

“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”

Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.” 

The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science. 

Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement. 

“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?” 

Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.” 

Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person. 

Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger. 

Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.” 

Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?” 

Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.” 

A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even. 

The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.

As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time. 

He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism. 

Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.” 

Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way. 

With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her. 

She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons. 

A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”   

The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist. 

“Oh...my God.”

Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.

“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind. 

“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”

Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.” 

“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”

The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly.” 

Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”

Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”

Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”

It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter. 

The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”

Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip. 

He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction. 

Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant. 

The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”

Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”

Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”

“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin. 

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.” 

“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises. 

Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.

He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”

Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.” 

“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?” 

“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.” 

“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”

“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”

“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”

The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.” 

Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten. 

As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils. 

“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth. 

He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones. 

Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.

He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”  

She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”

Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.

The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest. 

Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.” 

Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before. 

“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”

And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left. 

The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to. 

“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”

It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock. 

“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.” 

She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one. 

Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” 

Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment. 

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!” 

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.” 

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all. 

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.” 

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.” 

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.” 

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy. 

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core. 

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming. 

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.” 

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.” 

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo. 

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?” 

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before. 

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.  

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises. 

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin. 

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture. 

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs. 

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted. 

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs. 

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have. 

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop. 

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him. 

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there. 

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought. 

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding. 

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type. 

“You like Hamilton?” 

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate. 

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly. 

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth. 

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?” 

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.” 

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.” 

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.” 

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!” 

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?” 

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.” 

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.” 

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.” 

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?” 

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?” 

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face. 

“Harry, I’m serious—” 

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part. 

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room. 

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum. 

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again. 

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.” 

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.” 

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them. 

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did. 

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon. 

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer. 

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.” 

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.” 

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.” 

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.” 

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would. 

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #smut #harry styles series #vampire!harry #harry styles #1d fanfiction #1d fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction smut #one direction fic #1d smut #ysijwa #harry styles one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry x you #harry styles au #vampire au

[jayaury]

Berry Big Bimbo

A quick short story about a blueberry plant girl having some fun with a poor soul who wandered into her berry patch.

~ ~ ~

The cardinal rule of the Wire Woods was never trust a shortcut.

If Miles ever got out, he’d never disobey it again.

He shivered again as a wind swept through the forest, bringing with it the first chill of coming night. He glanced again at the sky, where a once blue horizon burned with evening’s reds and golds, peeking through the thick branches and leafy boughs. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He again shouldered his pack, putting on another spurt of speed. Day was bad enough in the Wire Woods, but night brought out the absolute worst. No one went near the forests after dark. Not unless they wanted to become the pet of some demon spawn residing within. Miles had no intention of sharing that fate. He just had to keep following the path. All paths lead somewhere!

He just hoped it wasn’t to the lair of a succubus.

Miles was looking up at the sky so often to check how long he had, that he didn’t notice the clearing until he was right in it.

He staggered to a stop, and not just because of the thick brambles that grew from the center of the clearing like a dark dome, but also because before him were a dozen paths spreading out of the clearing, spaced apart like the spokes of a wheel.

“Oh shit,” he groaned.

“Hm?”

Miles jumped, whirling about. “Who said that?” he demanded.

“Me of course!”

Miles turned with creeping horror towards the brambles in the center of the clearing. They were being parted by a pair of hands of a blue so deep it was almost purple. Skin of a similar hue came into view as the brush was pushed away, revealing a woman of jaw-dropping proportions, not the least of which was the fact her hips ended in a network of roots. She rested among the thorny bushes as if never even noticing their spikes, her breasts so large Miles wondered if she could even get up. Her hair spilled in richest green leaves, half covering her face, her lips a shade of purple they were nearly black, and so big and soft they made Miles blush just to see them.

He felt himself relax, but only just. Not a true demon. Merely a tainted. A melon or a berry girl. Weaker spawn of the demon’s taint. Though, he knew as well that the corrupted had threats all their own.

“Oh!” the plant woman cried, clapping her hands delightedly. “What a cutie came by to say hello. Hi! My name’s Tartiana. What’s yours?”

Miles felt himself blush a little when she said that, for her ample bosom tended to wobble distractingly whenever she spoke. “Um, Miles.”

“Miles!” she said, her tongue moving over her soft lips as if tasting the name. “Mmm. What a cute name. Perfect for such a cute boy.”

“Uh, thanks,” Miles said uneasily. He felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment. He hadn’t been called cute since he’d turned twenty last year. He glanced nervously about the clearing. “Are you alone?”

“Yup! Just me. Which is why I’m just so happy I got a visitor! It’s been soooo long,” she cooed, and Miles couldn’t help but notice how she fondled her immense, firm breasts. Like two great blueberries swelling on her chest.

“Yeah, I imagine.”

“Of course! Nobody comes out to the Wire Woods. And so late! I get so lonely,” she said, fluttering her soft lashes at him.

Miles felt his blush return, but wasn’t too worried. Such a bimbo wasn’t really a threat. He could outthink her, if it came to that. “If you’ve been here for a long time, does that mean you know where these paths go?”

“Sure!” Tartiana giggled. “I know these woods like the back of my breasts!”

Again Miles’s eyes were pulled to those wobbling orbs before he managed to wrest them back to her face. “Oh, um, great! Does that mean you know which way leaves the forest?”

“Totes!” Tartiana giggled and pointed to one of the paths. “It’s that way.”

Miles fairly sagged in relief. “Great! Thank you,” he said, turning down the indicated trail.

“Or, um, maybe it was that one?”

Miles paused as she pointed at the path in the complete opposite direction. “But…”

“Or um… oh gosh. It might even be that one,” she said, pointing in a third, completely opposite direction.

Miles glanced again at the sky darkening through the boughs. “Look, do you know the way out or not?” he said.

“Um, oh gosh. I’m sorry,” Tartiana groaned, fondling her bouncing breasts. “It’s just um… I always have trouble concentrating when my big, bouncy berry tits get all stuffed with juice.”

“They… um…”

Miles trailed off, his jaw slowly dropping as he spotted a bead of blue liquid drip from Tartiana’s puffy nipple.

“Oh gosh yes. I grow soooo much juice, you know,” Tartiana moaned, continuing to bounce her plump tits, squeezing them between her arms. “And no one comes down the paths ever! I can never find a nice boy to help me squeeze my sweet, berry juice out.”

“O-oh,” was all Miles could say, his head slowly nodding with the bouncing of those massive, blue breasts.

“But I always think so much clearer when they’re all drained out. All squeezed out. Like it squeezes out all my thoughts. All my confusion.”

“Th-thoughts?”

“Oh gosh yes! Not that I ever have many,” she giggled. “All I’ve got to think about is how full my tits are. How bouncy. How a handsome boy would just love to watch and touch them. Stroke and kiss them.”

Miles couldn’t look away. What was more, he was becoming aware of a far from subtle pressure in his pants. He cleared his throat, trying to shake himself from his stare. “W-well, if it would help you think, I guess I could… maybe…”

“Would you?” Tartiana gasped, her large eyes shining. She shifted in her bed of brambles, her large breasts bouncing. “Oh thank you, thank you! I knew you were a good boy the moment I saw you!”

Miles again felt a flush at those words, but decided not to challenge them. What business was it of his if she called him a good boy? So long as she gave him directions, she could call him the Baron of Gula. Besides, so long as he kept his head about him, he’d be fine. She was far too dumb to trick him.

Still, he approached warily. One could never be too careful in the Wire Woods, after all. As he came closer, the sweet scent of blueberries surrounded him like a haze. The strength of it stunned him, but on he went, making his way carefully over to Tartiana, ready to bolt like a startled rabbit at the first sign of treachery.

Tartiana merely waited, smiling, her big, ample breasts pressed out on proud display, her arms crossed beneath them, lifting them. Miles reached for them, only to hesitate. Something… something about this seemed… seemed wrong.

“What’s the matter?” Tartiana asked in a singsong voice.

“Um, nothing.”

“You’re not scared of my big breasts are you?”

“O-of course not!”

“Aw, it’s okay if you are. A little, maybe. They’re so awfully big, aren’t they? So big and firm. I mean, look at them!”

She bounced them in her arms. Miles’s eyes followed. Gods. They were so firm. He likened them to blueberries at their ripest season, her nipples nearly black. He swallowed thickly.

“I…”

“Aren’t they the best?”

“Uh… uh huh…”

“They’re just so big!”

“Yeah…”

“So bouncy!”

“Mmm…”

“So big and squishy and such silly bimbo tits!”

Miles swallowed again. He felt oddly thirsty. His hands hesitated.

“I’ve got a big pair of bimbo tits, don’t I?”

“Well, um…”

“It’s okay! Like I said, they make it sooooo hard to think sometimes. Why, when they’re full like this, it can be so hard to concentrate on anything else but how big and wonderful and full they are. And my juice is just so sweet. So tender. It just melts a silly mind to nothing!”

Miles swayed a little. “Um…”

“C’mon, baby,” Tartiana crooned, leaning up, pushing her big breasts closer so he could see the taut smoothness of those orbs. “Give my big bimbo tits a good milking.”

She was so close, his merest twitch brushed a finger against her breast. Tartiana gasped, moaning, her breasts bouncing at her sudden intake of breath. But the motion didn’t dislodge Miles. His fingers remained, as if glued to her ample bust.

And slowly, he leaned forward, engulfing her breast with his palms, marvelling at how huge she was. How heavy. How firm and big her breasts were. How they twitched with her delighted whimper, filling his hands as he hefted them.

“Mmmm! Oh, that’s it. Really fill up your hands with my bimbo berry boobies! Aren’t they so big and firm?”

“Yeah,” Miles breathed, fondling her ample tits. Pressing them together. Watching them squish and bounce in his hands.

“Ooooh, yes. Oh baby, just like that. Massage my big breasts. Good boys love big breasts. Good boys love milking pretty berry girls. You’re being such a good boy. Ooooh, but… ah… but it needs… needs a little something… something more. Gotta milk my big dumb breasts. My big, dumb, bimbo tits. Oh baby, I need your help. A little more. A little something more…”

Miles wondered what that could be. But then her arms were around his head. Were easing him forward towards a dark nipple dribbling her sweet juices. His mouth was so dry. So thirsty. He didn’t think. Instinct guided his lips to that nub.

And had him suck.

And suck.

And suck, like a good bimbo boy.

Sweet wine drowned his mouth and what remained of his resistance. He moaned, flushing hot as Tartiana’s milk splashed into his mouth. Onto his tongue. He drank it down. Drank it like a man possessed, his head spinning. His body warming.

“Mmm. That’s it. Ohhhh, what a good boy admiring my big, dumb breasts. Oops! But you’re getting it all over your clothes! We can’t have them stain. We gotta fix that, don’t we?”

They did. Had to… had to… He stopped trying to think. It was so hard anyway. And drinking was so easy. Burying his face in her big bosom as he pressed her tits together, moaning and whimpering, his mind lost in a drunken haze of lust and the bounce of her tits, he struggled out of his clothes, shrugging them off with her help. He was naked. Naked was good. So good.

“Mmmm,” Tartiana moaned. “Such a good boy. A good boy who loves my dumb breasts. And you know why he does?”

“Mmmnoooo,” Miles fairly drooled.

“Silly!” Tartiana giggled, booping his nose. “It’s because he’s a silly, dumb bimbo too! But oh gosh! Look how late it is! It’s all dark, and we can’t have such a silly boy wandering around the Wire Woods! All sorts of nasty demons would just love to play with you. Don’t you worry, though. Momma Tartiana’s gonna take good care of you.”

Some sense of uncertainty trickled through his mind. Miles lifted lips stained purple from her nipple. “But… um… I…”

“Don’t worry,” Tartiana giggled, guiding his head back down to her breast. “You can go anytime you want! Just as soon as it’s light out again. How’s that sound?”

Light out. Yes. Right. Light. He could wait for light. Miles smiled dreamily as he resumed sucking. Resumed sinking into the berry girl’s big, blue tits. Resumed being a good bimbo boy for his new, berry beautiful mistress. His cock sinking into the pleasured tightness of her pussy. His whimpers swallowed by her moans, his thoughts steeped in her bouncing breasts. He could do this. He could wait in her breasts for light.

And the brambles knit above their heads, steeping them in a pillowy darkness that would never end...

#blueberry #bimbo girl #alraune #bimbofied #big bust #jay aury #titnosis

[5-seconds-of-bucky]

Secret

A/N: Hello, hello! Not much to say about this one other than Allison made me do it (2021 is amazing but angsty and I needed some serious fluff so I wrote it myself smh) Anyways, enjoy :)

Summery: AU in which once you meet your soulmate, you can hear them talking to themselves. You’re Shawn’s personal assistant and soulmate but you have to keep your relationship a secret, until one day . . .

Word count: 6.5k+

Warnings: Swearing, and little angst towards the end (but only a little) 

---

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

Nobody knew. Nobody. Not your parents, not Andrew, not even Brian knew. You never told anyone about it. But now the whole world knew about your relationship.

The whole world knew and you sure as hell were going to lose your job.

---

You wouldn’t say you knew you were soulmates right away, but it didn’t take long to figure it out. Well, it didn’t take long for Shawn to figure it out and tell you. In fact, it only took him about six hours after meeting you to realize you were the one destined for him.

He knew the moment he met you that there was something about you that was just different. Not different like “I’m not like other girls” different. Different as in someone that gave him a feeling he’d never had before.

“Shawn, this is Y/N Y/L/N, your new personal assistant. Y/N, this is Shawn.” You smiled nervously as Andrew introduced you to your new boss, giving him a small wave before realizing how unprofessional it looked.

You stuck your hand out for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mendes.”

“Oh, please,” he chuckled as he shook your hand. “Call me Shawn. Mr. Mendes is way too formal.”

You let out a small laugh as well, dropping his hand. There was an awkward pause that made you worry you’d already made the wrong impression. Too weak of a handshake? A wavering voice? What made this go downhill so fast?

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” You nodded at the two men before heading over to the bathroom in the hotel lobby.

“She seemed nervous,” Shawn mentioned once you were out of earshot.

“I think she’s going to be a good fit. She’s a year younger than you and her application was great. Give her a chance. She was meeting the Shawn Mendes, her boss, after all.

