#there’s no way he’s that funny off the cuff without practice

[kamuucab]

I don’t know if anyones pointed it out yet, but Floyd is silly. Goofy as hell. Even if he doesn’t have much of an outward personality in the movie, his dialogue shows a lot of character.

Most of those boyband puns in the script come from him, and he’s sarcastic towards Velvet and Veneer in such a way that shows he’s naturally witty and quick-thinking. Calling them “talent-stealing succubi”, quipping about a “desperate Christmas album or one-off national anthem performance”, commenting on his imprisonment and impending death in a off-handed snappy way (“Yea sure, dying sucks but at least it's for some sweet 'bling a ding' and some boho chic home furnishings.”) Floyd’s funny.

He’s naturally resourceful and charismatic as well. He hatched an almost-successful escape attempt and almost convinced Veneer to release him too! He wasn’t just taking his imprisonment lying down; he was probably constantly constructing plans in his mind and subtly manipulating Crimp and Veneer when Velvet wasn’t there. If things went slightly differently, or if he had more time, he probably could have escaped on his own.

I know he was typecast as “the sensitive one” in the boyband and doesn’t have much of a role besides being the victim of V&V’s scheme, but there are crumbs here and there that I definitely enjoy and think about.

#dreamworks #dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls band together #trolls 3 #Floyd trolls #trolls Floyd #anyway do you think some of Floyd’s solo act was him doing stand up #cause I def believe he did stand up #there’s no way he’s that funny off the cuff without practice #I think it’s cool that most of the realy good lines are from Floyd #kamu writes #also he is still very obviously empathetic and kind #but he’s definitely sassy and confident

[on-partiality]

The Basics Of American Revolutionary War Uniforms:

Basic descriptions I wrote of each layer of a Continental Army soldier's uniform in order of what you'd put on first to what you'd put on last, starting with:

Shirts:

In the 18th century, a man with a shirt was considered naked, so the shirt was a part of every outfit (although it was often covered in other layers of clothing). The shirts worn by the soldiers in the revolution were designed to be as comfortable as humanly possible, so they were very long, often stopping mid-thigh or just below the knee, loose and flowy, and had lots of ruffles at the top. Shirts also had long, puffy sleeves. The shirts were so comfortable that they would function as nightgowns too. All a man had to do to get ready for bed was take off all of the other layers of his uniform. The shirts were plain white or a yellowish colour, depending on how many times they'd been worn. Collars were high but not as high as collars in the 1790s, and sleeve cuffs were either closed by cuff links (little button things) or they'd just have cute lace at the end. Contrary to some ridiculous but funny assumptions I've heard from people who don't study historical fashion, shirts were not hard to put on, and they were simply pulled over the wearer's head like you would put on any other shirt. Shirts were closed together using buttons (a favourite of mine), linen, thread ties, or different combinations of the forementioned. Buttons tended to be small and made out of either thread, horn, leather, or even leather. Because the shirts were made out of soft, thin materials such as linen, cotton, and light flannel and were worn all the time, they were usually the first clothing items to wear out and break. Due to supply problems, there were periods of time during the revolution where men had to wear their breaking shirts and couldn't replace them. Another thing about shirts that I read somewhere (can not find the source for the life of me) is that Washington told his soldiers to wear hunting shirts because he felt that they were practical in every kind of weather. However, the site did say that they only wore them towards the start of the war and in certain regiments.

Neck accessories (for lack of a better term):

Like I briefly mentioned with the shirts, people in the 18th century had a really weird idea of what counts as naked, and they believed that a man without any kind of neck covering over his shirt was still naked. Cravats and neck stocks were two commonly worn neck garments during the revolution. Cravats were made out of silk, linen, or cotton and could be put on in a range of different ways. When they were untied, they were simply long strips of fabric. There are many ways to tie a cravat. I'm not very good at explaining things, so if you need to figure out how to tie an 18th-century cravat, I recommend looking up a YouTube tutorial. Cravats could also be accessorised with cute brooches and such. There were two different, commonly worn in the continental army, types of neckstock in the 18th century. Number 1 was made of the same materials and had the same colour as a cravat, but number 2 was dark in colour and made of leather. The biggest difference between neckstocks and cravats is how you put them on. Neckstocks aren't meant to be tied like cravats; they have a buckle on one end, so they're meant to be put on more like a belt. Oh, and in case you're wondering, the buckle always goes at the back.

Stockings:

Oh my god, I could talk about revolutionary war stockings forever. They're actually so adorable and cutesy, and I just love them. So the stockings are the pretty little white tights that the 18th century seems to be known for, and they were mainly made via knitting and were made out of either wool, cotton, linen, silk, or a fabric blend of any of the aforementioned. Stockings were usually made using knitting machines, but there were still plenty of people who made them by hand. Stockings in the 18th century were not at all short either; they went above the knee (so basically thigh highs). One of my favourite parts about 18th-century stockings is the garters that secure them into place. The garters were belt things that would wrap around their legs to make sure the stockings wouldn't fall down, and they were usually made out of leather, cloth, lace, or a ribbon tied into a bow. I physically cannot speak of these things without saying aww in my mind.

Culottes:

Also known as knee-breeches, but lets be honest, culottes sound cooler. The culottes worn by 18th-century soldiers were a bit different; instead of having a line of visible buttons at the crotch area to put the culottes on like jeans, they had fewer buttons—usually about 1 or 2—at the top of the culottes, and those buttons would be hidden by the waistcoat. Culottes in the Revolutionary War had a much higher waistband; most culottes in the 18th century had a low waistband, but culottes of the Continental Army had a waistband that went just above the soldiers actual waist. And culottes never stopped lower than the shinbone (to show off the stockings). Culottes were white or off white and were made of either buckskin, elk, sheepskin, wool, linen, velvet, silk, or fabric blends of any of the aforementioned. Culottes were very tight because they were worn so that when the soldiers were riding their horses, which they did a lot, the horse needed to feel every movement of the leg so that it could understand what the rider wanted it to do, and that was much harder if the rider was wearing super loose, flowy pants. Culottes were closed at the side of the knee with more small buttons or ties. Buttons on culottes were usually made of either metal, leather, or horn and covered in cloth or wrapped in thread.

Waistcoats: 

Although waistcoats with sleeves did exist in the 18th century, they weren't as popular as waistcoats without sleeves. Going back to the weird 18th century undestanding of what is nude, a man wearing breeches, a shirt, a cravat or neckstock, and an unsleeved waistcoat would still be counted as naked. This is one of the things I see a lot of period dramas get wrong. I understand the overcoat-less look looks cool and attractive, but in the 18th century, that would be like a man going outside wearing no clothes. Oh, and another thing that a lot of period dramas mess up on is that men did not show their shirt sleeves in public; that was considered crude and abnormal; it wasn't illegal, just something you'd get judged for. There were two sub-types of waistcoats: double-breasted and single-breasted. These sub-types actually have nothing to do with breasts at all. In fact, the sub-types are about buttons. Double-breasted means a waistcoat with two rows of buttons, and single-breasted means a waistcoat with one row of buttons. Back to the uniform of the continental army, at the start of the revolution, soldiers wore single-breasted waistcoats in the most popular style of the 1750s and 1760s, but by the end of the revolution, they'd switched to wearing the 1770s style waistcoat, just going by a general pattern I've seen in changes to parts of the uniform. I'm assuming that the switch would have happened in 1779. In case you're wondering, the difference between the 1750s–1760s style and the 1770s style is their length; the former stopped mid-thigh, the latter stopped just below the hip. Waistcoats were usually made of linen, wool, velvet, silk, or a fabric blend of any of the aforementioned. They were made with all different colours and patterns, but in the continental army, they wore beige and off-white waistcoats. The waistcoat buttons were made of horn, metal, or leather and were sometimes wrapped in thread or fabric to make them the same colour as the waistcoat.

Sashes:

Sashes are a detail of the continental army uniform that I see a lot of people (and sites explaining the layers of the uniform) skip over. Continental army sashes were very important because they showed the wearer's position in the army. Green means the wearer is an aide-de-camp or brigade major; pink means the wearer is a brigadier general or a major general; and finally, blue means the wearer is a commander-in-chief. This system was made by Washington in 1775 and was used by the army throughout the war. The sashes were likely made using silk or wool. There was another, separate system with sashes; colonels, lieutenant colonels, majors, captains, sub-alterns, serjeants, and corporals could wear a red sash around their waist. However, this system was likely an optional thing because I've seen many portraits of men in those ranks from 1775–1779—they ditched the system in 1779—and I've seen only one of them where the person is wearing one of the red waist sashes.

Overcoats:

At this point, you are no longer considered naked; congratulations. So there were two kinds of overcoats in the 18th century: frock coats and dress coats. Dress coats were for super-rich people, and frock coats were for everyone else. Dress coats didn't have functional pockets, and the only reason why people thought that they were better than a frock coat was that they were expensive and sometimes prettier. Frock coats had a double-breasted front (same definition as with the waistcoats), functional pockets, and a high, round neckline. You can probably guess what kind of coat the soldiers of the Continental Army wore. They wore blue wool and linen frock coats with large gold or silver metal buttons on the cuffs and facings. George Washington and his officers wore buff-coloured facings with thick buff-coloured cuffs, and most other officers wore red facings with red cuffs. The coats had coattails and stopped midthigh, but the whole button and facing thing stopped just below the hip. The overcoats had this interesting triangle coat tail design thing at the back that I tried to figure out how to describe, but I couldn't. Here's a picture of what I mean by the two different kinds of frock coats worn by the soldiers that I mentioned in this paragraph: the one on the left is the one worn by Washington and his officers, and the one on the right is the other one:

[image credit, Samson Historical and Common Threads: Army]

I have just been told the name of the triangle things, they're called vents and they're to make sure the soldiers could ride horses without messing up their uniform. :)

Epaulettes:

The epaulettes serve the same purpose as the sashes: to declare the wearers rank; however, epaulettes are much more confusing because the epaulette system changed halfway through the war. So, the epaulette system for 1776–1779 goes like this: commanders, major-generals, brigadier generals, colonels, lieutenant-colonels, and majors wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder; captains wore a single gold epaulette on their right shoulder; sub-alterns wore a single gold epaulette on their left shoulder; serjeants wore a red epaulette made of cloth on their right shoulder; and corporals wore a green epaulette made of cloth on their left shoulder. The system from 1779-1784 goes like this, commanders wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 3 silver stars, major-generals wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 2 silver stars, brigadier-generals wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 1 silver star, colonels, lieutenant colonels and majors wore a gold epaulette with no stars on each shoulder, captains wore a gold epaulette on their right shoulder, sub-alterns wore an epaulette on their left shoulder, senior non-commisioned officers wore a red epaulette made of cloth and adorned with a crescent moon shape made of brass on each shoulder, sergeants wore a red epaulette made of cloth on the right shoulder, corporals wore a green epaulette made of cloth on their right shoulder and lastly, privates wore no epaulettes.