Get it together, Y/N.

The words muttered in his head were in her voice, not his own. He frowned, sure that his mind was simply playing tricks on him.

Meanwhile, you were in the bathroom, cursing yourself for already making the wrong impression.

“You said ten words to the man and he probably already thinks you’re a moron,” you muttered as you paced in front of the sinks. “Take a deep breath and get back out there.”

“You okay?” Andrew asked, referring to the distant look that had overtaken Shawn’s face.

“Hmm? . . . Oh, yeah. Zoned out for a second.” Am I hearing my soulmate’s voice?

“Play nice with Y/N. I really think you’re going to like her.”

You exited the bathroom and put a pleasant look on your face as you approached the group. That was your job now: look and make everyone happy.

“Y/N, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled,” Andrew said, gesturing for you to lead the way towards the elevator.

“Wait, Y/N.” Shawn reached out to gently grab your shoulder. “Do you wanna meet up before dinner for a smoothie or something? You know, to get to know each other?” His soft smile was something you couldn’t say no to, even if you’d only known him for three minutes.

Thirty minutes later, Shawn was knocking on your hotel door and taking you out for a smoothie shop across the street.

“What do you think you’re gonna get?” he asked once you were standing in line, taking his wallet out of his pocket.

“Trying to decide between strawberry-banana and berry blast.”

“This is the best smoothie shop around and you want strawberry-banana?”

“Or berry blast.” You’d just met him but the banter came easily. “Besides, if they’re that good at making smoothies, then the strawberry-banana will knock me off my feet with how good it is.”

“I don’t know if I can work with such a basic person as an assistant.” He playfully nudged you a step away from him.

“Oh, is this a test? Because you haven’t even seen me actually work yet.” You stepped in front of him, deciding on strawberry-banana.

“Yeah, but I could fire you for any reason at any time so really-”

“You’re not gonna fire me.” You turned around and gave him a smirk.

“But I could.” He stepped unreasonably close just as you stepped up to order. You pushed his face back with the back of your hand. He’s acting awfully friendly.

“I’ll take a strawberry-banana smoothie please,” you smiled at the cashier, pulling out some money.

“And I’ll get blueberry and avocado smoothie,” Shawn said as he pushed down your hand with the money and held out his card to the cashier. You glared at him playfully and lightly elbowed him in the stomach. “What? It’s good for your skin.”

“You guys are cute,” the cashier giggled after announcing the total and swiping Shawn’s card.

“Oh, we barely know each other.” Your words were a lost cause as Shawn dragged you aside so the next person could order.

“Shh, she doesn’t know that. Make her think there’s a world where a person with a basic smoothie order and a person with a good smoothie order can be soulmates.”

“I haven’t overheard you talking to yourself yet so I don’t think that’s possible.”

“But imagine.” He led you over to a table and plopped down on a seat. You turned around to hang your purse over the back of the chair as you sat down.

“Wait, how much do I owe you?” You pulled the purse back over the chair and dug through it to find the money you haphazardly stuck in there just a minute before.

“Nothing. It’s on me,” he said, like it was the obvious answer.

“But I feel bad making you pay for it.”

“You’re not making me pay for it, I wanted to. Consider it a ‘welcome to the team’ present.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

He liked how nervous he was making you. Whether it was because he was your boss or because he was devilishly handsome, he wasn’t entirely sure. But, he did know that you made him a little nervous too, especially since he was 95 percent sure you were his soulmate.

---

“You know what?” you said to yourself in your hotel room that night. “This is going to be really good for me. A fresh start and a chance to see the world. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

Shawn was distracted from his own thoughts once he heard your voice in his head. Shawn Mendes is my fucking boss. Not only that, but he’s an awesome dude. He smiled, not entirely sure he should be listening into this conversation. To be fair though, he couldn’t help it. Your voice was in his head.

“Damn,” he said as he put on a clean shirt for the night. “That girl was real cute.” He heard something fall in the other room followed by absolute silence, leading him to believe that you heard him. “She had a basic-ass smoothie order though.”

Was that my soulmate? He couldn’t help but laugh, trying to stay quiet as he figured out how to surprise you. Who did I meet today? You started to list the numerous people you met at dinner that night as Shawn shuffled over to the door that connected your hotel rooms.

“Hey, soulmate,” he quipped as he swung the door open. You let out a yelp, arms holding a shirt over your chest as you fell back onto the bed. “Oh, sorry!”

You threw the shirt over your head and glanced at the mirror on the wall to make sure you looked presentable. “You can come back in now,” you said once you were decent. Shawn reentered with a hand over his eyes, softly closing the door behind him. “You can look,” you giggled. “I have a shirt on now.”

Shawn put his hand down and smiled sheepishly at you. You wanted to swoon at how cute he looked with his rosy cheeks and messy curls.

“Hi.” He leaned against the wall, watching your feet get closer and closer to him until your sock clad toes were almost touching his.

“Hey.” He slowly looked up to meet your gaze. You gave him a shy smile and wave, to which he could only smile back. He’s been dreaming of the moment he met his soulmate for all these years yet he found himself at a loss of words.

“So . . . how much of that did you hear?”

“Oh, I heard the whole shabang. I’m glad you think so highly of me.” You groaned and leaned into his chest.

“You weren’t supposed to hear any of that.”

“That’s part of the whole soulmate thing. Can’t help it.”

“We’re actually soulmates?” You lifted your head so your chin was resting on his chest.

“Yeah,” He wrapped his arms around you. “I think we are.”

You brought your hands up so they were resting on his shoulders. “That moment would be a lot more romantic if I wasn’t staring up your nose.”

Shawn threw his head back, body shaking with laughter. You buried your face into his chest as you laughed along with him.

There was a comfortable pause before either of you dared to break the moment. “I’d day we should stay up all night and talk about our deepest fears and hopes for the future but we both look dead tired so we should probably call it a night.”

“Probably should. Night, Shawn.”

“Night, Y/N.” He squeezed you for a second longer before opening the door and stepping back into his room, sending you a wink before he shut it all the way.

“Shawn Mendes is my soulmate,” you whispered to yourself. “Shawn Mendes is my fucking soulmate!”

“Uh huh,” Shawn chuckled from the other room. “We’re definitely soulmates.”

---

It was a year of bliss full of sneaking kisses behind closed doors and holding hands under tables. You agreed at the start to keep your relationship a secret. With you settling into the new job and the two of you wanting to explore the relationship, it was best to keep everything under wraps. Hard as you tried, people had their suspicions for one reason or another.

It started with Andrew about a month after you realized you were soulmates. Shawn knew he could trust Andrew but he also knew that Andrew could be kind of harsh when it came to professionalism. The man didn’t expect the two of you to refer to each other strictly by last name, but he did expect that you abide by the rules and not cross the line between platonic and romantic.

So Shawn thought it would be best to find out what would happen if you were to announce that you were together. You know, in a hypothetical situation.

“Andrew, Shawn is looking for you,” you said as you peeked your head around the doorway of the green room. “He’s in his dressing room.”

Andrew’s head perked up at the calling of his name and nodded, standing up and following you to Shawn’s dressing room. You let him go in by himself, telling him that you had some other things to attend to. Once he shut the door though, you put your ear to it in hopes that you would be able to overhear what he had to say about Shawn’s “hypothetical” situation.

“Y/N said you needed me?” Andrew said once the door was closed.

“Yeah, I just had a quick question.” Shawn picked at the skin on the side of his thumb. “I just thought of this random situation and I was wondering what would happen if it actually happened.”

Andrew nodded for him to go on, still confused as to why Shawn made him come all the way down there for this.

“So say, my assistant was my soulmate. What would happen? Would they be able to keep their job or . . .?” He could see the gears turning in Andrew’s head at the mention of a soulmate and he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to answer.

“Is this about Y/N?”

“No, no. Just in some alternate universe. What would happen?”

“It depends. You obviously have a soulmate, we can’t stop that from happening, but I’d rather it not be someone you worked with,” Andrew started. “When I hire any team member, no matter what their job is, they agree that there is to be no romantic involvement with you. It keeps things professional and could prevent things from going haywire with the media. Things never look good when a star gets involved with someone on their team. I just don’t want to deal with all the bad publicity that could come out of that kind of situation. I don’t know if I would fire them but it would likely be on the table.” He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “But that’s not happening with you and Y/N, right?”

Your face dropped. You were expecting that sort of answer, but it still hurt to hear.

“What? Pfft, of course not. I was just curious,” Shawn replied, walking over to the door and pushing it open. You stumbled back, suddenly realizing that you were supposed to be attending “other things.”

“That was all. Thanks, Andrew.” Andrew gave Shawn a look that said he knew something was up, but Shawn laughed it off.

Okay?” He stepped out into the hallway, bumping into you. “Oops, sorry, Y/N.”

“Haha, no problem,” you waved him off. “Shawn, they need you on stage for soundcheck.”

“Soundcheck doesn’t start for another half hour,” Andrew said.

“They wanted to start early. Something about having trouble with stuff in the past so they wanted to get a head start.”

Shawn shot you a discrete thumbs up, eyes silently thanking you for the save.

“Okay then? I’ll let you do what you need to do.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in once he turned around and started making his way back down the hallway.

“Do they actually need me?”

“No, but I needed to look like I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

Shawn looked down the hallway to make sure no one was there before pulling you into a hug behind the open door and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I love you.”

“Love you too, big guy. Can we go to stage so it doesn’t look like I was lying?” You pulled away and took hold of his hand, tugging him in the direction of the stage.

Shawn rolled his eyes. “The things I do for you.”

“Thank youuu.” He followed you down the long hallway, checking every so often to make sure no one was behind you.

“Nice shoes,” he smirked, glancing down at the tie dye Crocs you were wearing.

“My heel broke and I didn’t have another pair of shoes on me.”

“But you had rainbow Crocs?”

“It’s fashion and comfort all in one shoe. You expect me to carry another pair of heels around when I could be wearing these bad boys?”

“I mean, they go wonderfully with the blouse and slacks. I kinda want a pair now.”

“Guess I know what to get you for Christmas.”

The sound of footsteps coming towards you stopped your conversation. You ripped your hand out of Shawn’s and he found himself missing the warmth of it.

“Hey, just talked to stage crew,” Andrew said once he popped around the corner you were just about to turn. “They’re not starting yet. They’re actually on track to be starting late. Don’t know who told you they needed him.”

“That’s weird,” you said, attempting to subtly put some more space between Shawn and yourself. “Guess we have some time. You guys need me to get anything for you?” The men both shook their heads no.

“Nice shoes, by the way.” He was gone as quickly as he appeared.

You looked over to see Shawn doubled over, body shaking with laughter. “Shut up, he almost caught us.”

“Yeah, but he saw the shoes!”

“How did the universe put us together?”

“Oh stop.” He wrapped you in his arms once again. “You know you love me.”

---

Brian was the next to get curious about your relationship.

A knock on the door that connected you and Shawn’s hotel room made Shawn look up from his phone for the first time in a while. He was met with your sheepish smile and what he now affectionately called the “Y/N wants something wave.”  

He narrowed his eyes at you. “What do you want?”

“Can I borrow one of your shirts? All of mine are dirty.”

“You have like 1,000 shirts.”

“Well 995 of them are dressy shirts for my job and I’m out of comfy shirts to sleep in. Would you be willing to sacrifice one of yours so I may bask in its comfort?”

“I guess so,” he sighed, leaning over the side of his bed to grab a shirt.

“Thank you.” You smiled wider as he came towards you and threw the shirt over your face. “Ooh, it smells like you.”

“That could be because I wear it a lot.”

“Is it your favorite shirt?”

“Maybe.”

“Ooh, I feel special.”

“Go put a shirt on, weirdo.”

You disappeared behind the door for a second and slipped the shirt on. You stepped back into Shawn’s room without a second thought and suddenly, Shawn couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

The silence and his stare made you feel self conscious for a moment. Does he not want me to wear it?

“I actually have a clean shirt if you don’t want me to wear-”

“No, keep it on. It looks good on you.” Two months into your secret relationship and he was head over heels in love with you.

“Thanks . . .” Completely uncharted territory. Neither of you had any idea what to do from here.

“Do you wanna, uh, sleep here tonight?” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah . . . I’d like that.”

He held his arm out for you to enter and closed the door behind you.

“I, uh, need to use the bathroom real quick.”

You stepped into the bathroom and braced yourself on the counter. “It’s no big deal, Y/N. He’s your soulmate. No need to get nervous.”

Shawn melted as the words played in his head. Now go out there and be the best damn soulmate there is.

You emerged from the bathroom like nothing happened, leaning on the doorway with your arms crossed. “Sup?”

“You didn’t flush the toilet.”

“Oh please, we both know I wasn’t actually going to the bathroom.”

Shawn held his hands up in defense, extending them out as you shuffled over to the bed and flopped down on it.

“I’m going to steal this shirt, by the way,” you said matter of factly.

“You should. It looks good on you.” He tugged you onto his chest so your head was laying over his heart.

“You’re gonna let me steal your favorite shirt, just like that?” You flipped over so your chin was resting on his shoulder. He nodded. “Damn, that was easy. You really do love me.”

You spent the next hour and a half talking about the random thoughts that crossed your mind. Minute by minute, your eyes got droopier and droopier, until you were fast asleep on top of Shawn. It was everything he wanted in life, right there in his arms.

He was almost asleep himself when there was a sharp knock on the door. He got up, careful not to move you too much and wake you up before opening the door.

“Hey, can I borrow some toothpaste?” a tired looking Brian asked, a yawn escaping his mouth in the fluorescent hotel hallway.

“Uh, yeah.” Shawn let Brian step inside, completely forgetting in his sleepy state that you were laying on the bed. He came out of the bathroom a second later to hand the toothpaste to Brian, who seemed completely shocked out of the daze he was in earlier. “What?”

“Is that Y/N?”

“Oh, yeah, she had a rough day so she came over here to vent. Ended up falling asleep before she went back to her own room.” He was getting better at coming up with these coverups.

“Really? She seemed like she was having a great day when I saw her earlier. I think the tie dye Crocs put her in a good mood.”

“I don’t know,” Shawn shrugged. “Maybe something went wrong after you saw her?”

“Maybe,” Brian nodded slowly, already putting the pieces together. “She’s not your soulmate, is she?”

“No, of course not. Just good friends.” The response came quick. Almost too quick.

“Okay, sure.” Brian took the toothpaste from Shawn with a skeptical look. “Thanks. I’ll give it back tomorrow morning.”

Shawn gave him a thumbs up and closed the door. He looked back to your sleeping form and couldn’t help but grin. He loved everything about you. How bad would it actually be if someone found out about you?

---

“Wanna ditch and get milkshakes?” You were standing in the corner of some celebrity’s mansion when Shawn asked the question. The Grammys afterparty wasn’t all that appealing to you, but it was part of the job and Shawn wanted you to go as his plus one since you were, as he claimed, his “best friend in the whole entire universe.”

“Hell yeah.” You pushed yourself off the wall, brushing off the back of your dress. “Where’re we going?”

“I dunno. What’s open this late?” He reached out to grab your hand, which you almost took before realizing where you were. His face dropped the slightest bit, wanting nothing more than to hold your hand and let the whole world know that he’d found his soulmate.

“I’m sure there’s something close by.” You nodded for him to follow you. “Wait, I have to ‘convince’ you to stay so I can say I tried to keep you here and Andrew doesn’t get mad at me.”

Shawn crossed his arms and nodded. “Can we ditch and get milkshakes?”

“No, we have to stay so you don’t seem rude.”

“But this party's boring and we could have a lot more fun somewhere else.”

“Shawn.”

“I could fire you . . .”

“Nice,” you said, grabbing his wrist and making your way through the crowd.

The cool air of the night was a relief from how hot it was inside but you found yourself pressing yourself into Shawn’s side anyways. He threw his arm over your shoulder as the two of you made your way to the edge of the driveway. The noise from the party faded into the background and neither of you said anything, enjoying one of the rare quiet moments you got together.

“Where to, m’lady?”

“You’re the one who wanted to leave.”

“Don’t act like you wanted to be there,” he teased, pulling away to grab your hand and twirl you under his arm.

“Well, I’m indecisive so you have the honors of picking the place.”

“I guess let’s go into the city and go to the first place that’s open.”

“Sounds good to me.” Your smile could light up the streets better than the streetlamps and he never wanted to see it go away.

“Take this, by the way.” Shawn shook his suit jacket off and put it over your shoulders. The red cloth was a little too big but he thought you looked stunning nonetheless.

“I’m not cold though.” You pulled your arms through the sleeves anyways.

“Let me do the boyfriend thing,” he pleaded as he rolled his shirt sleeves up.

“Fine. Only because you look really hot with your shirt sleeves rolled up.”

He smirked, making a mental note for the future.

You walked for a while before you stumbled across a McDonald’s, mumbling a might as well before opening the door for Shawn.

“Hey, I’m supposed to do that.”

“Oh, please. Let me be nice.”

The restaurant was empty, the only other person in there being the cashier who sleepily appeared from the kitchen as you looked at the menu. Shawn stepped up and ordered a milkshake before you stepped up and ordered a shake and fries. You whipped out your card and paid for it before Shawn could, to which he playfully glared at you.

“You pay for stuff all the time. Let me pay seven dollars this one time.”

He huffed, letting you know that you’d won. You smiled triumphantly as you sat down at a table and patted the space across from you. Shawn sat down and propped his elbow on the table to rest his head on his hand.  

“Why are you so pretty?” you mumbled as you admired him. Seven billion people in the world and you somehow were lucky enough to have Shawn Mendes as your soulmate. Who would’ve thought?

“Why are you so pretty?” He reached across the table to grab your hand.

“I asked first.” You intertwined your fingers with his.

Your order number was called before he could respond, causing him to let go of your hand and go up to the counter. He grabbed the food and turned around to catch you checking him out. “What’re you looking at?”

“I can’t help it! Do you have any idea how hot it is when you roll the sleeves of a button up all the way up to your elbows?”

He laughed as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Would’ve done this a lot more often if I knew how much you liked it,” he said as he popped a fry into his mouth.

“Well, it’s super hot so please do it more often.” You took a sip of your milkshake. “And be more careful. Someone might see us.,” you said, referring to the act of affection he did moments before.

“We’re fine. The poor kid’s so tired they’re falling asleep back there.”

“Still. We’re in public and I really don’t want to lose my job.”

“Andrew won’t fire you. He just wants to scare us,” Shawn insisted, reaching over to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Besides, if word does get out we can finally move forward with our lives. Get married? Really start our future together?” It had only been eight months but Shawn knew without a single doubt that he wanted to be with you. (The soulmate part helped a little bit too.)

“You really want to do that?”

“You’re my soulmate and the most amazing person I’ve ever met. Of course I want to get married! That is, as long as you want to.”

“I’d like that.”

The sound of your phone ringing ruined the moment, and you quickly fumbled to get it out of your pocket.

“Andrew, hey,” you said, watching Shawn’s face change from lovey-dovey to concerned and a little scared.

“Where are you guys?” Andrew’s voice came through the phone, slightly drowned out by the loud music playing in the background.

“I . . . uh . . .”

“It sounds really quiet over there. Did you guys sneak back to the hotel?” You cringed at what sounded like a disappointed tone as you tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t get you fired.

“Shawn wanted milkshakes so we’re at McDonalds,” you finally admitted.

“Dude!” Shawn whisper yelled.

“I tried to make him stay but he was insistent!”

“Can you put Shawn on the phone?”

“Sure,” you said, passing the phone to Shawn.

“Andrew, hi,” Shawn said in a voice that did not at all match the look on his face. You couldn’t hear what Andrew was saying but based on the intermittent “I know” and “yeah” you assumed he was getting lectured about ditching the party.

“We will. See you there.” He hung up with a sigh. “Our romantic time at McDonald’s is going to have to come to an end, my dear.”

“What’d he say?” You took your phone from his hand and stood up.

“Come back to the hotel or you’re gonna get it.” He took his milkshake in one hand and your hand in the other, letting you take the last few fries and throw out the cardboard.

“You’re going to get me fired one of these days.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing! I like my job, thank you very much.”

“I kid, I kid.”

His smile was all you needed in life. Job or not, you would always have Shawn, right?

---

“Here’s your boarding pass,” you said through a yawn, handing Shawn the slip of paper as you walked into the airport.

The pass you handed him had your name printed on it and he laughed to himself. He took the pass you had in your hand and switched it with the one he gave you.

“What’re you-”

“You gave me your pass.” He placed his hand on your lower back, subtly trying to speed you up so you could catch up to the rest of the group.

“Oh, sorry,” you muttered softly. “I’ve gotten three hours of sleep in the past two days. I’m so ready to get on the plane and take a freaking nap.”

“We gotta get on the plane first, sleepyhead.” You were dressed in leggings, an oversized t-shirt, and your tie dye Crocs. It was one of the few times he ever saw you dressed down on the job and he was loving it.

“Watch your hand, there’s people all around.”

“It’s really hard to take you seriously when you look like you’re about to pass out in my arms.”

“Shawn!”

“I’m helping out my tired best friend. Besides, it’s four in the morning, nobody’s around.” He didn’t move his arm, even as you got closer to the group. It was like he wanted to get caught. “And, if you really wanted me to move, you would’ve shaken my arm off by now.”

He knew you too well.

He kept his arm there as you checked your luggage and went through security, only letting go when absolutely necessary. It earned some strange looks from a couple team members but you were too tired to care. All you wanted to do was take a year long nap.

You ended sitting in the terminal with half the team while the other half went to get coffee. Shawn sat next to you, occasionally glancing around to see if he could steal a kiss from you when no one was looking.

It was another 30 minutes until you were supposed to board but you weren’t sure you would be able to keep your eyes open for much longer. Shawn noticed your bobbing head and drooping eyes and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pushing your head so it was resting on his shoulder.

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time to board.”

“Thanks, babe,” you whispered, pressing a subtle kiss to his shoulder as your eyes fluttered closed.

“What are you guys gonna do when you find your real soulmates?” Brian asked casually, not even looking up from his phone. Shawn’s head snapped up at the mention of “soulmates” and Brian snickered. “You two act like you’re soulmates all the freaking time. What’s gonna happen when you find the actual one for you?”

“What if we are soulmates and we just didn’t tell anyone?” It was a stupid answer but he wasn’t sure what else to say. Was he really about to expose your relationship after keeping it a secret for all this time?

“You wouldn’t be able to keep that from me.” While Brian wasn’t entirely convinced his two friends weren’t soulmates, he didn’t have the proof to say definitively that they were.

“Fair enough.”

The conversation stopped there but Shawn couldn’t stop thinking about it. Eleven months together and you somehow managed to keep it a secret from everyone. It meant that you couldn’t progress your relationship as far as you wanted to though. Was it even worth it to keep it a secret anymore?

Your boarding group was called before he could dwell on it too long and Shawn was forced to wake you up. As much as he wanted to keep you asleep, he knew there was no getting you on the plane otherwise.

“Wake up, pretty girl,” he muttered as he pressed his face to the top of your head and rubbed his hand up and down your arm. You sighed and snuggled deeper into him, craving his warmth. “You can go back to sleep soon but we gotta get on the plane.”

You lifted your head slowly, blinking at the bright lights of the terminal. Shawn helped you stand up and grabbed your carry on and helped you stand up.

“I’m supposed to take your stuff. That’s my actual job,” you said, reaching for your backpack that he was holding.

“You’re tired, honey. Let me carry your bag.”

You complied, too tired and wanting nothing more than to knock out for the five hour flight. You put your head back on Shawn’s shoulder the second he sat down next to you on the plane, out cold for the entire ride.

---

Shawn Mendes Found His Soulmate? Everything You Need to Know About the New Couple.

What You Need to Know About Shawn Mendes’ Post Last Night.

Shawn Mendes Gets Cozy With His PA in Recent Instagram Post.

The headlines seemed to be never ending as they appeared on your phone. You could hear Shawn pacing in the other room and trying to explain to Andew what was happening. It was inevitable, you knew. But did it have to happen like this?

“Andrew, I don’t know what to tell you. It was an accident!” Shawn insisted, running a hand through his hair for the millionth time since the call started.

“Do you have any idea how bad this is, Shawn?” Andrew sighed on the other side of the line. “This is exactly what I told you was going to happen!”

Texts were blowing up your phone like crazy. All your friends were wondering since when Shawn Mendes was your soulmate and why you didn’t tell them earlier. That didn’t matter so much through as you realized that you were about to lose your job, and possibly Shawn.

“We’re soulmates, Andrew! What were we supposed to do? You said that she’d be fired if she was my soulmate. Y/N loves this job and she’s amazing at it. I didn’t want to lose her!”

You felt like you were going to throw up.

From what you could hear, the rest of the conversation didn’t go too well. Shawn sounded frustrated beyond belief as he tried to save your job and relationship, leaving you wondering if you would have either of those after today. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear him enter the living room and sit down next to you.

“Andrew wants to have a meeting in an hour,” he sighed. You bit your lip, trying to hold back tears as you stared at the ground.

“I’m getting fired, aren’t I?” you asked.

“I have no idea, honestly. I’m not sure how much authority I have over that.” He put his head in his hands. The uncertainty of the future was killing both of you.

“Should we just break up?”

Your voice was so quiet but Shawn heard the words loud and clear.

“What!?”

“We’re obviously going to get in a ton of trouble for this. What if Andrew says we have to end it? If this ends, I want it to be on my terms, not someone else’s.”

“Y/N, he can’t make us break up.”

“But what if this destroys your career? I wouldn’t be able to live with the fact that I was the reason you had to stop doing what you loved.”

“Y/N, you’re spiraling. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, that I love more than you.”

“I just want you to be happy.” A single tear slipped down your face and Shawn wished he wasn’t the reason for it.

“You make me happy.”

You stared at each other for a moment before you threw yourself into his arms, latching on tight as sobs rang through your body. Shawn tucked his head into your neck, holding you tight and letting a few tears soak into your shirt.

“No matter what happens,” He pulled back to look directly into your eyes. “I will always love you. Nobody can make us end our relationship, okay? I don’t care if it ends my career, I will never want anything more than you.”

You nodded, not sure what else to say.

“Now, lets get yelled at by Andrew and tell him that this isn’t going to end.”

---

“Alright, let’s talk about this.” Andrew sat down across from you and Shawn, sounding calmer than he did an hour ago over the phone.

“Before you say anything, we’re not breaking up. I just wanna make that clear.” Shawn said, his thumb caressing your hand under the table.

“I’m not gonna make you break up. I just want to know why you didn’t tell me earlier.” His voice sounded strained, like he couldn’t believe that you would hide something like this from him for so long. “We could’ve prevented this whole squabble if you just told me earlier.”

“I didn’t want to lose my job,” you said. “I agreed that I wouldn’t be romantically involved with Shawn when you hired me and I broke that agreement on the first day.”

“The first day?” Andrew leaned forward in his seat.

“Yeah, we uh . . . we found out that night.”

“If I’m being honest, I’ve pretty much known for a while,” Andrew confessed. “I was waiting for one of you to tell me though. I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“But you said she could get fired-”

“I said that firing her could possibly be on the table, depending on the situation. Y/N’s a great team member and I know your relationship isn’t going to get in the way of her doing her job. I figured that if you were trying to keep it a secret for so long, you didn’t want anyone to know.”

“You knew the whole time?” Shawn leaned back in his chair, feeling a lot more relaxed now that he knew your job was safe.

“You guys were subtle but you weren’t that subtle. I pieced it together pretty quickly.”

“So I’m not getting fired?”

“No, I’m not going to fire you.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was a-okay. “Thank you, Andrew. Really, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“No need to thank me. Your work speaks for itself.” Andrew smiled and for the first time in a long time, you felt at ease. You didn’t have to hide anything anymore. “However, we do have to deal with this situation you two have created.”

---

“Ready?” Shawn asked, his thumb hovering over the “post” button.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you smiled. A year of hiding your relationship from everyone you knew and you were finally going to share it with the world.