Hats:

Tricorn, bicorn and round were a must. Round hats were hats that were cocked on one side, bicorn hats were hats that were cocked on two sides and tricorn hats were hats that were cocked on three sides. Most of the time Continental army soldiers pinned them and folded them on the sides. Soldiers carrying muskets wore the hat in a different way to normal civillians, civillians would have the hat the normal way, center point forward but when carrying a musket over their shoulder, soldiers would turn their hat so that the left part was facing forward. In this position, the two sides of the hat would be almost flat so they could sling their muskets over their shoulders without having to worry about knocking their hat off. The hats white edges were made using worsted wool braid and the hat itself if expensive was made of beaver felt or camel's down painted black and if it was cheap it was just made of black wool felt. Hats were not always worn, I'd say they were more of a formality because I have seen very few portraits of soldiers wearing them.

Hat Cockades:

Hat cockades were made of ribbon or wool and were a sort of decoration to be pinned to the wearer's hat. They were like sashes and epaulettes; they indicated the wearer's rank in the continental army. And the system changed in 1779. So the system before 1779 worked like this: subalterns wore a green hat cockade, captains wore a yellow hat cockade, majors and brigade majors wore a red hat cockade, colonels wore a pink hat cockade, and lieutenant colonels wore a green hat cockade. In 1779, they changed it to honour and celebrate America's military alliance with France, so the colourful insignia were removed, and instead every soldier, regardless of rank, wore a plain black and white hat cockade. French soldiers had a cockade with black in the middle, surrounded by white, and American soldiers had a cockade with white in the middle, surrounded by black. Later on, in 1783, the black and white cockades were named the union cockades and were to be worn on the left breast, close to the heart.

Shoes:

There were actually a few periods of time during the war where some of the soldiers didn't have shoes, such as during the Christmas Day crossing and the winter of 1777–1778. But when they were supplied with shoes (most of the time they were), they wore one of two styles. The classic 'little lad' shoes, as I call them, and riding boots 'Little lad' shoes were shoes made with black leather and secured with a buckle. Little lad shoes had a small heel bit at the bottom, likely meant to make the wearer look taller because, despite tall people being considered the most attractive, most people in the 18th century were very short. Riding boots had an even higher heel and a part at the top of the boots that could be rolled down to fit the wearer. When rolled down, they just look like normal riding boots but with brown cuffs at the top. Interesting shoe-related fact that I thought would be cool to put here: in the 18th century, they didn't make right or left shoes; they made what they called straights, and you were meant to switch which foot you wore them on every day to 'wear them off evenly'. Riding boots were made with leather and were black on the outside and brown on the inside. Riding boots were very tall (they went under soldiers' kneecaps) and worn for the same reason as culottes, to make horse riding easier. It's meant to prevent saddle pinching, have a sturdy toe to protect feet while on the ground, and have a big heel to prevent slipping through stirrups.

Hair:

Originally I planned on not mentioning it on this list because it's not something that you can wear but there were uniform rules about hair in the continental army so I guess it is technically part of the uniform. In the 18th century they viewed men with facial hair was considered wrong and unusual in normal day-to-day life so if course it wasn't acceptable in a military setting. In the continental army they had a rule that men needed to shave every three days. They went against this rule a few times but only when they were desperate. Now on the topic of hair as in, not facial hair, the hair on their head was usually tied into a low ponytail with a blue ribbon or - for some men - cut short. 18th century men LOVED their long hair and did not want to cut their hair short even though they were told it should prevent lice. Wigs and hair powder were fashionable in the 18th century but not many men could afford wigs and it's not like they had a ridiculous supply of hair powder so most of the time they had their natural hair colour showing.

It's important to note that this is just the standard uniform that most men wore; each regiment had its own unique uniform, so if your project has anything to do with a specific regiment, either do your own research or ask me about it in the comments or my asks. This is also post-1775 because 1775 had no uniform. If I have gotten anything wrong, please do not feel afraid to correct me in the comments, and I'll edit the post.

Sources:

https://historyofmassachusetts.org/uniforms-revolutionary-war-soldiers/

https://www.srcalifornia.com/flags/revuniforms1.htm

https://www.bostonteapartyship.com/uniforms-of-the-american-revolution

https://ufpro.com/blog/american-revolutionary-war-study-military-uniforms-across-battlefield

https://www.washingtoncrossingpark.org/continental-army-clothing/#:~:text=Over%20their%20shirts%2C%20soldiers%20would,unit%20a%20soldier%20belonged%20to.

https://www.crazycrow.com/site/tricorn-hat-history/

https://www.si.edu/object/george-washingtons-uniform%3Anmah_434863#:~:text=This%20blue%20wool%20coat%20is,buff%20wool%2C%20with%20gilt%20buttons.

http://www.colonialuniforms.com/revolutionary-war-coats.html

https://www.berkleyhistorical.org/revolutionary-war-uniform

https://www.samsonhistorical.com/en-ca/products/mens-riding-boots

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riding_boot

#american revolution #american revolutionary war #amrev #american history #revolutionary war #history #historical fashion #fashion history #18th century #18th century fashion #continental army #military history #military uniforms #war history #war of independence #On-partiality's rambles

[juneknight]

breeding kink + jake?

I got a few ‘breeding kink + Jake’s so I hope this is okay. I feel very out of practice 😬 + a little outtake at the end because I can't just write 500 words, I must add CONTEXT.

About this: some very DUB-CON vibes (but they’re roleplaying). Jake/fem!reader, brat!reader, piv, restraints, some degradation, feminine monikers (ie chiquita), birth control mention.

*

“I have a surprise for you.” Jake’s voice rolls over you like smoke, his soft accent making your toes curl in anticipation. The restraints around your ankles pull against the bed frame at the movement.

You turn your head towards his direction even if all you can see is the blackness of the blindfold over your eyes.

“Yeah?” you ask. “Is it Marc? Or Steven maybe? Because they’d be fucking me right now.”

He snorts, the quiet exhale coming from a whole new direction. He’s so fucking quiet; you can’t ever keep track of him.

When his fingers touch the blindfold, you jerk in surprise as he pulls it free. The lights are dim but you still squint against them, heart pounding in anticipation.

All you see is Jake, naked, standing beside the bed. He isn’t allowed to smoke in the building—though that rule doesn’t always stop him: a cigarette is burning between his lips.

“Thanks, honey,” you mock. “But I don’t smoke.”

Reaching up, he removes the cigarette and taps the ash on your naked chest, laughing at your shriek before setting the smoke in the ashtray. Still scowling, you can’t help but eye his body appreciatively, especially his hard cock. Your toes curl again, rattling the restraints.

Fuck it. “I’ll settle for you fucking me.”

“Kind of you,” says Jake. Circling his finger in the air, he says: “turn over.”

You rattle the restraints pointedly. He rolls his eyes before reaching down and helping you onto your belly. It twists the cuffs at your hands and at your ankles so that you’re no longer starfished. If you were helpless before, you’re even more discombobulated now; less slack in the chains means no room to spread your legs, no way to widen your arms and support yourself.

Jake straddles the backs of your knees, grabs you by the hips, and pulls you back until his cock is a burning rod between your slick thighs.

“Condom,” you remind him breathlessly.

He hums. You don’t need to see him to imagine the wicked twist of his mouth. Leaning down, molding the front of his body to the back of your own, he kisses the nape of your neck and murmurs: “Surprise.”

One shift of his hips has his cock nestled at your opening, both of your bodies so familiar with this dance. Your body flushes hot and then cold when he sinks inside you in one smooth movement.

“No,” you gasp, jerking away. “Jake, you asshole. Put on a condom.”

He laughs and begins a smooth, hard pace. You throw your weight forward and backward in an attempt to pull away, but it only helps to spear you deeper on his cock. It feels different without the thin, synthetic material between you. It feels like your heart could pound free from your chest any moment, and you feel the heavy pulse all the way in your cunt.

“You—oh god, oh fuck—you aren’t funny,” you grit through your teeth. “Pull out.”

“I don’t think so. Why do you fight me so hard, chiquita? Your body was made for this. This cunt is hungry for me; she’s hungry for my seed. I can’t tell her no.”

“What,” you ask, turning your head so you aren’t panting into the pillows anymore. “You want a ton of little Jakes around here? Have you bookmarked an Etsy page of tiny, baby-sized caps, papi?”

He wraps a hand around your throat, squeezing tightly enough to cut off your words. His breath is hot in your ear. “I want to fill you up with me, I want your body to make room for me. I want every person who sees you to know you spread your legs for me like a little slut. Don’t pretend like you don’t want it; I feel how wet you are. You can’t help but cum, can you? Adelante.”

You groan, cunt clenching like a vice around his cock. He shows you no mercy, fucking you through the orgasm and reaching one hand around you to slip his fingers between your legs as best as he can. His touch against your clit nearly makes you shriek.

“Good girl,” he rasps. “Every time you cum, your pussy just pulls my seed deeper. Give me another.”

*

“Come here.”

Jake stops his restless pacing and stalks to where you have lifted yourself up to sit in the countertop. He stands close enough to be in the circle of your thighs and lets his head tip forward to rest against your chest.