“Let’s do this.” He pressed the button and just like that, the picture was up.

shawnmendes "You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." -Dr. Seuss

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#Shawn Mendes #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn Mendes fanfic #Shawn Mendes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes imagines #Shawn Mendes blurbs #Shawn Mendes one shots #Shawn Mendes writing #Shawn Mendes au #Shawn Mendes soulmates au #Soulmate!Shawn #Caring!Shawn #Boyfriend!Shawn #Shawn Mendes x reader #Shawn Mendes x Y/N #Shawn Mendes x you #Y/N #Reader insert #Shawn Mendes fluff #Shawn Mendes angst

[fruitcoops]

hey! idk if you've seen that cut video about how couples sleep together but i just cant stop thinking about the team doing it. It would be SO cute with your amazing writing :))

Thank you! I absolutely adore this video and I’ve watched it probably twenty times--each couple is just so cute! Quick disclaimer: while this may seem a little odd, since the Lions are basically celebrities, I think the channel wanted to do it to show the diversity of the team and emphasize love above everything else. Hope you enjoy!

“Hey, Lions!” Marlene says cheerfully, waving to the camera. She stands alone in the studio for once. “We have something a little different for you today. Four of the couples on the team agreed to let us record them sleeping for a night, which we’ve combined with short interviews from each of them. Hope you enjoy!”

The video cuts and a title card appears, reading Couple Number One: James and Lily Potter.

Their bedroom is moderately sized, with a crib at the foot of the bed and a fluffy red comforter that accents their walls. James is partially visible as he brushes his teeth, but Lily is fully in frame in her oversized t-shirt and flannel pajama pants while she climbs into bed with Harry in her arms.

“How long have you been together?” Marlene asks in a voiceover.

“We’ve been married for just over six months,” James’ voice says; on the screen, he walks out of the bathroom and tucks his legs up to kiss the tops of Lily and Harry’s heads. “But we dated for several years before that.”

“What time do you normally go to bed?”

“Maybe eight? Eight-thirty?” Lily says. Sure enough, the clock on their nightstand reads 8:07. “We stay up after the baby’s gone to sleep, though.”

“What story are we doing tonight, kiddo?” James asks, pressing a raspberry kiss to Harry’s belly until baby giggles fill the bedroom. “How about…Make Way For Ducklings?”

“Ducky!” Harry squeals, reaching for his glasses.

“Alright, baby love.” Lily smiles as she takes a book of the nightstand and opens it up.

“Would you say you sleep well?” Marlene asks.

“Oh, that’s a tough question,” James says—in the bedroom, he and Lily take turns reading pages to Harry as he sits between them and points to the ducks. “It’s better now that he can sleep through the night. I’d say we get a solid seven hours each night, maybe more.”

“I wake up pretty often because I worry,” Lily adds.

“Do either of you talk in your sleep?”

She laughs. “No, thankfully. Once we’re out, we’re out until morning.”

“What’s your body language like?”

“I’m cuddly,” James says with a light laugh. In the video, he wraps an arm around Lily’s shoulders and traces the picture book with one finger, kissing Harry’s chubby baby hand. “She likes to starfish.”

“We’re both big cuddlers,” Lily agrees. The video skips forward in time, showing Lily lowering Harry into his crib while James grabs his phone off the nightstand and squints at it.

They curl up together while the clock continues to tick, and an hour or so later they put their phones away and snuggle under the covers. The night goes on and, slowly, Lily begins to splay out on the mattress, her hair in every direction as James keeps one arm securely around her waist. During a brief pause, their snoring harmonizes.

Harry wakes up just past four with a sniffle and babbles for a moment until James stands up, taking him out of his crib and humming softly as he bounces him; Lily barely flinches. “Baba,” Harry mumbles while he holds on to the edge of James’ shirt. “Baba, baba, baba.”

“Shh, buddy.” James touches their forehead together before setting him back down in the crib. “Sweet dreams. I love you.”

Marlene’s voiceover comes on again as the sun rises outside their window. “What time do you usually wake up?”

“James gets up earlier than I do for practice,” Lily says. A soft alarm jingles on the nightstand and James clumsily turns it off, scrubbing at his eyes for a second before digging his glasses out of the nightstand and sitting up—he leans over to kiss Lily’s forehead before getting up for real.

“Around seven, seven-thirty usually,” James confirms. “I don’t actually know what time you get up most weekdays.”

“Oh, probably eight-thirty or nine? Once Harry’s up, I’m up.”

Marlene hums. “How important is your bedroom to you? What about your bed?”

“Both are so important.” James doesn’t hesitate. “Evenings and nights are the longest period of time we spend together because of my job.”

“It’s a very safe space,” Lily says. “Life is so hectic, but once we’re in bed we don’t have to go anywhere else.”

The bedroom disappears—Lily and James sit in chairs in the Lion Pride studio with Marlene across from them. “Thanks so much for joining us today, you guys!” she says with a smile. “I’m really looking forward to filming this video.”

 Couple Number Two: Kasey Winter and Natalie Darcy

Their bedroom is smaller than the Potters’ and painted light blue with large windows. Outside, night has fallen and the light of the city shines through their blinds as Kasey closes them; Natalie is already in bed, reading a paperback with her legs crossed on top of the blankets.

Kasey turns the light off and climbs in next to her, resting his head on her thigh as he dozes off and she continues to read by her bedside lamp. “Goodnight,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Natalie smiles and runs her fingers through his hair.

“How long have you been together?” Marlene asks.

“We’ve been dating for four years now,” Kasey’s voice says. In their bedroom, the video speeds up until eleven thirty, when Natalie puts her book down and settles into Kasey’s arms.

“Do you go to bed early or late? It’s just the two of you, right?”

“Right. Kase likes going to bed before me because he has to get up earlier, but I’m a night owl.”

“Does that make it hard for you to sleep well?”

“Not at all,” Kasey says. “She sleeps like a log and I’m always careful not to wake her up on workdays. We like to sleep in on days off.”

Marlene hums in agreement. “Do either of you talk in your sleep?”

“Nope. I’m a light sleeper, so it’s nice that neither of us do it.”

The video continues through the night and sure enough, the only sound is their soft breathing; Natalie presses against Kasey’s chest with an arm over his shoulders. “What’s your body language like when you sleep? Are you cuddlers?”

“I love cuddles!” Kasey says with an almost-audible smile. Sure enough, he snuggles into Natalie with a soft sigh as the clock on their wall turns to 4 am.

“How many hours of sleep do you get every night?” Marlene asks.

They take a moment to think, and the sun begins to shine through their bedroom window. “Ten to six am is…about eight hours? I can get by on six, though.”

“I need a solid eight, eight and a half to function,” Natalie says. “Though sometimes I’ll get up and do something before going back to bed until nine.”

“How important is your bedroom to you?”

“That’s a good question.” Kasey hums in thought. “I value it a lot because it’s a place to be close to her, and that’s hard to get when we’re both so busy.”

“I agree.”

On screen, Kasey’s alarm begins to ring and he stretches, gently detaching Natalie’s hold and kissing her shoulder as he pulls the blankets up to her chin and slides out of bed. “Have a good day, baby,” she mumbles sleepily.

“Love you,” he whispers back as he brushes her hair out of her eyes.

The video cuts; Kasey and Natalie have taken James and Lily’s places. “Thanks for agreeing to do this, guys!” Marlene says.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Natalie says with a slight smile.

 Couple Number 3: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin

The third bedroom is cluttered and neat at the same time. Knickknacks line the dresser and various items are scattered on the nightstand, but the floor is clean and the dark blue bedspread is tidy as Remus reads against the headboard. On the other side of the room, Sirius stops midway through brushing his teeth to change into a sleep shirt and Remus laughs at his muffled grumbling.

“How long have you been together?” Marlene asks again in her voiceover.

“We’ve been dating for over a year now,” Remus says.

“What time do you go to bed?”

“Oh, maybe ten pm? Eleven?” Sirius guesses. “Whenever we’re tired.”

The clock reads ten forty-five as Sirius gets under the covers and wraps his arms around Remus’ torso, cuddling against his waist and leg while Remus strokes his hair. Ten minutes pass until he puts the book down and turns off the light before scooting back against Sirius’ chest to be the little spoon. “Love you,” he says quietly.

Sirius kisses behind his ear. “Je t’aime.”

“What’s your body language like when you sleep?” Marlene asks. “Cap, everyone knows about your famous cuddles.”

He snorts. “Usually we spoon, but sometimes it changes up.”

“We kind of have to spoon,” Remus laughs. “You’d wake up on the floor otherwise.”

“I would not!” Sirius protests. In the video, an hour has passed, and he unconsciously tries to roll over Remus, who reaches up and pushes his shoulder back without opening his eyes. He shifts a few more times before settling down.

“Do you talk in your sleep as well?” Marlene continues.

Remus sighs. “No, that would be me.”

“It’s cute and awful at the same time,” Sirius says. “On one hand, it wakes me up, but on the other, we have the best conversations.”

At 2:12 am, Remus scrunches his nose up in his sleep. “Hey. Hey.”

Sirius huffs and cracks an eye open. “Quoi?”

“Go away.”

There’s a pause and Sirius sits up, clearly still half-asleep. “Huh?”

“The cat’s in the garden, dumbass. That cat—the cat is in the garden.”

With a heavy sigh, Sirius gets under the covers again and wraps his arms around Remus. “Okay, mon coeur.”

“Blueberry milkshake.”

“That doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Shut up, Pots, nobody asked you.” Remus says playfully, then hums and pulls Sirius closer. “Bonjour, honey. Je t’aime.”

In the voiceover, Marlene laughs. “What do you two talk about?”

“Oh, everything,” Sirius replies.

An hour and a half passes in fast motion on screen; they move around a little bit, but overall stay cuddled up and comfortable. “The tea. Honey, the tea. Tea’s burning.”

Sirius reaches over and puts his hand over Remus’ mouth gently. “Shhh.”

“Tea’s burning,” Remus repeats, though his voice is muffled until he bats Sirius’ hand away. “Hugs and kisses, hugs and kisses.”

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s the meaning of life?”

Remus is quiet for a beat. “Pun’kin pie.”

“Why do you talk in your sleep?”

“I love you.”

“How could we have done better in our last game?” Sirius is grinning now and rubbing slow circles over Remus’ back. “I was a little worried about our defense.”

“Hmm. Apples.” Remus turns over and nuzzles against Sirius. “See you later, alligator.”

Sirius shakes with suppressed laughter for a moment until the voiceover starts again. “What time do you wake up in the morning?” Marlene asks. “Practice starts pretty early.”

“Sirius wakes up earlier than I do, but we don’t get out of bed until seven-ish,” Remus says, sounding far more awake than he did in the video. “We try to aim for eight hours of sleep, but that doesn’t always happen.”

“How important is your bedroom?”

Sunlight streams through the cracks in the blinds at six am, lighting up Remus’ face on one side as Sirius starts to wake up. He pauses with a smile and runs his thumb along Remus’ cheek before kissing his forehead and settling onto his back.

“Our bedroom is really important,” Sirius answers. “It’s a safe space where there’s no pressure to do anything and we can just be ourselves.”

Remus smacks his alarm at six-thirty and starts sitting up, only for Sirius to wrap all four limbs around him and drag him back down for more cuddles; Remus laughs, but happily obliges. The camera cuts out just as they start getting out of bed half an hour later.

“Thanks for answering my questions,” Marlene says with a grin. “I gotta say, I’m looking forward to the sleep talking.”

“It’s so funny,” Sirius snickers.

Remus rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Yeah, yeah, alright. Exploit me in my most vulnerable state, why don’t you?”

 Couple Number 4: Pascal and Celeste Dumais

“We have been married for fifteen years,” Dumo says as the video begins.

Celeste is already out cold in the bed while he tiptoes around their bedroom, sliding in next to her as quietly as possible; she smiles in her sleep and scoots over to lay her head on his shoulder. It’s clearly a comfortable place for them—the walls are a warm beige and a colorful quilt lays heavy across the sheets.

“Do you sleep well?”

“Sometimes,” Celeste says. “We sleep better now that the kids are older, but I wake up a lot in the middle of the night because I still worry about them.”

“How many hours of sleep do you think you get?”

“Oh, probably seven? I go to bed early, though.”

“I get a steady six to eight,” Dumo says.

“Do you sleepwalk or talk?”

Celeste laughs as Dumo groans. “He used to sleepwalk, but after the kids were born there wasn’t enough consistent sleep to do it anymore.”

In the dark of their bedroom, Dumo moves around quite a lot—he rolls onto his back, then his side, then curls around Celeste, then lays a little bit sideways before she quietly shushes him just past 3 am and puts her hand on his chest. He sighs and leans his head against hers with a drowsy half-smile.

“Do you cuddle?” Marlene asks.

“Sometimes,” Dumo says. “Though we’ve been together for so long that we don’t really have to. I always know where she is.”

“That’s adorable,” Marlene says at the same time Celeste makes a soft sound of affection. “What time do you wake up?”

There is one window in their bedroom, high on the western wall, that shows the slowly-lightening sky. When the clock strikes six, both of them stretch and roll onto their backs, though they stay close enough to share body heat as Dumo combs his fingers through Celeste’s long hair.

“Around six. It’s easier to get up early now that we’re older,” Dumo says. “Besides, the kids don’t get up until later, so we finally get some time to ourselves.”

“Bonjour, mon amour,” Celeste murmurs in the video with a sleepy smile, pressing kisses to Dumo’s cheek. “Hmm, je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime, ma jolie chérie.”

The video returns to the studio after that; Dumo and Celeste hold hands while they talk, and Marlene puts away her notecards with a smile. “Thank you for agreeing to do this, it means a lot. We tried to get a variety of different couples for this and I’m sure the video will turn out great.”

“Ne rien. Good luck with filming!”

A final title card appears. Thanks for watching, Lions! Be sure to like and subscribe for more content.

[babybluebex]

Hi, i was wondering if you could write something where Sebastian Stan is a dad to a little boy and the one who always reads to him before bed, but one night Seb is very tired after shooting, and reader is the one putting him to bed, but the little one refuses to go to sleep until Seb reads to him.

Sorry for my bad Engish, it's not my first languaje. Also, if you don't want to write this I totally understand. 🥰

no! i love the idea!! i tweaked it a bit to fit an idea i was already writing, so i hope you liked what i did with it :) and ur english is perfect my love

goodnight, sleep tight [sebastian stan x reader]

➽ pairing: dad!sebastian stan x fem!reader( y/n) ➽ word count: 2.2k ➽ summary: see above! ➽ warnings: mentions of postpartum depression, angst ➽ a/n: the image of seb in bucky’s costume, getting a little baby to fall asleep makes me go uwu

“Are you guys coming to set today?” Sebastian asked, pressing a kiss to my head. 

“I’ll see if Andy wants to,” I mumbled with a yawn. My husband’s call time was six AM, which was so much earlier than I ever wanted to be awake, so he usually woke me up with a goodbye kiss. “I think we can manage it, though.” 

“Ah, well,” Sebastian shrugged. “He’s barely a year old. I think he’ll like it.” 

“But he’s also your son,” I countered. 

“What does that mean?” Sebastian asked. Even in the dark of the room, I could see the happy glint in his blue eyes. 

“He’s stubborn,” I said. “Won’t do anything if he doesn’t want to.” 

“That’s not a ‘me’ thing,” Sebastian told me. “That’s a Romanian thing. We’re stubborn people.” 

“Regardless,” I sighed. “I think he might be scared of the costume. The mask and the arm and all; it might be a bit much.” 

“He’ll be able to tell it’s me,” Sebastian said. “Kids are like dogs, they can recognize people by smell. Right?” 

“Maybe your smell,” I chuckled, my throat dry from the night of sleep. “Mr. Bucket-Of-KY-Jelly.” 

“That was uncalled for,” Sebastian chuckled. He leaned over the bed, bracing his left hand next to me head, and I turned to fully look at him. “I smell great.” 

“When you shower, you do,” I said, scrunching my nose, and Sebastian laughed deep in his chest. He leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, giving me the gentlest of kisses. Sebastian wasn’t usually a gentle creature-- his kisses usually left me with bruised and puffy lips or marks littering my neck and breasts-- but, in the morning, he was so soft and sweet. 

“We’ll continue this later,” Sebastian said. His long hair fell into his face, and I tenderly pushed it behind his ear. Adjusting to the new everything that Seb required for this film was an experience; the long hair, the stubble, and the weight training was grueling for all three of us, especially little Andrei. He missed his daddy dearly, but Sebastian always made up for lost time with nightly tummy-time and stories. Andrei James Stan had loved his dad since before he was born-- the little bastard always kicked up a storm when Sebastian rubbed my belly or talked to me-- and, when he was gone filming something for a long time, Andy got a little upset and overly clingy. Call it separation anxiety or just plain missing his daddy, but Sebastian always made it up to Andy with a special Daddy/Andy night (which also gave me the opportunity to be by myself for a while). 

“I hope not too much later,” I whispered, pulling him down to kiss me again. “I miss you, Seb.” 

“I know, baby,” Sebastian whispered as he pressed his forehead to mine. “I miss you too. Maybe we can get a babysitter or something on Sunday.”

“Great idea,” I said. “Now, you gotta go or you’ll be late.” 

“Ugh,” Sebastian groaned. 

“Go!” I giggled. “My big super-soldier. You gotta show everyone what you’re made of.” 

Just as I spoke, from across the room, Andy made a squealing noise in his crib. The trailer we were living in while Sebastian shot Winter Soldier was a bit small, but it worked perfectly. “Oh, really?” Sebastian said, turning his head to look at Andy. “And what do you think I’m made of, mister?” 

Sebastian moved to his crib as I turned on the lamp, and I watched Sebastian, all muscles and beard and long hair, reach into the crib and pull his infant son into his arms. Andy was born premature, so he was still pretty small, and it made my heart melt. His fluffy hair was in-between a blond and a brown, sorta like how Sebastian’s hair was when he was little, and he had the most beautiful blue eyes. “Really?” Sebastian playfully grimaced, nuzzling his nose against Andy’s. “I think you’re made of yogurt and farts, young man.” 

“Seb!” I snorted. “Don’t say that to him!”

“He is, though!” Sebastian laughed, Andy’s little fist tightening around a lock of his hair. “I don’t see you denying it.” 

“Don’t say our son’s made of farts,” I protested, getting out of bed. “He’s made of wonderful things, like love and kindness--” 

“And yogurt,” Sebastian added. 

“And yogurt,” I acquiesced. Andy did eat a lot of yogurt. “Speaking of, is the little monster hungry? Is that why you’re up so early?” 

Andy nodded, patting his tummy, and Sebastian gave him to me. “Have a good day today, babies,” Sebastian told me, kissing my forehead, then brushing Andy’s hair back and kissing his soft head. “Just text me when you’re coming by.” 

“Sure thing.” 

“This is Sebastian’s baby?” 

Scarlet held Andy in a tender embrace, gazing at him with surprise. She was looking at him with a look of wonderment, like she couldn’t believe that Sebastian of all people could be capable of producing another human being. Nobody on the cast had properly met Andy yet, hence why Andy and I visiting set was such a big deal. “Looks just like him,” she added. 

“Acts like him too,” I chuckled. “Stubborn as hell and eats everything in sight.” 

“Damn, this really is his kid,” Scarlet laughed, and Andy thumped his head down onto her shoulder. “He’s so sweet.”

Andy smiled at Scarlet and gave a happy squeal, and Scarlet turned to face me. “Who’s that?” She asked in a gentle voice, and Andy’s smile turned to me. 

“Mama!” He exclaimed, reaching for me, and Scarlet and I laughed. 

“Smart as hell,” Scarlet added. 

“That comes from me,” I chuckled. Andy took a fistful of my shirt and started to chew on the fabric, but I was used to it. He was teething and chewed on everything; most of my shirts were a little frayed from him. 

“Mean,” said Sebastian from behind me, and I turned and gave a gasp of surprise. I hadn’t ever seen him in full costume before, and it was a shock at first. A leather vest and tight dark jeans, tactical gear everywhere, and a dark mask obscuring the bottom half of his face. And, of course, covering his left arm, a cast-like structure that looked like silver metal with a red star on his shoulder. The arm was covered in little orange dots-- I’m assuming to assist in mo-cap during editing-- and he wore a leather glove on his left hand. 

“Jesus God,” I laughed. “Scared the hell outta me. You look good, babes.” 

“I know,” Sebastian told me, and I knew that he was smirking at me under the mask. “You look beautiful too.” 

“Not really,” I said. “I’m not even wearing makeup.” 

“Still beautiful,” he said, and he reached up and tugged the mask off. He leaned down and, cradling my cheek in his gloved hand, gently kissed my lips. “And the little rascal?” 

“Mm,” I hummed, breaking the kiss. “He’s sleepy. Getting cranky and all.” 

“Has he eaten?” 

“Just did,” I told him. “Before you ask, yes, it was yogurt. But I also gave him some of those blueberry puffy crackers.” 

“Did you save any for me?” Sebastian asked, his eyebrows raising. 

“In my pocket,” I replied. Sebastian and I had quickly discovered that certain baby foods were delicious, especially the fruit-flavored puffy crackers that Andy favored, and I always ended up bringing some with me wherever I went. 

“I know that you’re not eating baby food,” Scarlet laughed as Sebastian reached into my pocket and extracted the plastic bag of star-shaped crackers. 

“They’re good as hell,” Sebastian said, popping a handful into his mouth. “Want one?” 

“I’ll pass,” Scarlet laughed. 

“Ask Mackie, I’m sure he’ll tell you the same,” Sebastian said. Then, he turned his attention back to me. “I could read him a quick story to get him down, if you want.” 

I shrugged. “If you really want to,” I said. 

“Alright, stinker,” Sebastian said, exchanging the crackers for Andy. “Did you bring a book?” 

“Shit, no,” I mumbled. 

“Shit!” 

“Oh, c’mon, man,” I sighed as Scarlet laughed. I frequently forgot that Andy was at the stage where he was repeating things that he heard, and usually Sebastian and I were good about not cussing, because Andy would repeat it for the rest of time. “Don’t expose me like this.” 

“I can come up with a story,” Sebastian said through stifled laughter. “Let’s find a place to get comfy, huh, mister? A nice chair, maybe? I bet Uncle Chris has a really nice chair we can settle in…” 

As he walked away, I felt a presence behind me. I had briefly met Chris at the First Avenger premiere a few years ago, when Sebastian and I weren’t even properly dating yet, but Sebastian and I had eloped, hence no wedding to see him at. “Hey, Evans,” I said and gave him a quick fist bump. 

“Where’re they going?” Chris asked, munching at an orange. 

“To steal your chair in the shade,” I said. “Andy’s getting sleepy and only sleeps when Seb reads him a story.” 

“Cute,” Chris said. “Ya know, Sebastian never shuts up about the two of you.”

“Really?” I asked. “Like, what does he say?”

“Just little stories,” Chris said. “Something you said, or something Andy did. Or just the quick little ‘we had this for dinner’ or ‘we watched this movie last night’. He adores you two.” 

“That’s nice,” I said softly. “I always worry if he’s getting sick of having these two lives. It must be a lot for him.” 

“I can’t read minds,” Chris said. “But I don’t think he could ever get sick of you.”

I nodded slowly. “I was diagnosed with postpartum depression after Andy was born,” I started quietly. “I was so anxious that I wasn’t sleeping, I couldn’t stop crying, I… I even thought about packing a bag and leaving and not coming back. It was so fucking hard, and I thought for sure that Sebastian would ask for a divorce or something. I guess I’m still a little worried about that. But that’s… That’s really helpful, Chris. Thanks.” 

I tried to contain my tears, but Chris must have seen through my crumbling facade, because he wrapped me in a tight hug. “You’re so strong, Y/N,” he whispered. “Know that I’m proud of you, and Scar, and Mackie, and all of us, but especially Sebastian. Man, he fucking loves you so much. There’s nothing that you could do that would make him hate you or want to divorce you. I don’t know much about your relationship, but I know that.” 

I was glad I wasn’t wearing makeup, because I knew that it would be smeared across my cheeks by now. It was one thing to hear it from Sebastian, but from an outsider like Chris, it meant the world. “Thanks,” I whispered. “That means so fucking much.” 

“And, hey, I kinda know how it goes with a baby,” Chris began. “My sisters have kids, and I’ve played babysitter plenty of times. And I’d say I’m pretty good at it. No complaints so far. So, if you ever need a babysitter to get a break for a night, I’d love to help.” 

“That would be so nice,” I sighed into his shoulder. “Not to be TMI…” I paused to let him stop me, but his hand comfortingly ran up my back. “It’s been a while since it was just… Me and Seb, ya know what I mean?”

“I do,” Chris said. “You have my number.” 

I nodded and detached myself from Chris, and I chuckled as I wiped my face dry. “I’m gonna go find my boys,” I said. “Thanks for that, man.”

“Anytime, Mrs. Stan,” Chris said with a smile. 

It wasn’t hard to find Sebastian and Andrei. They were settled in a canvas chair under a tarp shade, with Andy’s little head resting on his shoulder. He seemed like he was already out like a light. “... So Steve is like ‘Bucky?’ and Bucky looks at his friend and he says ‘Who the hell is Bucky?’, which is not that good. Because Bucky should know who Steve is, right?” 

“Are you telling him spoilers for the movie?” I asked, putting my hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. 

“It’s the only story I could come up with on the spot,” Sebastian said. “But he seems to like it… Or not like it. Does it mean he thinks it’s boring if he falls asleep during it?” 

“I think it means that he loves you,” I said. “And he finds comfort in you, even when you look like that.”

“Look like what?” Sebastian asked. When I didn’t answer and only gave him a playful smile, he said, “When I look like what, Y/N Stan?” 

“So different than usual,” I offered with a shrug, and Sebastian rolled his eyes. 

“You’ll pay for that,” he told me, patting Andy’s back gently. “What were you talking to Chris about?” 

“He was just telling me some nice things,” I said simply. “About how you’re always talking about me and Andy. And he said that he’d babysit whenever we need him to.” 

“Hmm,” Sebastian hummed softly. “Sounds promising. I really miss you, baby.” 

“I miss you too,” I told him. “Now, my love, you have work. Be good and kill Chris for me.” 

“Anything for you, my baby.” 

#sebastian stan #sebstan #seabass #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y./n #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan x reader fluff #sebastian stan x reader angst

[menofcolorswitchbodiestoo]

Episode:  

-The Other Side of the Tracks-

''Rash of burglaries in neighborhoods has homeowners on high alert and the police has still no lead.''

Said the headline of the newspaper of the paper on the kitchen table.  

‘’What a joke!’’

 This is my fourth house in two days and still, nobody has even a clue who I am and where I will strike next. The cops are such idiots that I feel almost sorry for them, almost. My ''business plan'' is quite simple I break into the homes of rich people in daylight because those rich bastards are by then all gone, to their work. 

‘’Now what do we got here?’’ I opened the drawer and pulled out a golden necklace with some weird mask. 

‘’Looks like an antique, I could sell this shit easily to some pawnshop only the weight in gold could be worth a lot! Hahaha, this is a good day everything goes as planned just how I like it.’’

‘’What are you doing in my house?!’’ A tall muscular man had caught me in the middle of my work, he had seen my face what was I going to do? He had a gun in his hand holding me at gunpoint.

‘’Oh is this your house I thought it was my house you know how al these homes look like on another, right?’’

‘’Stop this nonsense and put down my properties especially that necklace! I have already called the cops they are already on their way I fought you would eventually end up here. Boy, it's time for you to learn you have to work hard for your money instead of stealing it from others! Now take that necklace of this is your last chance!’’

‘’You're really attached to this old crap aren't you huh, I grinned. Sorry sugar daddy but not everyone is as lucky to be so rich as you! I wish you could see how it is on the other side of the tracks, wondering if you would still act like such a big guy! The necklace started to glow with a strange bright glow and then there was a flash.’’

‘’NO STOP YOU IDIOT...’’

...

‘’Ugh, my head! What happened, how long was I out?!’’

I pulled my hands to my throat. Wait what's wrong with my voice it's so deep! I tried to stand up I felt so heavy did that flash made me nuts? I walked towards a mirror but instead of my own reflection, it was... 