“Want to touch it?” you ask. He doesn’t say anything. That’s the thing about Jake; his silences speak louder than he does. “It will make you feel better. Here.”

You guide his hand towards your bicep and help him trace his finger over the small rod in your arm, just tangible beneath the skin: your implantable birth control. He lets out a breath in relief.

“See? Still there,” you murmur. “It was just for fun.”

“Lo sé,” he says. “Still.”

You throw your voice, deepening it and mimicking his accent: “Why do you fight me so hard? Your body was made to knock me up, Jake!”

He digs his fingers into the ticklish skin of your side until you squeal and nearly slip off the countertop.

#jake lockley x reader #yall i am way too fucking soft aren't i

[whumpcereal]

Joe giving Jack a bath, and Jack thinks Joe is going to hurt/violate him (early rescue).

content warnings for: bbu/bbu-adjacent content (including the actual unboxing), creepy/intimate whumper, vague references to past noncon and trauma, dubcon nudity, conditioned whumpee, brief emeto mention

Jack sits in the tub, his knees drawn up to his chest. He doesn’t like this bathroom. The lights are too bright, and it’s too small. From his place in the bath, Jack can see veins of yellow-orange cigarette residue poking through the cheap paint on the walls. The tub is shoved in the rear of the little room, bordered by a shower curtain that Jack doesn’t recognize. The toilet and vanity are crammed in practically on top of one another; there’s barely enough space on the floor in front of them for the pilly bathroom rug. 

It shouldn’t feel claustrophobic–Jack’s spent enough time in the leather sack to know it–but it does. 

This isn’t home. He’s supposed to be home. But maybe Joe wants to keep him separate. Maybe they aren’t going to live together anymore. He’ll keep Jack locked up here, so that he can use him whenever he wants. Until Jack’s proven himself. That’s why Joe brought him here. 

No. Joe didn’t bring him here. Jack was sent. Shipped, like they promised he would be. That’s why he’s in the bath. 

He hadn’t meant to make a mess. But he didn’t know how long he’d been in the box. It was too hot, and he’d been so dizzy. He didn’t mean to do it. 

That’s probably why Joe’s face looked the way it had when he pried off the box’s wooden lid. He thought Joe would be happy to see him, that Joe would be proud to see how good Jack learned to be–but he wasn’t. Joe hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t said anything. He’d just frozen, his face twisted into an expression that Jack didn’t know how to read. 

That’s when Jack realized he was covered in his own sick. 

“I’m s-sorry,” he’d said immediately. And then he remembered. “I’m sorry, sir.” His voice had sounded funny and far away, like he was hearing it from the next room. 

He had the distant feeling that he should have felt something, like he should have been excited to see Joe after the months apart. But he didn’t feel it. He was too disoriented. Too frightened. 

He didn’t think Joe felt it either. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joe had murmured. He’d barely even looked at Jack. “Jackie–oh, Jackie, no–” 

Joe broke to his knees then, and Jack knew: he’d fucked up. He hadn’t worked hard enough. He hadn’t done enough to change. 

It was all for nothing. 

Jack is nothing.

Joe took Jack out of the box and carried him straight to the bathroom. Joe left, but Jack waits in the tub because Joe told him to stay there, and Jack will do whatever Joe says. He has to. Maybe it won’t make things right, but it can’t make anything worse. He can show Joe what a good boy he is now.

The water plops into the bathtub, splashing as it collects on itself. It’s warm, and the feeling isn’t unpleasant. Ivan only ever hosed him down in the shower stall, and he never cared much if Jack was comfortable or all that clean.  It was more about what he could reach when Jack was tethered to the shower floor. What he could do. What he always did. What Jack was meant for. Is meant for. 

Joe must want that too. He does. Jack knows it. Ivan told him so. 

Jack hears something crash in a room he can’t identify, and Joe curses. Jack uncoils and lets his hands drop into the shallow water. He hitches his thumbs into his soggy boxer-briefs. They’re heavy with water when he pushes them away, a black wad in the corner of the dingy tub. Jack is heavy too. But still, he presses onto his hands and knees. Position ten. That’s Ivan’s favorite. 

Maybe Joe will like it too. He’s never had Jack this way before. 

Beneath the water, Jack’s wrists are shrunken and white without their leather cuffs. His joints tremble and his ears are warm, but he knows what he’s supposed to do. The skin on his fingers and toes starts to prune, and the water keeps pouring from the tap. 

Joe rounds the corner, and Jack closes his eyes. He can do this. He’s been selfish long enough. Joe deserves to have what he wants, and Jack can give it to him. 

“Okay. Okay, baby–Jack. Jackie. I’ve got–” There’s a soft thump as something hits the floor. “What–what are you doing?” 

It’s a direct question. Jack can answer. But he doesn’t. The tub’s non-slip bottom bites into his knees. He’s shaking. He can’t look. He can’t. 

He thought he could do this. He wanted to be good for Joe. 

He isn’t good. He is only afraid. 

But he doesn’t show it. He stays still, and he waits. 

Joe must turn off the water, because Jack doesn’t hear it anymore. 

“Jackie–” 

The name lances through Jack’s heart. Joe says it like he loves him. Soft and sure. But Jack knows better now. He’s done nothing to earn it. If he wants Joe to love him, he has to be good. Sweet. He has to show Joe what he’s learned.

This is a test, and Jack won’t fail. Not again. 

But he does. He fails. Joe touches him, his hand light on the small of Jack’s naked back, and Jack flinches. The hand retreats like it’s been burned. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t–you–”  Joe makes a noise like he’s choking. Jack’s eyelids squeeze. “Please. Please, would you–Jackie, I–” 

Jack wants to curl into a ball, but he can’t. The water. Joe. He can’t. 

Joe’s voice drops, “Oh, God, please. Help me. Please help me.” 

Jack doesn’t look, but he hears Joe’s breath, ragged and wet.

“Jack. I’m going to touch you. Okay?” 

Jack doesn’t answer. He is a good boy. A statue. If Joe wants to touch him, he can. He will. And Jack will not stop him. 

It’s silly for Joe to pretend, to talk to Jack like he did before. Jack knows better now, and he wishes he did not. If he keeps his eyes closed, maybe he can pretend too. He can pretend it’s like it was. That they’re like they were. 

But they aren’t. Because of Jack. If he’d only been better–

Joe sighs. “Just–would you please let me know that you hear me, baby?” 

Jack nods. 

“Okay. Okay. I’m gonna–I’m just going to–” Joe’s hands slip around Jack’s ribs and guide him back onto his heels in the water. There is a softness in the gesture that brings tears to Jack’s eyes. Maybe, just maybe–

But Jack is exposed now, and Joe hisses, pulling away.

Jack understands. He’s covered in his own filth. He isn’t what he ought to be. But still. Ivan told him what was expected of him. He’s doing that, isn’t he? Why doesn’t Joe seem even a little bit pleased? 

“I’m not–I’m not going to–I just want to help clean you up. That’s all.”

But after, Jack thinks. What about after? Joe will take him then, won’t he? He’ll show Jack that this was all worth it? 

Jack can’t sort out whether he wants it or not. Not that he’s allowed to want. He thinks he missed Joe. He can’t be angry at Joe for expecting more from him. And he wants to prove himself. He does. 

But he’s still so afraid. 

“Jackie, please,” Joe says. “I won’t–I’m not going to hurt you. Okay?” 

“Yes, sir,” Jack whispers. It’s the only answer he can give. It doesn’t matter if Joe hurts him. Jack will take what he’s given and be grateful. That’s what good boys do. 

He doesn’t open his eyes, so he can’t see the way Joe’s body crumples against the lip of the tub. He doesn’t know that Joe’s heart is crying out for his or that none of this is what Joe wants. 

Joe’s hand is gentle on his shoulder, and this time, Jack does not flinch. “You don’t have to–I mean, I’m not–just–baby, it’s me. It’s Joe?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He feels Joe wince against him. “No, Jackie. Just Joe.” 

Jack doesn’t understand. “Sir?” 

This time he looks: Joe’s face is pinched beneath red cheeks. 

“Don’t–” Joe suddenly stops himself. “Would you–would you mind just calling me Joe? No ‘sir?’” 

“Yes, sir,” Jack answers automatically. 

“Jackie–”

“Yes. Joe.” 

Joe half-nods. His eyes land on his own hand, still perched on Jack’s shoulder, and they widen, like he’s caught himself doing something he shouldn’t. He pulls away again.

“You’re home, baby. You’re safe. I won’t–I won’t touch you unless you want me to. I only want to help you right now.” 

It’s a trick. Another test. Ivan warned him about this, that Joe would try to challenge Jack’s training to see if he’d really learned what he was supposed to. Jack doesn’t want anything. He knows that. And Joe didn’t ask a question, and so Jack cannot answer. Instead, he lets his chin fall to his chest, and he crosses his bare wrists behind his back. Position twelve. 

He is Joe’s for the taking.

“Jackie,” Joe asks, his voice small, “don’t you believe me?” 

No, Jack doesn’t believe him. He cannot fail the test. But for just a moment, he wishes he could believe, that the lies he’d told himself every night were true. 

Then, he remembers his place. He keeps his eyes on the shallow water and answers the way he should. 

“Yes, Joe.” 

NOTE: This is pretty developed, so I'm going to tag the whole crew.

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy-s, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @no-terms-and-conditions-apply, @reflected-pain, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keep-beach-city-werid, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things, @hold-him-down, @peachy-panic, @shimae-writes-whump, @whumpyblogthing

#behavior modification #jack kenyon oc #joe prescott oc #bbu adjacent #conditioned whumpee #rescue arc #if that's what you want to call this #this made me sad #so let it make you sad too

[purgetrooperfox]

I WANTS TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR BOY DESMOND!!!! TELL ME THINGS, PLEASE!!!!💕💞💕💞💕💘💕💘💕💞💕

HELLOOOO Desmond hours real. Des my darling my fucked up little guy. he is um. he's very much not V (cont. under the cut)

grew up in Pacifica. yikes! had connections with Mr. Hands that will come back later

got roped into Maelstrom pretty young under ripperdoc/mechanic pretenses

hence all the headgear! Maelstrom initiation involves an optic nerve operation [x] that afaik usually involves taking both eyes. Des made a case for only losing one, citing ripperdoc superstition about organics vs cybernetics, which went over like a lead balloon but ultimately panned out under the assumption that he'd just struggle more for it

did more ripping than doc-ing if you catch my drift (famously medical-tortured and forced implants on whoever the bosses targeted, killed A Lot Of People on the table, human experimentation, wrote the Maelstrom handbook on all of the above) and had no qualms about it

like I cannot stress enough that he was Bad News <3

if it wasn't for turbulence in the upper ranks, he would've gladly kept at the job indefinitely. but he and Royce had ✨️issues✨️. namely that Des was fiercely loyal to Brick and company, and by that point he'd climbed the ranks to a level where his opinion carried quite a bit of weight

so even before Royce took over, he was all worried about the discourse Des was starting about him and his posse

but shit didn't hit the proverbial fan until after the power transfer. Royce took over and stuck one of his guys under Des to be trained (a la train your replacement), Des was severely unimpressed, eventually tried to jump ship

and got caught! and got his turn on the table! lost a couple limbs to his replacement while making sure to make clear that "this motherfucker is an embarrassment to everything I built here". was probably more upset at the disregard of his legacy than the fact that he was most likely going to die very slowly

reputation is soooo important to him you see. and "Eyes" was infamous

anyway. Dum Dum busted him out (gave him an adrenaline shot and unlocked the back door)

which led to a pretty pathetic trudge through the city until he passed out on the street, and eventually got scooped up

enter Misty "we can't just let him die" and Vik "god dammit if you say so"

cue a long, slow recovery process. realization that he can't do the ripperdoc or mechanic work he knows with only one organic arm and a royally shitty cybernetic. merc work to pay Vik back (thanks Mr. Hands, hello again). Vik wants to try to teach him that he can relearn how to Fix Things. do you see my vision?

important that Maelstrom thinks he's dead so Royce doesn't keep sending goons after him. also important to build a new network

tricky to build a new network when his entire face says "I'm with famously violent gang Maelstrom" innit

but he's trying! and mostly trying to behave himself! and trying to build a new arm so he can do work he enjoys again (even if it's more doc-ing than ripping now)!

all to say I think he's neat and I think Maelstrom was woefully underexplored in the game so I'll do it through an oc 😌 the smaller details are unnecessary but entertain me deeply. he has a funny little casual on again/off again with Dietlinde (yes the Totentanz bartender with minimal canon personality). he and Dum Dum were dumbass buddies. his sense of humor is drier than the desert. he is A Junkie. nothing he knows about mechanics or medicine or engineering was learned in a classroom and you couldn't pay him to learn that way, but he picks it all up well in a practical environment. his pride will be (kind of already was) his downfall. he says shit off the cuff that thoroughly disturbs civilized company without even realizing he did it

he is. my beloved

#i could talk about him forever sorry this is so long FHGFKJDSGKH #des 'eyes' gallagher #leocs #cyberpunk 2077

[ghostsslutss]

•▶︎ “playboy”

phillip graves ! submissive x reader ! dominant

kinks: femdom, submissive men whimpering, groaning, begging, praising, moaning , clothed sex, handjob, edging, light bdsm , cuffs.

27.12.22

it was a cold night, you were a sniper for the UK army, these was hired by the army in the US to time if they needed extra help during missions. one time, you got chose for one of these missions. you met he shadow company leader, phillip graves.

he was loaded apparently by the other female members in the unit. he rejected every other girl in his way but he chose you and went out on date. weirdly got along with certain topics and got fucked by the one and only phillip graves.

that was rough, overstimulated sex and he adored seeing you whimpering, begging for mercy. you purposely flirted with other shadow company members and task 141 at times, and hears all the time you flirting with them.

mostly that masked freak, simon ghost riley. he punished you so hard you didn’t even know how to walk or talk. you was shaking, and needed phillip to hold you in his arms at all time. but it teaches you a lesson.

he couldn’t stand you out of sight. he didn’t want you to get hurt at all, if you did. he would go hunt down and shoot the person that did. the worse time you had sex with him ,you both broke the bed and got lots of noise complaints from your neighbours.

that fucking session was the best in your life. he had the biggest cock you’ve got ever seen in your life; your remember it was thick, long and had a at least one vein too.

you loved every inch of him, his face, his voice, hands, veins, body and everything else. he bought you gifts while he was went to Mexico and you even convinced him to take breaks from the shadow company and task force 141.

you didn’t find out he was submissive top

at times until he jacked him off in one of the meeting room. He whimpered so loudly, those groans was the thing you turned you on. you being dominant and doing all the work was the thing that turned him on. the thing that bothered you was he was ignoring you on purpose.

once you walked over to him and tried to talk him, and he walked away. you loved him but at times like this, no. did you do something wrong? it worried you.

once you got home from work, you took off many layers of your uniform and gear. taking one of phillips large grey jumpers that he wore rarely and put it on. you walked up to your bedroom, looking at the wooden desk near the bed staring at those you had those cuffs from work when you was practicing to arrest eye witnesses for statements.

what if you used them on him for an punishment? would he be in to that kind of stuff.? you laid on your bed, wanting to go to sleep but you can’t without phillip. he had to go a meeting with shepherd and he was coming home when it was black out.

you heard the unlock and close, then lock again. hoping it was phillip coming in, the door squeezed open as his head was there. you got out of bed quickly out of excitement, him closing the door and kissing him on the forehead. he sort of blushed slightly, his cocky ego wouldn’t admit that type of things. that he fallen for you first.

you pinned graves to the wall, him and you were glued to each other mouths. he wanted to taste all those flavours in your mouth. you could his hot breath against your neck. he grunted and whimpered as you gave him bites, hickeys anything to mark him as yours.

he looked at you, not knowing what you was about to do to the poor man. you rubbed his crotch slowly, him tilting his back. phillip loved it, he wanted more of you everyday.

you: “do you like that, somebody is excited aren’t they?”

he grunted and squirmed, he couldn’t resist this, it was like shattering someone barrier. phillip moaned loudly again. looking down to his crotch area, he could already see his pants stretching out because of his boner. the embarrassment on his face was funny and you couldn’t hold it in and laugh. he looked on the floor and you, loosing focus’s to gain eye contact.

pg: “fuck, baby doll.. ah..that’s the right spot..fuck..!”

you placed your knee in between his crotch, rubbing it dry. it gave him a wet spot already and he was desperate to cum. which drove the man fucking insane as it is. this was his punishment for ignoring you.

i gave up on this

#cod ghosts #cod mw #smut #keegan p russ #codmw2 #phillip graves #phillip graves smut #bdsmrelationship #bdsmplay #submisive and breedable #wrist cuffs #police #police rescue #nsfwtwt #degrading language #it’s so degrading #praising god #today’s craig melvin recruits his young kids for baking segment that has fans praising his ‘patience and cute children’ #cod smut #smut tips #cod mw2 fanart #cod mw22 #villian x hero #villian arc

[kittysinz07]

Because you’re worth it, part 3 ;-*

Brandon did not remember driving home. Nor did he remember walking to his apartment. He did remember calling Karolyn to let her know he was indeed home safe. Just a short safety call that lasted another hour. It had only ended when she couldn’t stop yawning and he had encouraged her to get some rest.

She had sounded so sweet on the phone, just as in person. After ending the call, he laid on his bed, staring off into the ceiling. God, she was more than he had allowed himself to hope for in a long, long while. He couldn’t remember ever having that much fun, even with Claire. In addition to being smoking hot, which was already awesomely overwhelming for him, she was smart, classy, confident without being conceited, funny…

A lady. Karolyn is a lady. She seemed perfectly innocent and sophisticated in her speech and dress, yet the way her body moved just seemed to drip with sex. Touching her and helping her into his jeep seemed to stir some possessive alpha streak in him, and he had relished driving with her in his car.

And then the kiss. The kisses. His cock had never fully gone down, and instead he stroked it while remembering the wet softness of her lips, the cute little whimpers coming out of her while he pressed her to the door. Her breasts had felt phenomenal on his chest, and though he had refrained from gripping her big beautiful ass, just the charge he got from feeling the wideness of her hips in contrast with the slimness of her waist when he wrapped his arms around her was almost too much. He could still feel her in his arms, her giant breasts pressed to his chest and her arms around his neck.

That part was what he loved the most; that she had seemed to enjoy his kisses. A lot. A little timid at first, but he suspected his ferociousness had had something to do with it. His firm and gentle hand had brought her back in though and he positively quaked on the bed with pleasure in remembering how enthusiastic she had become under his touch. She had wanted to kiss him with those full, pouty lips. Wanted. Recalling the feeling of her hands gently curling themselves over his shoulders and around the back of his neck, pulling herself closer to him seemed to jarr his inner beast out of a years’ long depression. He stroked himself harder when her recalled her opening her mouth to him and her shivers when he couldn’t help but press her against the door.

But she had halted fleetingly. How flustered had she been? In addition to his cock aching to be in her, his heart seemed to ache with how enthusiastic and yet apprehensive she had seemed. Take it slow for her, he told himself. It will be ten times worth the wait. Remembering the third kiss, his dick practically yanked him off the bed to the shower. Shedding his clothes as he went and not bothering to shut his door or ever draw the curtain, he turned the shower on to the hottest setting. The borderline scalding gave him a further arousing pain as soaped up. Indulging his imagination like a kid on an ice cream cake, he pictured taking her anywhere and everywhere in his apartment. The shower was an especially big favorite of his as the image of her dripping wet skin with the curves of her muscles underneath almost made him shoot his load right there. Picturing her lathered wet hair with ribbons of suds streaming down her body, he began to have more thoughts of her in thin, tight black leather straps, thick padded cuffs, a collar circling that beautiful neck…

Half blowing, half shouting an oath as he came in a shuddering crash of hot and cold washing through his blood, bones and all, Brandon panicked and turned the water quickly over to cold. No, no, no, no he thought, rinsing off as quickly as possible and then going to towel off in his room. Take it slow, he told himself again. He had enough counting against him he thought, why overplay his hand and spoil everything. He flopped on the back bed, exhausted. Against his nature and everything he thought about dating and romantic relationships up to this moment, Brandon decided that he wanted Karolyn. All of Karolyn. Whatever it takes, whatever she wants or needs, I will find a way to get it, do it, be it for her. Part of him thought he was crazy and that in six months the physical attraction would start to wear off and he’d think differently. A very small part.