It was that musclebound sugar daddy! Holy fucking shit that crazy necklace! I wished I could see his side of the tracks but now I am him, damn biceps are huge! I felt the grey hairs on ‘’my’’ face, ‘’this is so freaky Friday bruh!’’ But if I'm in his body then where...

‘’Oooh... M-must 'a B-blacked out, feel so... so... No this can't be! What have you done to me you thief I'm in your body! I'm Richard Ford, not some criminal! I have to have to restore this. The necklace provides only one wish per customer! I will make you pay for this kid after this is over!’’

 ''I wish I was Richard Ford again!''

''No, you won't, gimme that!'' I shouted and gripped the necklace and pulled it off his neck and pushed him against the wall with my new body's strength.

 ''Huh? I-I'm still you! But why...?'' My old self yelled while I hold him down with one hand while holding the necklace with the other. 

‘’Hey, I get it it's like you said the necklace provides only one wish per customer, and ''my body'' already made his wish but I with Richard Ford's body didn't! HAHAHAHAHA not so smart now right huh sugar daddy or should I call you now sugar thief?!’’

''Make your wish you punk, switch us back!'' 

''Haha, not a chance I'm giving up this wealthy lifestyle!'' 

''You don't leave me a choice, this will hurt you more than me!'' Richard said and then he kicked my fucking balls! 

''AAAAAAHHH you piece of shit!'' I fell to my knees, ''Yeesh you smashed my balls bro Uuugggghhh Shhit!'' 

*click* 

I turned around and saw my old body with Mr. Ford in it holding me at gunpoint.

''Don't worry asshole you won't have to carry MY damn balls anymore! Now last chance to make your wish and switch us back!'' 

''Alright alright don't shoot! I will make that stupid wish." I heard police cars approaching. 

''What are you waiting for know?! Do it NOW!'' 

''I wish...''

''Police open the door!'' 

''I wish... I wish I got ALL your knowledge and you got mine!'' 

''You little R....!'' 

The necklace started to glow and the room was lighted up by a flash again.

The Police busted into the kitchen. ''Police drop your weapon! Drop your weapon!'' 

''Are you alright Mr. Ford you called?'' A cop asked me. 

''Yes, I'm feeling fine just a little dizzy. This street rat tried to rob me I think he is the one who did all those burglaries in the neighborhoods lately.''  

The cops had already handcuffed the real Richard in my body.

 ‘’No, he is lying I'm Richard Ford not him’!’

 ''What a joke if you are Richard Ford what is my birthdate huh? I asked the old Ford. 

''Uhm it's... I don't remember!'' 

How much can I lift? Oh, but if you are ''Mr. Ford'' you should know what my favorite cheat meal is right?

 ''I...I don't remember anything''... ''

‘’255 to 275 lbs and fresh cream cheesecake with blueberries'', I answered with a smile on my handsome face.’’ 

''Officers, please, believe me! He used that necklace over there to switch our bodies, and then he stole all my knowledge including everything I know about myself!''

''But of course, never heard this excuse from a suspect they sure get weirder by the day if you asked me''. Said a cop when they took Richard into custody. 

A few months passed and I'm living my new jet-set-life went smoothly and was kicking my (legal) job with Ford's knowledge and money I could do anything, I even maintained my amazing physique. I looked at the paper at the dinner table... 

''Burglar who terrorized neighborhoods has been convicted 20 YEARS in prison!’’

It just like I told you sugar daddy not everyone is as lucky to be so rich as you were! I guess not such a big guy after all. 

''It's a good day just how I like it, now let's get back to work.''

#male body swap #Black x Black #old to young #young to old #rich to poor #poor to rich #criminal #menofcolorswitchbodiestoo

[undertale-writing-times]

Red and Blueberry swap bodies? (This was literally the first one to come to mind)

Red can't remember the last time he was this small! When he first woke up he didn't realize that anything was wrong until he suddenly realized hey, why am I so small? And he was missing his jacket too… then he realized who he was.

He was that damn short shit! Blueberry. Why the hell was he Blueberry? What happened? He studies himself in the mirror for a while, making his eyeshines go the normal white instead of the star shapes and muttered under his breath.

When Stretch came to check on him, he was going to say something but Stretch pat the top of his head, and it… well huh. He could get used to having a nice brother. He liked the praise that Stretch gave him.

Of course Stretch knows that this isn't his brother, but it does catch his attention. He's not really sure who this person is, and he wants to try to figure out so he's just gonna treat them like normal until he can figure it out. Once he does? He can't help but laugh. Someone so edgy and… red? Is now this cute little thing.

Blueberry on the other hand? He's not… he's not having fun.

He did wake up before Edge, but his body felt so tired and he kept falling asleep randomly! He hated it, then he got yelled at by Edge who didn't even TRY to listen to him when he explained what was going on! What a bully.

The other monsters were being rude for no good reason, and everything was cold ;n;

He did have fun trying to use the magic, though! He summoned these skull like things with two sets of eyes and he got to pet them… he can't summon those normally. He, of course, did it when nobody else could see!

He didn't want Red to get mad at him for 'spilling his secret' or something of that sort.

After a bit, he got kinda used to being in this place, not 100% of course but he was prepared. He remembered being in Underfell for a little bit before, it was a strange time. Now he was just in it again!

#Red #Underfell #Underfell Sans #Blueberry #Underswap #Underswap Sans #body swap

[mistaeq]

since christmas is coming, how about some headcanons for preparation for christmas and baking with the bucci gang? ✨💖

Bucciarati Gang: Baking and Christmas HCs

TW // none

This was so fun to write, plus I put a lot of effort into editing the images! I'm so happy I managed to post this as soon as possible ~ thank you so much for the suggestion, memory♡

Bucciarati Gang Baking and Christmas Headcanons with a neutral!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

GIORNO GIOVANNA

He's never really tried to bake something, to be honest Giorno never had the occasion to even think about trying, in his past. So when Christmas approaches and you suggest the two of you try to bake something for the holidays, he's incredibly suprised and looks forward to it at the same time.

"Baking? Me...? That's sweet y/n, but I'm not sure I'm made for this."

He lets you be the one who does the shopping to buy what you need to bake whatever the two of you have in mind, plus he decided what ingredients to use in the recipe and what to bake.

Get ready for man bun Giorno, while you bake! He won't resist tying his golden hair up.

Christmas stuff doesn't have to be forcibly Christmas related, does it? Anything edible will be fine, and Giorno can't resist when he comes across the recipe for sunflower shaped cupcakes. Luckily you have everything you need to make them, you're just in awe for Giorno's inexperienced ideas.

Let this boy be the one to use the sac-à-poche to make the petals of the sunflowers. Since he's the one whose stand has nature related powers, it sounds just good for him to be the one who makes the petals with the frosting!

"I became one with Gold Experience!"

The two of you are concentrating on the chocolate chips to put in the middle of the sunflowers when you hear the signature sound of Gold Experience creating something. Your eyebrows raise when you see a real sunflower in the stand's hand, and giggle. "Thank you Gold, but I don't think we can put real flowers in the cake."

While you wait for the cake part of the cupcakes to be ready, the two of you are gonna choose a flower for every gang member, and create Christmas decorations with it thanks to Giorno's stand power. Abbacchio is gonna hate it so damn much. It gives you life for it's definitely hilarious.

BRUNO BUCCIARATI

Bucciarati is probably the one who gave the idea. In his mind, he wanted to bake with all of the gang, but for some reasons, all of them declined, you may never know it's because they wanted to let you have some time with Bruno, the two of you only. Abbacchio convinced Mista and Narancia.

"Who knows why nobody can join us... nevermind, it'll be the two of us, amore."

The two of you go doing the shopping together, so you can confront each other and decide what to buy while you're at the supermarket directly. Bruno enjoys doing the shopping with you.

Bruno loves Christmas, above all if it's with the gang - basically his family - and with you. So, he's gonna choose something more classic than Giorno's cupcakes. Chocolate chips cookies, the most popular ones, a must for christmas. Plus, he can't help but admit those remind him of his outfit.

"I'm... lowkey dressed like a cookie, ain't I?"

I bet Bucciarati's gonna be the ninety percent of your self control on how many chocolate chips to put in every cookie, and how to blame you, it's literally delicious. Plus, he can't lie. He enjoys seeing you so enthusiastic about it.

"Come on Bruno, it's not that big of a deal, just a chocolate chip more..." you insist, when all of a sudden, a metallic blue arm crosses your sight, and the bowl full of batter that was in your arms is now closed by a giant zipper. Your gaze automatically electrocutes Bucciarati. "It's not fair to use Sticky Fingers!"

When he unzips the bowl, you manage to throw in more chocolate chips anyway.

As you wait for the cookies to get ready, you're gonna witness Bucciarati writing touching Christmas themed letters to his gang members, and if you feel inspired, you might wanna suggest him what to write in some cases eventually. He's gonna ask you to sign the letters as well.

LEONE ABBACCHIO

You'll have to get his ass off of the couch using brute force, for he's never gonna bake something with you unless you try really hard to convince him. He's gonna let you pull him eventually, just because you rarely are so enthusiastic about something, and he likes to see you like that. So he accepts.

"Okay, I'll bake with you, just if you're the one who works and I'm the one to watch."

No excuses, mr. Scrooge. You're gonna make Abbacchio do something for it, sending him to do the shopping and asking him to surprise you in terms of ingredients, so that he's gonna choose what to bake, too.

You decided to find a compromise, and bake something for everyone to enjoy it, but not really Christmas themed. Still, you forced him to wear a Santa hat while you were baking. Blueberry cupcakes, that's what he liked. The color matching his tastes, plus cupcakes are units, for everyone.

"So everyone has their own cupcake 'n shit."

He's messy. You had asked him to be the one to put the blue frosting on the cupcakes, but he turned out to be so clumsy that you had to put your hands on Abbacchio's and guide him to make a perfect twirl. At the end, both your hands are blue.

Hope you enjoy Abbacchio in a ponytail, because this is what you're gonna get here.

As soon as you show him how to do decorate a cupcake, he's gonna use Moody Blues, for the scene to repeat and you to decorate every cupcake with him watching only. Luckily, your stand manages to stop this, as you cross your arms. "No lazy man will be my boyfriend, just so you know, Leone." he then started to work.

He's gonna work on something serious for his fellow gang members and for you when he'll be alone with himself, probably. Around you, he just plays it cool and opts to give each member one of the blueberries left from you baking session. Woah, Leone. Don't stress it out too much, huh.

GUIDO MISTA

The gunslinger will probably not even ask for your opinion about it, deep down he knows you'll accept to bake some delicious Christmas treats with him. You'll wake up one day just to find him in a cook outfit already, pulling you out of the bedsheets to drag you in the kitchen. He's so extra.

"Come on y/n, you can't keep on sleeping! Don't you feel the Christmas atmosphere?"

He's already done the shopping. When you get into the kitchen, expecting him to send you to buy everything you need. But the sweet goofball was so excited for it that he bought it all himself.

Oh, he wants to go wild. He can feel the Christmas spirit all over his soul already. When you look at the ingredients you can tell he chose to bake some classic panettone with raisins. That's not easy, but he believes he can do it with you, and you'd never let your boyfriend down. Let's do this!

He's gonna be so extra that his signature hat will be replaced with a chef hat for the day.

You better hide the raisins in the process, because Mista's gonna distractly munch on them, ignoring the fact that if he keeps going, they'll finish before you'll even be able to put it in the panettone. Keep your hungry man under your control.

"Guido... care to explain why do you keep on eating all of the raisins? We need them for the recipe!" he's then gonna stare at you, confused, for he claims he hasn't eaten any but a single raisin since the beginning. You seem to figure out the issue when you see a raisin moving by itself, Number 3 under it if you squint. "Oh my god."

While you wait for your panettone to be ready, him and the Pistols are gonna wrap up some smol presents he bought for you and for the gang. You're allowed to help the Pistols, but don't you dare to even try to look at what he's doing. You know, he's the one wrapping your present.

"If you watch this, I'm gonna fucking die."

PANNACOTTA FUGO

He's gonna be the one to bring the idea up, but it will take Bruno to sweet talk him into asking you. Asking something to Fugo isn't easy, and you told Bucciarati you would have liked to bake something. So he talked Pannacotta into be the first one to bring up the idea of baking to you.

Get him by the hand and bring him to do the shopping with you. His embarrassment with asking you to bake will slowly go away with time spent together choosing the ingredients you'll have to use. Let him enjoy it.

"So uhm... you choose the recipe and I follow you? No...? I choose? Oh my god..."

How much do you have to love a fruit to have it as a pattern on your tie too? You can't say no when Pannacotta suggests baking a strawberry cake. Even if it's not really Christmas themed, you don't dare to question him, it's already a good thing that he expressed his thoughts freely.

Pannacotta feels lucky to be able to have such a quiet and good time alone with you.

For the love of God, don't you even think about letting Fugo be the one to put the strawberry frosting on the cake. Man has no patience. Unless you want your cake go to waste, make sure you're the one to decorate it. Or maybe, decorate it together.

"Damn... you really made a mess on the counter, huh." you jokingly scolded Pannacotta. But now you had to find a way to clean up without Bruno to notice. "Do you think Purple Haze would be interested in tasting the frosting which flew around?" you suggest, seeing the stand summon itself and stick his tongue out of his mouth stitches.

"I think we did our best. I love you, cara/o."

While you wait for your strawberry cake to be ready, you'll happen to ask him what has he bought as presents for his fellow gang members. Fugo will shyly answer that he was lowkey hoping you could help him in choosing what to do. He's doing his best, please be proud of the boy.

NARANCIA GHIRGA

Baking? You really want to bake with him? Is he allowed to bring his headphones with him while you bake? No? Flour might ruin them? Narancia is new to this baking thing. Before you came to Passione, he left these tasks to Bruno or Mista, but now you want to bake with him? This is good...maybe?

"What's the point of baking if you can't even listen to some good music and vibe to it?"

You left Narancia at home to get the kitchen ready to bake with Bucciarati's help, and after asking what kind of Christmas cake he would have liked to bake, you took care of doing the shopping.

Obviously he would have wanted to bake that. It would have been hilarious, but predictable. Still, you decided to make Narancia happy despite the failed Christmas theme. Orange chocolate cake! Turns out he wanted to bake such a thing just to apply the meme "I am cake" to himself.