But he felt sure. Extremely sure. She was so completely different and better than Claire that his ex wife seemed to fizzle and drop away from his mind completely, along with the accompanying bitterness. Not just a cock warmer but a companion.

She was it. The one. Fuck everything and everyone else. Time to start playing for keeps.

In contrast to her hallmark perfect date night, Karyolyn’s morning had started off rocky; she had gotten a call at four am from the studio manager half begging, half ordering her to cover a block of classes as the regular instructor had taken off on vacation without telling anyone. It normally being her day off, she found it difficult to be happy and inviting at six in the morning with no breakfast to a bunch of women twice her size, twice her age and twice the attitude that she normally dealt with. The first class they kept complaining about her playlist so she kept having to switch the music. The second class it took her forever to get them started because they were all so chatty, and remained so throughout the hour. In the third class one woman kept calling her over and saying she had injuries and couldn’t do the exercises. When Karolyn kept modifying her she argued and flipped her off when she turned back to the other clients. Then as the third class ended and she was thinking she could leave, the yoga instructor failed to show up or call as clients were coming in. After leaving a message for the manager, Karolyn had to bust out a demanding Vinyasa flow as naturally they were all the super seasoned yogis who wanted to basically levitate for the hour.

As she got them back to lotus, heart centering and namaste-ing them she was so thankful it was over she laid back down in savasana and waved goodbye to the yogis from the floor. They had been more understanding and appreciative of her efforts, and she had been humbled when they cheered her on in her headstand that the other instructor always did.

All the same, she probably would have traded the extra hundred or so dollars back to have been just waking up around this time. Her phone buzzed with a text, and not bothering to get up she slid her phone up to her hand with her foot and unlocked the screen.

It was from Brandon.

“Good morning beautiful.” a warmth washed through her and she decided to turn the flirt on, suddenly feeling her inner vixen stir.

“Good morning sexy. ;-)” everytime she remembered their kisses from the night before she instinctively started doing kegels. Before she had thought he was cute if a little chubby and intimidating. Now he made her pussy pucker for another kiss.

As she laid her hand back down with the phone, it buzzed again.

“:-D How did you sleep? Would you be up for a late breakfast with me?” Now that was a

nice change for today. Her stomach agreed painfully.

“I will tell you how I slept over breakfast. ;-) I’m not home though, give me about 30 min to get back and change?”

His reply took less than a minute.

“Where are you? At work?”

“Well, yes. I got called to cover classes, so I’m at the studio.”

“I can just come get you! :-D Where is it?” an excited little panic shot through her. Well his enthusiasm was fresh this morning, wasn’t it? She replied.

“399 Mullen Ave. Suite B. Are you sure? I’m all sweaty in my workout clothes.”

“On my way!” he had followed with the icon of a man running so fast clouds kicked up behind him.

Karolyn would have really liked to go home and shower, getting all primped and looking her best. Right now her face was still red with exertion and no makeup, the sweat making her hair stick to her neck and back and rings of moisture in almost every fold of her body. Quickly grabbing her purse she rinsed off her face in the bathroom and slapped on some tinted moisturizer that had glitter in it, eyeliner and lip gloss. Eyeshadow would probably be a bit much in the morning and she wanted to look natural but not like she had just huffed and puffed her way through four hours of power pilates and yoga. Pulling her hair down and combing through it with her fingers she felt this was all she could do; she still needed to close the studio and somehow she didn’t think Brandon would give her a lot of time.

Spritzing on some essential oils to try and neutralize any odors she cleaned and rolled up her mat, swept the studio and was locking the doors just as the familiar jeep pulled up behind her. The day had turned sunny and hot, and Karolyn squinted as she watched him practically hop down and stride up to her, a mile wide smile on his face. She reciprocated gladly; he was truly the first person she was happy to see.

Without hesitation, his arms wrapped around her, gathering her up into an enthusiastic kiss and lifting her into the air. Her hands pinned to his chest, she was extremely self conscious of how sweaty and sticky she was. Of course she saw that Brandon apparently couldn’t care less as he continued to hold her even after setting her down. “Good morning, gorgeous!” His eyes still had that same intensity she was becoming accustomed to but she was also finding much more warmth in them than before. He looked healthier in the sunlight, with more color in his skin. Blushing and not thinking at all, Karolyn sighed and “I missed you last night.” slipped out.

It’s too early to give a come-on like that, she chastised herself while watching his pupils dilate to the nth degree and feeling the now familiar swell of his dick. Did I really miss him? Of course. But until she told him about her past she was afraid of getting into deep and then getting hurt.

She was done with getting hurt.

“Well I was thinking we could go try that place again for their breakfast hour, or if you don’t mind more of a diner type place?” He kept her close and rubbed her back. The self consciousness she felt at being all sweaty was drowned in the heat of his hands. They were always so warm and made her so small and vulnerable, yet safe at the same time. And they inspired a playful mischief in her. “I don’t know, after last night and how rude that one lady seemed to be, I would rather go somewhere friendlier.”

“Are you sure? The diner isn’t exactly healthy.” he kept rubbing her back and one hand went to brush some escaping tendrils off her face. Without thinking again, she closed her eyes and pushed her cheek into his hand, nuzzling ever so slightly. The heat felt so good, and though his skin was tough the friction made her feel lovely. Opening her eyes she looked up and said “I’m starting to feel a little ravenous.”

He had frozen, with the exception of his thumb making tiny strokes back and forth on her face. His eyes had a mix of wonder and feral desire so intense it was a few seconds before he recovered himself and declared, “Denny’s it is!” As he helped her into the jeep, this time a lot more reluctant to stop touching her, she felt a little unstable. Her cravings for his touch had suddenly skyrocketed. She suppressed this introspection as she turned to him while he got into the driver’s seat, “You’ll find a lot of Dietitian’s aren’t as stringent about food as people think.”

“Really?” He revved the engine and began to back out of the parking spot. “But you’re the ones telling us to eat this, not that right?”

“Of course. To be healthy yes, but food is just like exercise in that if you want to elicit a certain response in your body you have to do the right things.” She smiled “May I recline the seat a little?” They pulled out into the street and he took her hand in his to kiss, “Baby you can do whatever you want, just keep your seatbelt on.” She let a giggle escape as he kept her hand close as they roared down the road.

“Did you walk there? I didn’t see any other cars.” He asked while she attempted to push the seat back a few inches. The age of the vehicle was more apparent in this as she struggled, finally getting it down too far. “Yes. Actually I ran. It’s just 3 miles and it was a good warm up. Plus they called me at 4am and it’s impossible for me to go back to sleep after that.”

“Are you a light sleeper?” They played with each other’s hands, a fitting illustration of the blatant undertones between them despite the innocent conversation. “Sort of. It’s more I just get really anxious and it makes it hard to go and stay asleep.” she replied.

“Why are you anxious? Are they like night terrors or just can’t stop thinking?” She felt a lot more comfortable being honest. But not too honest. Why spoil a perfect day out? Then he spoke again, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry too much, if you don’t feel like talking about it.” He had gone serious and his caresses of her hand had gone so gentle even their roughness felt feather light. Deep down her heart felt a little fuller.

“It’s alright. I think it’s a combination of things, like I’m still getting used to the hospital and having my own place. During the week, even when my anxiety is super high I’m so tired I don’t notice it and then on the weekends I get so lonely I either never leave the apartment and just clean all the time or I spend so much time out with friends I don’t get a moment to myself.”

“Well I hope I can help with the lonely part. “ He winked and she blushed, again. “But you exercise a ton, that’s a stress reliever, right?”

She went on, feeling special for some reason, “It is. But it’s also healthy to have multiple ways of relieving stress. Like lately the only thing I’ve been able to do is workout, I haven’t had time to do anything else. I know that may sound insignificant but things have been just like go, go, go. All my leisure time I’ve been either teaching, eating or sleeping. My friend Angie keeps on me about a girls’ night and we’re definitely overdue.” Brandon smiled wryly, “Angie wouldn’t happen to be the Nurse Practitioner with the dragon stamped on her head?” Karolyn smiled more. “Yes! We’ve been friends for years and she let me know the hospital was looking for an RD back in the summer.”

Well I’m definitely going to have to thank Angelina for steering my girl into my path, he thought. He continued, “Now that you have a full time job though, do you plan on giving up the teaching and the oil stuff? Just to free up time?” Brandon sounded thoughtful, and it was something she had thought about; as it stood she taught seven one-hour classes a week. Definitely more time to practice on her own and she’d be able to catch up on other things, like putting together the furniture she had bought almost three months before. “I’ve thought about it, but I’ve taught for so long I kind of have a following. Plus I just put my wages it into my savings now so it helps build that up.” Probably a little TMI about the money, but it would probably help for him to know she could take care of herself, right? No sugar daddy needed here! She was right because he nodded in a very pronounced assent. “That’s actually a really good thing. After my divorce I did something similar and started working at other hospitals, though mainly that was to pay the lawyer fees and stay afloat.”

Karolyn wanted to tread lightly around the D word. “So you specialize in both ER and ICU?” Perhaps a little too off topic to not be noticed but his answer to that was more enthusiastic. “I’m mostly ER and trauma but in the Army I did a lot of Intensivist work, and they train you to be pretty adaptable, so the specialties just kind of came up and seemed suitable. They wanted me to be a surgeon but beyond fixing things in the field I couldn’t do too much. Plus I was pretty frightening with a scalpel.” He laughed, and then seemed to remember something. “So, I have a buddy who’s throwing this silly Halloween get-together In a few weeks, would you want to go? We don’t have to dress up-.”