"I'll finally be cake... like the prophecy said."

Please keep Narancia from eating the cake batter, or else he'll probably eat the whole cake before you even bake it. It's a good thing, though. The boy's got a good sense of taste, and at least you know the cake's turning out pretty delicious.

"We have to slice the oranges. I'll try to figure out a way to do it properly- Nara? What are you..? NO-" you only manage to say, without keeping Narancia from throwing the oranges towards Aerosmith's propellers. You hate to say it, but you must admit that your boyfriend's idea worked and sliced the oranges perfectly.

He's gonna suggest to keep the cake for yourselves and give the gang brioches.

While you wait for your chocolate cake to be ready, Narancia's gonna show you all the playlists he prepared for his friends, but obviously not the one for you, that has to be a surprise. The music's one of the best ways for him to express himself, so that's a great gift, coming from Narancia.

TRISH UNA

It's not like she has had so much time to dedicate to baking in her last fifteen years of life, so you're gonna let her have a good time with it, being the one who brings it up first to her. Trish is gonna happily accept, and will take it as a way to thank Bruno for all that he's done for her, too.

She's gonna want to go doing the shopping by herself, in order to show you she's become independent enough and to make you proud of her. Trish is gonna surprise you with her choices!

"I won't disappoint you, y/n, I'll come back with the best ingredients you can wish for."

Turns out the poor baby's not really good at baking, but that's no problem! You opt for something more decorative, but still sweet. She's on cloud nine when you tell her it's no big deal, and that the two of you can still prepare some pink meringues to munch on during the festivities!

"Let's stay positive. Meringues are perfect!"

The girl is gonna definitely use you as a taste tester for the meringues, Trish likes to spoil you by feeding you the pink candies the two of you just prepared, and if they're good enough, she'll even let you do the same for her and feed her a meringue.

She'll be likely to do her best to be romantic to you. Trish's new to love relationships.

"Ouch... I think the batter turned out a little too hard. Maybe we put too much flour, babe." you tell Trish, but she smiles, and looks like she has a good idea. At the sound of a loud "WANNABEEEEEEE", Spice Girl punches the batter enough to turn it a little softer, a little less dense, just like you needed it to be. "Thank you, love."

While you wait for your pink meringues to be ready, Trish is gonna tell you a Christmas secret. She thinks it's not much, but she's prepared a small speech to tell to every member, to thank them for having saved her life. Reassure your girlfriend of the fact that her gift is amazing.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part five #vento aureo #giorno giovanna #giorno x reader #bruno bucciarati #bucciarati x reader #leone abbacchio #abbacchio x reader #guido mista #mista x reader #pannacotta fugo #fugo x reader #narancia ghirga #narancia x reader #trish una #trish x reader

[cottoncandyqueersworld]

Please go easy on me....it's been a few years since I've written a story let alone letting someone read my trash writing.

Enjoy ~ 

A long and angry growl from my stomach bubbled audibly against the palm of my hand. On any other day I would have been okay with having to skip breakfast....even if it was getting close to dinner time....but we had been walking all over downtown Chicago. I was rightfully starving. 

" Ugh! I don't think I can go on any longer.....I might die..." I whined, hoping for a reaction from the group but all I got was an irritated response from Kyle. 

 " For the last time we don't have time to stop and eat River.... we're so close to the performance spot and if we're even a minute late they'll -" 

" What IS that smell?..." I asked cutting him off in the process. I began looking around to find where the sickly sweet smell was coming from and then I saw it in all it's glory...Rainbow letters spelled out The Yummy Tummy Co. The soft pink building was just screaming at me to come and sample there sweets. I wiped the drool from my face and whipped my head around and looked up at Kyle 

" We don't HAVE to be at the park until 6ish. It's only 4:15 Ky.....give me half an hour. Quick in and out and I'll meet you guys there. " I even gave him a little pout but it wasn't enough. He crossed his arms like an annoyed parent with there child. I was losing hope until an idea hit me. 

"C'mon I KNOW your hungry too....what if I get you something so your not all cranky when we preform huh? You wanna do your best right?" He raised an eyebrow and sighed. 

"25 minutes and half a dozen blueberry glazed doughnuts.... we'll meet you there." I practically jumped in the air and raced to the bakery, barely doing cars as I crossed the busy street. 

I opened the bakery door and a wave of sweet hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt a twinge of anxiety set in as nobody came to greet me....matter of fact nobody else was there. I was alone.

"Hhheeelllllllllllllllllllllllllooooo?" I called out, sightly annoyed that I was gonna leave empty handed. Right as I was about to turn around I saw a plate of brownies sitting on the corner near the cash register with a free sample sign poking out of one of the many brownies. 

"Well....I don't think much harm will come if I just take a few....right?..." My stomach answered with a growl and I grabbed the plate of brownies and was about to sit down when I figured it would be a good idea to grab a drink too....I was about to play for thousands of people....I wanna sound good for all the lovely ladies out there I thought to myself as I scanned the room for something to drink and then I saw the customer fridge stocked with pops and teas but I had my heart set on the Cookies' n Cream milk. I heard kyles nagging voice in the back of my head saying that I shouldn't be messing with dairy because there wouldn't be time for a bathroom break but I shook the thought out of my head and looked at the clock on the wall... 4:17....oh I definitely have time. I sat down and licked my lips as I examined the feast in front of me. A large plate of brownies and 5 20oz bottles of Cookies'nCream milk. With a big smile on my face I grabbed my first brownie in dug in. 

       This was by far the best tasting ANYTHING I have ever had the pleasure of putting in my mouth. It was still warm and a just a touch under baked so it was extra gooey. The fudgyness of the brownie accompanied by the chocolate chips that seemed to melt in my mouth kept my tastebuds begging for more. After I finished that first brownie I chugged a bit of the milk and before I knew it I had a good system going. I'd take a few bites than take a huge gulp of milk and I continued this for awhile. 

      I began to feel my belly expand around the 5 or 6th brownie. I leaned back against the counter and patted my belly.  I was starting to fill up fast but they tasted ssooo good. I unbuttoned my shorts, giving my belly more room to grow as I chuckled to myself. I was definitely a messy eater. Crumbs and mostly eaten brownie bits scattered all over. I had chocolate stains on my shirt that and the tips of my fingers. No doubt my face was covered in the choclately goodness. A satisfied burp escaped my lips and I gave my belly a little rub as I unzipped my shorts. I could telly belly was getting really bloated but to what extent I didn't know. I've always kinda had this fantasy about making myself as huge as possible. The feeling of my soft jiggly belly and massive thighs was always a little bit of a turn on. I felt my face heat up as I was making myself excited. I moaned as I felt all the brownies making their way through my digestive system. I felt as if I died and went to heaven. But before I could grab another brownie I head footsteps in the distance. My heart dropped. I wasn't alone after all. Before I even had time to react I felt hands bang down on the counter I was sitting infront of. Thank God for the ledge of the counter that was hiding me. I could tell my the groans and angry noises coming from whoever was behind the counter that they weren't pleased with my little snack. 

"Who the fuck ate all the brownies?? Ugh I JUST made them this morning! I didn't even get to try this new recipe.....WHOEVER did this needs to fess up NOW!" The fiery voice demanded. I was hoping for a quick escape since they hadn't noticed me yet since they had come from behind the counter and I was sitting infront of it I was hoping I could just crawl out and quickly make a run for it but my stomach had other plans as a long low growl gave away my position. Shit. I looked up at the same time a very confused pair of thick glasses looked down at me. I felt my face flush. I considered myself a 'smooth talker' when it came to women but she was different. For once I had nothing to say. My mind went blank. She walked around to the front of the counter and I sheepishly stood up. There was a breaf silence until she asked 

" Where they good at least? I've been trying these different recipes and I thought I finally got it right but I wasn't sure so I left them out as free samples" she was looking me up and down. I had forgotten that my shorts were completely undone and I could have easily put a toddler to shame with how messy I had ate them. 

"Y-yeah they were amazing! You should DEFINITELY keep that recipe. " I finally had enough courage to look up at her. She was a hair taller than me, just under 6ft. She had dirty blonde hair that was down framing for face, and the most beautiful sky blue eyes I had ever seen. She had a Beatles shirt on from their '64 would tour, black jeans and combat boots. I felt my face turn another shade of darker red when I realized I had gotten lost in her eyes. 

"I'm Kat" she said with a smile. 

" River......my name's River." I said with a nervous smile. ' Jesus what is wrong with me? Why is she making me so nervous? Why is my heart beating so fast?' my stomach growled breaking my train of thought. 'why on earth am I still hungry???' I sighed and placed a hand on my belly. 

" Guess I'm still kinda hungry.....would you mind if?....I mean I'll pay of course even though they're free samples I'd feel bad...Oh! And all the drinks......" I reached into my back pocket ready to pay the small fortune but I got no response from her regarding a prince. I looked at her again to only see she wasn't even paying attention to my words. No. She was fixated on my belly. her face was a little flushed with what I'd assume was excitement as she was biting her bottom lip. I quickly pulled my shirt down and began to button up my shorts. ' no worded she's staring at you she probably thinks your a fucking fat pig' I thought to myself. She quickly noticed this and her eyes grew wide. 

 " No no no please don't. I'm sorry I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.... Your belly is just so massive.....it's kinda....hot..." She trailed off as she took a step closer. My eyes widened in disbelief. 'hot?? She thinks I'M hot???' damn it. I was at a lose for words again. 

 " You think I'm....hOt?" My voice cracked. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.....

    She nodded her head as she messed with her hair " Yes, very.....but you mentioned you where still hungry?" 

     "Yeah, but I don't think I can eat anymore brownies." I said sheepishly. 

    " Oh? Well lucky for you this is a well stocked bakery. Follow me." With a flip of her hair she  spun around and beckoned me to follow with her finger. How could I say no? I shrugged and without another thought I followed her behind the counter. I could tell things were about to get interesting. 

#feed me #stuffing kink #getting fatter #wg kink #fat belly #chubby belly #wg fiction #wg story

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

2. twisted

The cartoon that came out of the machine was pretty as a picture, perfect in almost every detail, and had a bubbly, positive personality. But she was not what Joey had wanted Susie to become. (Set in an AU where Joey gets perfect toons from his freshly killed employees and STILL isn’t happy, the unpleasable bitch…)

“Progress report to GENT home office, Client; Joey Drew Studios.

With the addition of the new ink recipe to use in the machine, we have made an unbelievable leap in progress and have almost met our client’s expectations. What had started as a machine to mold life sized figures out of ink has now done things that border on being supernatural.

Although Mr. Drew seems unimpressed, even frustrated with the results at times, in spite of the fact that the models have come out identical to their cartoon counterparts.

The process of running the cartoon film through the machine for the figures to imprint on has been successful, but it looks like that unless someone goes through the trouble of making a short that only has ONE character in it, the machine picks what character it makes at seemingly random. That is our client’s complaint; that instead of being user chosen, the machine picks out which living, breathing, thinking ink models it makes at random. Upon working on this, if I were to be in the client’s shoes, I’d have several valid complaints regarding the machine and the models it created, but our client’s complaint… Is that the machine that doesn’t have a system that allows the user to pick and choose which model it makes yet creates a physically flawless model every single time, does not allow the user to pick and choose which model it makes. He never ceases to infuriate me.

On a sour note, there was an incident with the figure in the likeness of a character called ‘The Brute’. Upon its creation, it immediately went and broke our client’s leg in a very… well, brutal fashion too. But fortunately, it has not physically attacked anyone since The Cameraman figure was made as we have threatened to separate them if it keeps up that behavior. It still likes to insult people, and it still does things that unnerve me though. We’re hoping that the rest of the figures will be less violent and or creepy.”

Thomas clicked off the recording and sighed as he looked at the newly made report, there was no way he could submit this to his boss without someone sending in someone to make sure he wasn’t huffing in ink fumes and whatever the Studio workers smoked to consider any of this to be normal.

“Hey Tommy! I think I figured out the issue with the machine! Or rather, its fuel.”

The mechanic grit his teeth and turned to face his client.

“What? I wasn’t aware that there was a problem with it.”

“Why, Tommy, how could you forget? I’m talking about the figure deposit problem of course! Why did we get The Brute when we wanted to get Boris? Why did we get Cameraman when we wanted Bendy? The answer was so simple, why, it was even staring at us the entire time!”

“Uh huh…” Thomas did not look convinced. “And what was this issue?”

“The ingredients, the Ink of course! You simply can’t put blueberry pancake batter in an oven and be surprised when you get blueberry pancakes instead of blueberry muffins, We got those two knuckleheads before we got the real stars of the show because the souls used to make them weren’t fit to make those two, but the machine still did what it does best: made living cartoons.”

Tom had an uneasy feeling in his gut as Joey grabbed his arm and led him to the Ink Machine’s room. He felt like a sheep being led to the slaughterhouse, he KNEW what went down in there! He knew the other ingredients, not well, per say, but for long enough to judge them and their characters.

He didn’t shed a single tear when Sammy was used in it, in fact, he was rather pleased with the results before it started acting out like that. He and the music director were almost always at each other’s throats for one reason or another. If you asked him, the ex-musician was strange, rude, clearly mentally unstable, and sometimes even cruel. And even if he wasn’t, his physical health had declined so much over his time at the studio that it was obvious that he would die regardless of whether or not he was put in the machine. Feeding Sammy to that machine was an act of mercy, really, and even if it wasn’t, it served him right to become a- err, The Brute and have him put the former musician in his place- put his villainous ways to a decent cause. Now if only someone could ensure for a fact that The Brute would behave...

Now the other ingredient, Norman Polk, was a different story. The man was old, weird and kinda creepy. On the surface, the man was an ideal candidate. Like Sammy, he would die anyway and nobody would miss him when he did. But on the contrary, he seemed like he still had some good years left in him. And while he was weird and creepy, he had been those things in an oddly endearing way that most of the studio had either liked or tolerated enough to not be bugged by it. The mechanic didn’t know how to explain it, that man reminded Tom of a mysterious, mostly-estranged relative that shows up out of nowhere and was always there for you even if you don’t always see him. So when the man snooped too much for his own good and had to be silenced… Tom could never look the resulting toon in the eye, or in his case, the lens.