Karolyn’s girlish enthusiasm took over at once. Party? Sexy costume? Of course. “Oooooh that would be fun! We could do a couple’s theme-.” She stopped, attempting to reign it in incase he regretted it or didn’t want to hear the word “couple” just yet.

But like last night once the cat was out of the bag they both seemed to be on the same wavelength. They planned and talked and joked around all through breakfast and well into lunch, the connection between them strengthening by the minute.

Conversations with Barnes were never fun. Conversations with Patrick were not only no longer fun but depressing as hell now. And Brandon had seemed to hit the winning ticket for both as he walked into the Dr.’s lounge a week later, stupidly grinning as he scrolled through his texts looking at pictures of some of the costumes Karolyn had wanted opinions on.

“She should at least take the fucking alimony if she doesn’t want the house, what the hell is she going to do for money?” Brandon had been inadvertently avoiding his friend since the night Patrick came to him with his wife’s dear john letter. Seeing him now shocked him as the transformation seemed much more apparent. The man seemed to have lost weight in that his neck was clearly too small for the shirt now and his pants hung off his hips with no ass to hold them. He looked like he had aged a few years in the span of a few months with the sallow skin stretched over his face and the circles so dark they almost looked drawn in.

Patrick looked up and a crooked smile cracked over his face as he abandoned his conversation with Barnes. “Hey, man! I haven’t seen you for months, what the hell?!” he waltzed over inviting a big hug which Brandon felt obliged to give, quickly slipping his phone in his pocket and reluctantly forcing the last image of Karolyn out of his head. “I know!” Brandon reciprocated awkwardly. “You’ve been working too hard, d’you live here now?” Patrick’s smile remained on his face but his laugh was hollow and short. “Well you know, sometimes work is the best medicine.” He turned to Barnes, “I can follow up with you later but we’re not agreeing to those terms.”

Barnes said nothing but began pushing papers into his briefcase and getting up. He was in his late sixties and looked every bit the seasoned lawyer who had spent a lifetime sitting behind a desk hunched over pushing around papers. Balding and thin except for a pot belly, Barnes was the guy no one noticed even if he screamed and had a perpetually depressed frown on his face. Fixing a pair of coke bottle 80’s style glasses on he nodded and stepped towards the door before turning back, “Oh, Brandon, you should have gotten my email?” He was referring to the new extension of alimony that Claire had apparently filed, as apparently the house and half of their money and the first alimony extension was not enough for her to live on. “Yeah, I will get back to you later today, Barnes.” The old lawyer nodded and headed out the door, slouching and heaving himself from one foot to the other.

Patrick clapped a hand on Brandon’s shoulder and he noticed how cold and light his hand had become. “Hey, man are you ok?” the words were out before he could stop them, but saying anything else would have been stupid. “Hey, I’m not dead! Just been working a little more than usual.” Brandon remembered how eighty and ninety hour workweeks felt and he suspected that Patrick was not far from that.

“Well, you look like shit to me,” he ventured lightly. “Maybe just cash in some PTO and sleep for a few days?” Patrick’s smile faltered ever so slightly and immediately asked, “So what have you been up to? Did you ever hit things off with that fat older lady?” It took Brandon a few seconds to remember Gloria. The lackluster night in the bar flashed up in his mind and he laughed in hopes that it would be contagious. “Yeah, she decided my hunting on occasion was no-bueno so there wasn’t a second date.”

Patrick motioned to the sofa for both of them to sit down. “That’s ok. Hey, I know a place where we can go, just two guys looking for a good time! I could be your wingman, is that what they’re still called?” Brandon almost laughed at how pitiful his friend had become. He remembered when Patrick condemned men who went expressly to bars just looking for women to hook up with, though he always suspected it was because he wanted to impress Jenna. Mildly he wondered if he had been like that immediately post-Claire.

“What do you say? Tomorrow night?” Patrick was looking hopeful and awkwardly smug. “Uhh,” Brandon wasn’t really ready to tell anyone about him and Karolyn yet, mostly because he knew they would think he was lying. Also although they had been spending a lot of time together, he didn’t want to assume they were exclusive yet. Though confirmation of that fact would have made him the happiest man on earth.

“Mmmm, can’t. I think I have the late shift, or I’m on call for ICU. I’ll have to check.” Patrick looked as though he wasn’t buying into it for a second but didn’t press the matter too much. Since he seemed to be living at work now he could hardly condemn someone for picking up extra shifts, Brandon thought.

As if to come to Brandon’s rescue, Patrick’s pager buzzed “Then, maybe another night--.” He checked it and brush past to get to the door, “But we’ll do something!” he half laughed, half shouted not looking at Brandon.

His giddy mood long forgotten, Brandon shrugged his coat into a chair before sitting down fishing his phone back out. All he wanted to do was go back to ogling the sexy little costumes that Karolyn had sent him, but Barnes’ reminder of the alimony extension shamed him into opening up his email on his phone and scrolling through the convoluted lawyer speak.

Technically, he could have stopped the last extension she had filed, only he hadn’t really cared to. He had pretty much gone to living like he did in the Army where if it wasn’t an absolute necessity he did without. Thus he had managed to build back his savings despite the massive cannibalisation effort Claire had mounted. Plus at the time he had reasoned with himself that this was the lesser of two evils; if she was kept happy she would stop trying to sue him.

But that was when he thought he’d never have another serious relationship. Now that he had the chance to change that, he started thinking about how he could permanently sever ties with Claire.

As Brandon imbibed another beer, the room swam in a haze of warmth and laughter. They had gotten to the halloween party fashionably late though they had seemed to arrive around the same time as everyone else and immediately the guys were falling all over themselves to get to know Karolyn while the ladies either pulled her into conversation or stood staring and whispering from the other side of the room. They had agreed on going as the Magician and his Bunny, and when Karolyn had opened her door revealing herself basically wearing a white corset, cotton tail bikini bottoms with bunny ears stiletto heels, Brandon’s jaw nearly hit the floor while his heart pounded and his dick pulsed. The ride there had been jovial and full of flirtation; he was determined to forget about everything else that was going on and enjoy every second they were together.

From the moment they walked through the door, the alcohol flowed, the music blared and suddenly the world was just a playground for him and his precious slut. Nothing seemed to be too much of a task for him, so long as Karolyn was watching. Arm wrestle everyone? No problem! Win Beer pong? Hell yeah! Streak the neighborhood? Well he was already half naked by then so what did his pants matter?

It was after this that a giggling Karolyn started pulling his naked self towards the Jeep. Where had she found his clothes and keys? “Oh no baby, I can’t drivvveeeee. Woo!” He gyrated his hips to swing his junk around, hoping she would be impressed by his length. “Brandon, I’m taking you home, please put your pants back on?” Her lips said no but her laugher and her eyes were so gorgeous he felt yet another surge of blood into his cock as it rose up to point at her. Oooh, she couldn’t help but look before she attempted to cover it with his pants. “Are you impressed?” He struck a superhero pose. Somewhere behind him there seemed to be a lot of people laughing at something. Karolyn seemed to sigh, and then smiled deviously, “If you put your pants on I’ll show you how impressed I am when I get you home.” and then she bit her lip and winked at him.

Holy shit! His mind seemed to come to a screeching halt. Within seconds he had practically jumped into his pants and was struggling to get into the driver’s seat. “a-hem? I’m driving, babe.”

Babe. The word seemed to wrap around his cock and stroke the precum out. He jumped down and grabbed her to lift her into the seat, but not before giving her a crushing, wet, lascivious kiss. Those people sure were laughing at something. He climbed up to buckle her in, making sure it was nice and tight across her breasts, pausing to give her another luscious kiss while images with Karolyn other types of tight straps danced around in his head. Instead of going around the jeep this time to get to the other side, he lurched himself headfirst into the passenger seat. “Oh my God, Brandon!” Her laughter was giving him the best hard on he’d ever had. Struggling to sit up right, he had no shame. In fact, the word had completely left his vocabulary.

Karolyn drove, handling the jeep very gently, though much too slowly for Brandon. He kept bouncing in his seat, cracking jokes and sneaking his hands over to grope Karolyn. Her constant giggles and twisting just increased his intoxicated arousal in the most wonderful way. “My anaconda of love is gonna get yoouuuu!” sent her into such fits of laughter she drove over the curb as she pulled into the parking lot of his complex. “Oh my god, people are going to think I’m the drunk one!” She took care to make the jeep straight in his parking spot even as he began to climb out, promptly tripping and falling. Running around the jeep as she shut off the engine and put on the brakes, he wrenched the driver’s door open and pulled her out of the seat by her waist, the buckle smacking him in the face. “Careful!” he hadn’t even felt it. Throwing her over his shoulder he first tried to run, then thought better of it and just walked briskly. Even in his drunken excitement the last thing he wanted to do was drop his prize.

Getting in the apartment was a struggle as Karo still had the keys and communicating that to him was difficult. Finally he turned and allowed her to unlock the door. Swinging her back around he practically wrung the door knob off its axis as he pushed in. Not bothering to turn on the lights he slammed the door shut and stomped back to his room. Vaguely feeling her grunt to shut the door behind him, Brandon’s jovial mood had descended into an animalistic obsession. Finally after months of watching, waiting, wanting, his fuck of all fucks awaited him. Still not turning on the lights he threw her down on the bed so hard she bounced back in the air a few times. “Brandon, slow down! You’re getting a little crazy.” She was still laughing, but there was a tremulous undertone in her voice he failed to pick up on. Practically growling he shucked his pants again and climbed onto the bed, shoving her back down when she tried to sit up, pushing his knees in between her legs, he growled “Of course I’m crazy! I’ve wanted you ever since I first saw you!” He clamped his mouth over her’s and began to pull at her corset, blatantly trying to rip through the zipper. “Hold on,” she kept turning away from his kisses to talk. He responded by planting a powerful hand on her jaw to hold her still and then reclaimed her mouth, pushing his forehead on hers so that she was pressed hard into the pillow. Taking both sides of the corset, he summoned all his strength and pulled down and apart, a satisfying rip piercing the air.

“OW! STOP!” She screamed into his face. As if he had been splashed with ice cold water, Brandon saw what he was doing for the first time. In ripping the corset open the underwires had popped out hand left long scratches that were quickly starting to bleed.

He had hurt her.

Sitting up and slowly backing away as if from a wild predator, Brandon forgot all his lustful abandon. Karolyn was pushing herself up on one arm, holding her ripped clothing together with the other. Time had gone from surging to standing still.

How could he? How could he let himself get so drunk and so stupid? The lines of blood went down across the top of her belly. Her beautiful belly. If he had just calmed down and been a little more patient he wouldn’t have hurt her. But in his selfish friendzy he had.

“Can you help me?” She looked at him. He looked for anger, rage, disappointment, disgust, anything that could punish him. But she just looked hurt and a little scared, which twisted the knife so much harder, slower. His face fell back to the scratches. “Brandon?” she got on her knees and reached out, squeezing his shoulder. He remained frozen, so afraid that her just touching him sent waves of panic through his body. “Brandon, it was an accident. I know you didn’t mean too.” She moved closer to him, taking her hand to gently tilt his head up to face her. “Can you help me clean this?” Her voice was so gentle, her touch was so light, he suddenly felt like a piece of garbage being handled by a divine creature. He wanted to speak but everything seemed to die in his throat. “Brandon?” She said more firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong-.”

Something broke in him and tiny drops of water began to trickle out of his eyes, bleating that was barely audible coming from his throat. She grabbed him with both hands and pulled him into an embrace. “Oh Brandon, no you didn’t. You just got too excited, that’s all!” She began pulling his head back up and planting soft kisses all over his face. Each one burned through his self loathing, hot and soft. He didn’t deserve any of her kisses. He didn’t deserve her. But she seemed determined to show him that he did.

“Want to make it up to me?” This seemed to give him permission to perk up. “Anything!” his voice had seemed to find power again, and a raw desperation rose in him. “Anything you want!” he wanted to appease his goddess so bad, to return to her good favor. “First give me a good kiss.” She gave him a smile, and though he still felt like garbage, hope rose in him once more. Timidly, he kissed her, practically whimpering everything her soft, wet lips did to him. She seemed to drag it out, which felt so good it hurt.

Finally she pulled back and said, “Now, I would like to take a shower and clean this, and then could you help me bandage it?” Her grace his shower? Her use his soap? It was more than he deserved or hoped for. But then the fact that she was still there and talking to him was also more than he deserved. Scrambling off the bed, he breathed, “Don’t move!” and seemed to scurry over to the bathroom. He pulled out all the towels and hung them up for her, turned on the water and took care to make sure the temperature was just right. It took awhile because he was still very drunk. Then he plugged the tub stopper in case she wanted to soak her feet. Then poured bubbles in the water in case she wanted a bubble bath. Then he checked the towels again. Then he wiped everything down, sprayed his aftershave as he didn’t have any air freshener and laid down an extra towel so her feet wouldn’t get cold on the floor.

He still hated himself for hurting her, but doing something about it made him excited. Doing anything for Karolyn excited him, to be honest. “And can I have something to change into?” Her voice was still cool and gentle behind him. Clothes! Of course! He was so stupid, she couldn’t get dressed in what she had now, not after he ruined her pretty costume. He wanted to bolt over to his dresser but instead slowly stepped past her, relishing in another quick kiss before he jumped over to his dresser and began tearing through his clothes, trying to find the cleanest, softest shirt and boxers he owned. He really needed to go shopping, he realized as his search revealed a pile of stained, well worn white and army green t-shirts next to him. He found the winning ensemble at the bottom. Tiptoeing back to the bathroom he stopped and shyly knocked on the door. “Come in, babe.” He heard her laugh over the running water. Feeling sheepish he slowly opened the door and crept inside, the steam wafting up and kissing his face with wet heat. “I’ll just leave them here,” he went to put them on the counter, averting his eyes though all he could see was his green shower curtain and he was suddenly conscious of how slurred his speech was still.

“No, you stay.” He froze. He was still in trouble. He deserved nothing more than to sit with his nose in the corner and shiver all night. “Babe, come in and sit with me, here on the seat.” a hand came out and pointed to the toilet. Scared even to be near her incase he hurt her again, Brandon padded over to sit on the lid of the commode, still naked holding his t-shirt and shorts for her. His head was starting to hurt as the effects of the alcohol went from a frothy foggy stupor into blatant rolling pains in his skull and dehydration. He had really drunk way too much at the party.

“Are you ok?” she asked. Another stab of self loathing overwhelmed him. He had just been the biggest fucking pig imaginable, letting his attraction consume him to the point of almost raping her and her she was asking him if he was ok? He couldn’t bring himself to answer. He didn’t deserve her and he was stupid to think otherwise.

The water shut off and she pushed aside the curtain. He didn’t dare lift his head until she prompted him as she got a towel to dry off.

She was even more sexy and beautiful than before. Every curve was pure muscle. The outlines of her abs, obliques, quads and every other muscle seemed to display unabashedly under her supple skin. Her breasts seemed immune to gravity as they perched perfectly over her belly with the most subtle shadows of muscle, her navel ring glinting with the water. If he had ever underestimated how hard she seemed to work out, the thoughts were driven from him. He could still see the scratches he had made on her stomach, but she had washed so well they were no longer bleeding and greatly reduced.

Then he noticed her mound was completely bare. A little shocking, but he found himself salivating at how much easier that would make eating her in. Policing his thoughts he watched her dry off with slow deliberate movements. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders and breasts heaved whenever she moved.

She wasn’t trying to tease him. When she bent over to dry one leg at a time she allowed her belly to pooch out and didn’t turn to show him her ass, though he knew it was wonderful. She just dried off while he watched, and then hung up the wet towel and wrapped another fresh one on her head before wrapping up in a third.

She stepped out and over to him,turning and sitting down on his lap. Petrified, he sat stock still as she lowered down, feeling her thighs on his. She put one arm around him and stroked his hair at the back of his head, holding the towel loosely with her other hand.

“Brandon, I know that you would never intentionally hurt me.” her fingers felt soothing on his head and he instinctively pushed back into them for more. His heart filling fast he silently agreed with her, still not able to say much. She went on, “You did have a lot to drink at the party, maybe have less next time?”

He dared to wrap his arms around her, clothes still in his lap. “After this I think I’ll never drink again.” He couldn’t keep the shaking out of his voice still. She pushed his face to her neck and tucked his head under her chin. “We don’t have to be drastic, but I do want you to know that aside from drinking too much, you didn’t do anything wrong.” she pushed a tender kiss into his scalp and whispered, “I feel safer with you than with anyone else I’ve ever known.”

Something much deeper broke inside of him and his heart began to overflow. He tightened his arms around her and began to press kisses into her collarbones. He’d never be good enough for her but he would damn well try. This was not some girl. This was not some great fuck. This was the woman of his dreams, bathing him in affection and offering him the gift of her trust. This was someone to honor, cherish, keep, and protect. This was someone to love. He had known he loved her for awhile, but tonight seemed to bring the emotion full force inside him.

“Why don’t we go to bed and snuggle? I’ve kind of been craving a back rub too.” He could feel the smile in her voice put warmth back in his soul. He slipped one arm underneath her legs and began to lift her up princess style before the blood seemed to drain from his head and he let her down quickly out of dizziness. “Let’s get you in bed first.” she put an arm around his waist. “But your clothes…” he was having trouble focusing. “I’ll get them, don’t worry.” Vaguely he was aware of the bed looming in front of him and he haphazardly climbed on top before falling onto one side. A second later she was beside him, dressed and attempting to pull out the covers so she could tuck both of them in. He lifted up and then checked the area of her scratches. They looked a lot better now with no blood and being very clean. He mustered enough focus to pull out a bottle of liquid bandage from the side table to seal it with and blew on it to accelerate the drying before she turned over.

How lovely she was. He didn’t care that his headache was growing. He began to caress along her muscles, luxuriating in the softness of her skin and the firmness of her shape. Gently pressing his fingertips in deeper he followed the path of the fibers and silently rejoicing every time he made her coo and stretch, arching her back, the shirt seeming unnecessary now. He made a mental note to learn more about massage so he could give her a more pleasurable experience. He was starting to have an erection again every time she twisted and turned but he policed himself. After everything else, the fact that she was still in his clothes, his sheets, enjoying his touch was more than enough for him to enjoy. He watched her fall asleep and felt an endearing pang as she nestled closer to him. Tucking in next to her he stroked her hair for awhile longer before succumbing to sleep himself, the feeling of her breath on his chest soothing and even. I could get used to this, he thought before his consciousness disappeared completely.

The bed felt soft and warm as Karolyn woke up while pulling her foot out of a frayed hole in the fitted sheet. The depth of her sleep had been such that it took a few moments of just staring off to the other side of the room before she realized she wasn’t at home. Oh my God! Oh my God! She began to scramble out of bed and then she remembered Brandon, the shower, cuddling… sitting back down, she felt her slit which was warm and wet with no pain or burning. Ok, well we didn’t fuck then… as much as she wanted it, she knew she wasn’t ready and she breathed a sigh of relief as the next stream of thoughts cascaded in.

He stopped when I wanted him to… recalling Brandon’s immediate change from drunken fool to apologetic gentleman began to fill her heart and quell her remaining fears. While he was drunk he had begun to remind her of some of her past dates but as soon as she said flat out to stop, that drunken fool was gone. Even then she had seen men who were much worse after a few drinks.

Much worse.

She sighed. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to tell him. At once tears welled up in her eyes, but it wasn’t fair to him. He was a good man and he deserved a queen. Besides, if he couldn’t handle it then he didn’t deserve her.

She dearly hoped he could handle it.