But the mechanic couldn’t deny that it needed to be done, after all, the former projectionist was far too nosy for anyone’s sake. Nobody who knows the secret of the Ink Machine (or rather, it’s unconventional secret ingredient needed for its ink) should be free to wander the studio and spill the beans.

And a feeling in his gut was beginning to tell him that that was why he was the next on the chopping block.

He had built it, he learned what it would take to make it work, he had done what it took to make it work, and it was working now; No more models that would only move a tiny bit before collapsing into puddles! No more off model models! No more issues aside from x, y, z… -No more reasons for Joey to keep him alive when it was now too dangerous to his business… 

A tiny voice at the back of his head told him it served him right. The creator of this unholy torture device would now be consumed by it, just like how the maker of the Brazen Bull was the first victim it claimed.

At this point, he was almost morbidly curious on who or what the machine would make him; would it poke fun at his past and make him that territorial junkyard guard, Canoodle? Would it ironically punish him for his greed by making him The Fat Cat of the show, Boswell Lotsobucks? Would it acknowledge that although he was a villain to the bitter end, he still tried to go clean only for demons to drag him back down his dark paths and make him into Charley? Thinking about it, any butcher gang member would be a good enough fit really.

He was a mix of relieved, disappointed, and horrified when he was brought into the room and saw the unconscious voice actress of Alice Angel strapped to a mobile operating table. Joey seemed to ignore his reaction as he proudly showed her off and began to monologue.

“Like Boris, Sammy was a musician, simple-minded, and was very loyal to those he considered friends until the bitter end. But what made Sammy more like the Brute then Boris- Aside from body type, obviously, was that Sammy had quite the short temper on him, one that got messed with often, and a tendency to hold onto a grudge that can’t be swayed away with a good meal or a bad joke… Just like our friend; the Brute.”

Tom stayed speechless as Joey continued his seemingly prepared and rehearsed speech.

“As for Bendy and Norman, well, it’s obvious that those too simply weren’t compatible in the slightest! Sure, they both have their mischievous sides, but that alone doesn’t make a man into a good imp… However, do you know who DOES have more in common with Mr. Polk? That’s right! A certain smart alec-someone who knows a thing or two about anyone, everyone, and everything whether he wants to or not. Someone with a darker, more jaded sense of humor than our little devil, someone who can lurk in the shadows, or in his case, ‘backstage’ for safety or to gather Intel, but be happy and proud to take the front stage when the need arises! ...Alright, I can see that Norman’s soul may have influenced the personality of our Cameraman, but at least he did it in ways that make sense to the character.”

The mechanic continued to stay silent as Joey continued.

“But the main point is: we know what to do to fix this little issue. If we want a main character, we need someone who embodies the soul of that character. And Ms. Campbell here said it herself; Alice is a part of her!”

“Joey…”

“Why, she’d be thanking us if she knew what was coming! This is a dream come true for her! She always seemed to be the happiest when she was singing our angel darling’s songs…”

As if he was snapped out of a trance, the mechanic pulled Joey to his face, gripping the animator’s arms tightly and shaking him up a bit.

“Joey! We can’t do this! Susie isn’t like Norman or Sammy. She’s young, healthy, and still has a lot to live for. Nobody would buy that she passed on from something out of the blue, or that she moved away without warning or telling anyone. Everyone in the studio loves her and talks to her frequently! If we do this, especially so soon, they will make the connection, and they will find out about this. It was bad enough when Norman went, imagine if someone as well loved as her went too!”

Joey just laughed and slapped Tom’s shoulder.

“Oh Tommy, all we need to tell them is that Susie got her big break and is Bringing Alice to life in ways never before seen! And to sell the illusion, also tell them ‘you know how those folks in Hollywood are with their schedules, always a bunch of busy bees.’ They’ll bite, you just have to trust me.”

“What if they don’t?” the mechanic argued. “What if they start snooping around and start to piece together what really happened to her?”

Joey’s smile wavered a bit, but remained steadfast.

“Well, we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we reach it. And when we do, we’ll have our answer!”

“Nnnnggghhh…”

Both of them shuddered when they heard the voice actress start to stir awake.

“I swore I used stronger stuff in her drink…”

“...Jo...Joey..? ..Mr. Conner..?” The voice actress’s real eye widened in horror as she looked around, and her voice wavered as she grew more and more frantic. “WHat’s going on?! Where am I- Why am I tied up?!”

“S-Susie! Everything’s perfectly fine my dear, you just need to calm down a bit and I’ll explain everything…” He subtly jabbed Thomas in the ribs with his elbow. “Tommy!” He hissed “Throw her in the machine already!”

The frightened voice actress began to struggle against her restraints while Tom hesitated. Joey shot him a glare as he strolled up behind Susie and put a ‘reassuring’ hand on the weeping angel’s shoulder.

“Joey, please… let me go… Don’t do this to me!” Tears were running down the woman’s face, her voice was soft and breaking from her stress. “Just let me go and I promise I won’t tell anyone…”

“Now, now, Susie, there’s nothing to worry about, yes I know this looks unsettling from your position… But you and Alice are going places, new, big places that most people only dream of seeing! You’re going to bring her to life in ways that will touch the hearts of generations!”

A flash of realization crossed her face.

“Joey… answer me this: when Sammy ‘died from untreated lung cancer’ did he actually die from lung cancer? And when Norman ‘died from a workplace injury’ did he really…?” her voice trailed off a bit with uncertainty before asking her third question. “Did their deaths have anything to do with those two toons that showed up?!”

Her questions were not answered by words, but with actions as the two men stuffed her into the machine. When it turned on, her screams echoed throughout the mostly empty studio, chilling all who heard them to the very bone.

When they finally stopped, the machine whirred and roared to life and Joey rubbed his hands together in glee as he watched the machine work its magic.

Thomas, on the other hand, stood in silence while staring at his hands as dread and guilt sank in his gut.

The former man’s smile fell into a look of confusion when he saw a pair of gloves with ‘X’ marks on them come out, followed by arms that connected to them. That look of confusion fell deeper into a frown when he saw the arms stretch, curl, and twist when the gloves reached the floor as if they were streams of ice cream coming out of the machine at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Alice didn’t have arms that curled and stretched, but Joey knew a certain demoness toon who did; Miss Twisted. He was cursing under his breath, of course it would complete their little trio before giving him what he wanted! Now he wasted his one shot at getting Alice!

The rest of the toon didn’t even get out of the damn machine, it was like she was taunting him by continuing to stretch her arms and let them continue to coil in piles on the floor instead of showing him the finished product.

Furious, he marched over and grabbed the toon demoness’s arms and yanked her out of the damn machine.

“Stop messing around!” He scolded before pausing and reapplying his signature smile. “Your friends Brute and Cameraman have been worried sick about you ever since their creation! You wouldn’t want to keep them waiting for you any longer than they’ve already been, right?”

He could’ve been imagining it, but he swore that she had a look of pure terror on her face before she put on a fake smile of her own. And was it just him, or was this Miss Twisted’s left eye slightly discolored, glassy looking, if that made sense for someone with pitch black pie-cut eyes. The grayer eye she had reminded him of Susie Campbell’s fake eye.

“Y-yeah! You’re right!” She pushed Joey out of her face, clearly uncomfortable by his staring but pretending to be perfectly fine. “I can’t keep my boys waiting for too long, who knows what they’ll do?” She chuckled nervously. “So… where are you keeping them? where are they hiding?”

“Tommy here will be happy to show you, just follow him and-”

“Thanks!”

The demoness chipperly chirped and swiftly yanked Thomas out of the room at a speed that almost insulted the man.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #Thomas Conner #joey drew #susie campbell #miss twisted #fanfic #ink demonth #murder warning

[jiminrings]

okay hear me out hannah, what if we have cute shy lifeguard!jimin x flirty y/n. Like y/n can be a surfboarder and she always visits the beach and Jimin is always there and she makes sure she flirts with him 24/7 and jimin gets all blushy and stuttery. (also wanna say blueberry jungkook gives me serotonin.) 💖

jimin only has two fears in life

first is when he’s under the sun and he feels like he’s doesn’t have enOUGH sunscreen on even if he knows for sure that he’s laid it on thick

like actually thick to the point that u could scratch his skin with a spoon and it’d be like scraping butter 

the general rule of applying sunscreen to your face was to put tHREE fingers’ worth and spread it evenly

hA those only apply for weaklings because jimin practically puts on a whole  p a l m  on just his face alone

his second fear is you

wait no actually fEAR is such a strong word

literally how could he rephrase with what he feels about you ://

he’s uh sHY around you?? but not like the type that he’d sprint across the other side of the shore to move away from you

he’s maybe a little intimidated? because there’s just something about you that makes him 0_o about you point-blank and he doesn’t even know why

he mAY feel a little attracted towards you??? JUST MAYBE

does picking up his binoculars and trying to look for you across the waves count as a lil crush

he’s a goddamn lifeguard and he knows he should be approachable with all of the years that comes along with his profession, but there’s irrevocably somethinG about you that makes him curl in his shell

jimin’s adorable

jimin is the most adorable lifeguard you’ve ever seen in your whole life

it was just the regular day in the beach that you constantly have while it was still off-season!!! you still of course sURF almost everyday and it’s a personality trait and lifestyle at this point

you went with seokjin as you always did and the two of you practically live together at this point :D

after all, he is the next-door neighbor that you had when u were like seven years old and he was one year older and his iMMEDIATE newly-moved in neighbor bonding response was:

“we should surf. do you wanna surf? i’ll ask permission from your parents!! what do you mEAN you’ve never done this before?? i’ve done this only once but i could teach you!! trust me!!”

it was just 2 and 2 together honestly,, it was a small town and you lived right nEXT to the beach!! bonding with seokjin is the closest you’d ever get to being as reckless as the seven-year old you in the city could :3

jin, for whatever reason that day two months ago, hAULED your ass to his truck and told you that he could physically feel something good about the beach today

“i’m serious. i feel it in my left pec today!” he whines when you take your time securing your surfboard, flexing it specifically that it makes you snort

he’s just learned that last week and he wON’T stop!!! your weekly family dinner yesterday was just him doing it the whole time and there’s a certain mix of reactions

at one point he insisted that he’d only respond to whatever’s directed at him through morse code,.,,.. WITH HIS PECS

“everyday’s a good day at the beach, though,” you sigh knowingly, already feeling the familiar waves on your body, “except for that time a stingray almost caught up to you.”

motherfucker didn’t even believe you at first and he was so scared shitless that you had to carry him back to the shore while hauling both of your boards with you

and you know what??

he was right

he was bEYOND RIGHT

the cranky middle-aged lifeguard wasn’t there by his post, but instead, someone just lightyears better than him

he is the living epitome of your dreams :D

no one could ever wear the uniform red shorts that good even!! he’s shirtless and musculaR and compact and lithe and he definitely looks like he knows what’s going on

his undercut accentuates his pretty features even from afar and you tREMBLE on your knees when you see it

was that a rib tattoo you just saw???

:O

you can no longer see seokjin waving his hands around your face

you can no longer grasp that you have a surfboard with you and have like a dozen more in your collection accumulated from sponsorships and own handicraft

at this point do you wanna even rIDE the boards????? :|

you’d like one of him please

he looks kind and gentle and as soon as you asked him if he was new, and he answered so gently and even sHYLY that he is

straight-up tunnel vision from then,,, all you see is jIMIN

that’s the dynamic really

flirt who likes beach-related pick up lines surfer girl and blushing shy and scolds you weakly lifeguard

it was routine and seokjin just tells you to knock it off because at this point hE’S the one who feels embarrassed 

and between the two of you he has the bigger pride!!!

you literally never miss a chance to make jimin flustered

when he doesn’t use the jetski and instead uses his surfboard to transport someone back to shore, you’d be paddling alongside him :D

when he reapplies his sunscreen, your hand would be oUTSTRETCHED to ask for some when out of all the people, you’d be the one with most of it

or even just the occasional sandcastle you build in front of his deck and has your name signed with shells to greet him a good morning

.... yes

all of that

uhhhhh

jimin doesn’t wanna sound too needy uh but where is that tODAY??!?!

it’s 6 AM and normally you’d be walking onto the sandbar by 6:03

by now he should’ve heard the hum of either yours or jin’s truck uHHH where is that loud engine pls

the sun isn’t out yet, right? it’s there but it’s not scorching down, and even if he should be applying it now, he’s just gonna hold off :D

just in case you’re gonna ask some from him again :D

it’s 6:52 and honestly wHAT THE FUCK

where are you supposed to be :((

it’s a thursday and he knows that your favorite surf days are thursdays because the waves are high and favorable and forgiving from what you could tell

he’s normally the shy yet friendly lifeguard but now he is the stone-faced lifeguard nobody come talk to him

he feels like kicking down a kid’s sandcastle today pretty much lmao no lie in that

jimin comes back from his rounds, grumpy and annoyed as he busts down his station’s door

he’s about to plop directly onto his seat with a hUFF because where is his fill of attention today????? wHERE is his fill of flirting that he only shields away from but secretly enjoys??? 

he’s oblivious that you’re sitting slumped on his seat, quiet voice enough to startle him

“people who wanna go date on me tonight say ah?”

“aH BGWRETVY UVQEUR HOLY FUCKING SHIT I-”

oh

oh that’s you

you look a lil different today

you’re not wearing your wetsuit and your hair isn’t in a wet bun!!

instead for a change, you’re wearing a sundress with a bikini underneath, hair put down and pretty glasses on your nosebridge

“ha. cool. good morning, jimin :)”

you take that as your cue to leave because you’ve already made your presence known and don’t bother to wait for a response, about to descend on the stairs because you could hear jin fighting away crabs all the way here

jimin sputters because you’re leaving him alone so easily, busting his door the second time around but with franticness

“what time?”

...

“huh?”

jimin sheepishly scratches his head, upper lip nervously bit between his teeth

“... our date? what time do i pick you up?”

drabble nights: open!!

#drabble nights #jimin #jimin imagine #jimin oneshot #jimin x reader #jimin x y/n #jimin drabbles #lifeguard!jimin