It was then that it occurred to her that the bed was empty and she smelled coffee. Wrapping up in the flat sheet she slid off the bed and felt around in the dark for her clothes, and then she remembered the skimpy halloween costume and it was probably still in the bathroom. Feeling her way around the bed, the carpet felt soft and clean if a little shaggy under her feet. Sensing that the door to the bathroom was still open, she felt the inside wall for the light and turned it on. The brightness assaulted her as she quickly turned it back off, seeing that her clothes were not in there either. Having seen a nightstand last night she felt around for that too see if his phone was there.

She felt the lining of her own phone case that was apparently plugged in to charge right next to his phone. Having an awww moment she checked hers. Four fifty-six in the morning. No messages. Normally she would be getting up to teach but she had managed to sub out her classes. Double checking the schedule needlessly, she steeled herself. Past experience taught her that a woman’s past determined how men tended to treat her. But she was a brave, confident, capable woman, a college graduate with not just two jobs but two careers. Even if this did go south, she could deal with it. It wouldn’t be the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Not her first walk of shame.

She dearly wished and hoped and prayed they wouldn’t go south.

Wrapped up in the sheet, she found her way through the darkened living room to the kitchen door and Brandon staring into the light of the refrigerator. Coffee was brewing over on the counter and bowls were set out with a box of bisquick under the stove lamp in the dim kitchen. “Umm--” was all she got out before he jumped and whirled around. They stared at each other for a moment, and Karolyn had to force herself to speak, “Can we talk?” He looked crestfallen as he pushed the refrigerator shut behind him. “Sure.” and he motioned over to the sofa in the living area. The apartment was small but clean and cozy which made the sofa seem huge. Brandon seated himself at one end, interlacing his fingers to his lips and his elbows on his knees, watching her. Sitting next to him she took a deep breath. Here goes nothing…

“Before this goes any further I just want to be completely honest with you, about myself… and if you don’t want to see me again, I’ll understand. But the last few months with you have been amazing.”

Brandon’s expression went from foreboding and sad to perplexed. But he didn’t say anything, so she continued. Looking at the death grip her hands had on each other and started forcing her sentence out, she sighed “I used to be a stripper and an escort. Mostly a stripper.” She gave it a second before continuing, and his eyebrows immediately shot up his forehead. “Before I got into college and before I started teaching Pilates and Yoga I was a stripper and did pole dancing. I dropped out of highschool when I was 17 and started traveling with some friends because I ran away from home. We got into a lot of bad shit and after a couple years I started training to be a Yoga teacher to get out of it, which led me to Pilates and to get my GED and then I started taking college classes.” she could have elaborated but she wanted him to say if she should even continue.

Brandon was surprised. And he looked… relieved. A smile came to his lips and reached his eyes as he brought his hands down. “Well, ha… I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting that.” he rubbed his hands together and looked at her. “It kind of explains a lot… Honestly I thought you were going to say that I had scared you off after last night and you were just being nice about it.” He started to breathe more, as if he had been holding it in.

“Oh no,” she said emphatically, clasping his hand in hers. “Trust me, that was nothing--” She stopped. Just focus on the now. You just told him, let it sink in. “So… you’re ok with that?”

Taking her hands in both of his he shifted closer to her. “Wait, you thought that your past would make me not want you? Karolyn…” He pulled her closer, his eyes big and bold, almost bathing her in intense heat. “After all the time we’ve spent together, I don’t think anything could make me not want to be with you as long as you want me.”

Relief washed over her as tears started streaming down her face. “Oh no, Karolyn, don’t cry!” his voice was soft as he reached up a hand to brush away the tears. “I’m sorry.” she blubbered as he wrapped her up in his arms and pulled her into his lap. “Don’t be sorry baby. I’m still ashamed for hurting you last night!” he pulled her head down for a soft, sweet kiss as he leaned back into the cushions of the sofa. “You won’t get rid of me that easy.” he smiled as she pressed her forehead to his. “I’m here as long as you want me baby.”he cooed. Karolyn practically melted into him as he rubbed her back and continued to give her light kisses. When she started sliding off to the side he maneuvered them both to lay with her on top, calming down and him continuing to stroke her.

After a while, Brandon ventured tenderly, “Can I ask why you ran away from home?” Being calmer Karolyn lifted off his chest just enough to look at him. His eyes twinkled in a face that made her feel so safe, so welcomed that even all the dark thoughts and memories swimming around her head didn���t faze her. “ I didn’t have a good relationship with my mom. She was addicted to painkillers and when that turned into a crystal meth addiction my dad moved away. He was just into weed, but tried to get clean when they broke up and we still talk a lot. My brothers all kind of left as soon as they turned eighteen and since I was the youngest, she was pretty over us by the time I moved out. I tried to go live with my dad but he lives in a refirbushed bus in New Mexico.”

Brandon chuckled and then caught himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--.” but she smiled and kissed him lightly. “No babe, it’s pretty hilarious. I love my dad, but he’s so fucking weird. Anyway,” she shifted to get more comfortable and as her breasts pressed into him further she felt his dick swell against her thigh. Giving him another kiss she continued.

“So I moved in with some of my friends who were like ‘fuck school, let’s do a road trip and just see everything’ so we traveled around just driving from place to place and I ran out of money, like, really quick and then our van got stolen at this truck stop, which coincidentally also had a strip club. My friends were freaking out, calling their parents trying to get back home, and I’m thinking, ‘this is stupid. I can’t go home, what do I do?’ ‘Cause honestly I wasn’t expecting my friends to bail me out at that point. This went down in over a few days because my friends had given one of the motel owners our sob story so they let us stay in exchange for cleaning the other rooms and helping out the maid.” she paused only to breathe and Brandon just laid there listening, combing his fingers through her hair, a warm smile on his lips. “So after about a week they gave us jobs because the maid ran off with one of the truckers. And we were making like five dollars an hour. Now I was kind of pissed off at my friends because they just wanted to get back home to their cushy parent’s houses and I was kind of jealous because I didn’t think I had anything to go back to, I was just there making five bucks an hour washing other people’s jizz out of the bed sheets.”

He chuckled and smiled more broadly as she continued with a confidence he hadn’t seen too much of until now. “So this one night my friends are all like, ‘ooh lets go to the strip club!’ and I’m like ‘for what?’ We’re four seventeen year old girls in the middle of fuckin’ Texas, where there’s like, nothing. But they went and I stayed in one night until I get this call from Josie. She’s all ‘oh my god, they left me, I can’t find them and these guys are trying to pick me up!’ So I’m like ‘ok I’ll come get you.’ So I go to this club, and it’s like the second most disgusting place I’ve ever been, right? So I get there and I can’t find Josie, I’m like, ‘bitch, where the fuck are you!’ And I’m asking around and everyone is drunk and--”

Brandon piped up, “Wait, didn’t they card you?” Karolyn waved a hand, “I had a fake id and I don’t think they really looked hard. Anyway, so I see this stripper, right, and I never said this to her face ‘cause she turned out to be a wonderful person, but she was, like, ugly. Like no boobs, no ass, nothing. But the shit she was doing on the pole was really cool and the guys were just tossing money up at her. Just tossing it! Like all she had to do was twerk and roll her tongue around and boom! She got ten dollars.”

“I don’t know, I would find that a little demoralizing. Would you like to move this to the kitchen while I make you breakfast?” The sound from his empty stomach was audible now, but Karolyn loved hearing while I make you breakfast. “Of course!” As they got up he bade her to continue and feeling better, she tied the sheet around her like a sarong to sit at the table.

“So at that point, when I saw that people were just handing her money for being naked on stage, I kind of snapped, like, ‘I don’t have anything else and I look prettier than her so I should at least be able to match what she’s making right?’ So I found the owner and I just flat out asked for a job, because my friends basically abandoned me and I pretty much had no home to go to, so I found him and I was like, ‘dude, let’s hook this up.’ And at first he kind of laughed at me, I mean I was thin blonde, back then I was like a B cup, wasn’t too much into fitness so he kind of gave me the go around, and I was getting pissed so I full on hopped up on his table and did a striptease right there.” Brandon accidentally dumped half the batter into the skillet and he looked up, “Are you serious?” He smiled, “Yeah, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing but I was desperate, and I was mad at my stupid friends for essentially stranding me in the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s impressive though. I’m guessing he hired you?” The skillet was smoking as he hovered over it with the spatula.

“Yup, and that first night I made two hundred and fifty-six dollars in four hours! I had to use it for food and stuff, but still.” The pancakes smelled good if a little burned and Brandon had now gotten the hang of pouring and flipping and listening. “That’s really resourceful though.” He smiled. Karolyn conceded, “I’ll freely admit it wasn’t safe at all, but honestly, what was I going to do?”

“Did you friends come back?” He pulled out a plate for the pancakes. “Oh, Josie did. She had hooked up with this trucker and then apparently his wife kicked her out, so she came back and lived with me another week and then her parents wired her money to come home. She wanted to stay because apparently I had hit the ‘jackpot’ with the stripper job so she wanted to do it. But they didn’t hire her because she was bigger. Plus I told her ‘look you still have a home and parents who actually give fuck about you, don’t be stupid.’ She was mad at me for a long time after that.”

Brandon brought over silverware and steaming plates of pancakes with butter and syrup, sitting opposite her at the table. “So how long were you in Texas?” he asked, watching her take the first bite. They were soft and warm and wonderful, just like everything else Brandon had. Just like Brandon.

“I think, like, six or seven months. I made new friends with the other strippers there. Some of them were impressed with how I got the job and others were like ‘bitch, I will run you out.’ At first it was kind of a competition to get dances and some nights I barely made, like twenty dollars a night, but every time I got a dance, I just was like, ok I’m going to make every single guy in this club cum for me.” Brandon dropped his fork and looked a little red in the face as he stepped away to get another. Karolyn spied his dick tenting the front of his sweatpants. “Should I put clothes on?” she asked. Sitting back down, he squeezed her hand, saying “You do whatever makes you comfortable. I’m very interested though, if you wanted to continue. What else happened in Texas?”

“Well that was where I started. There were some nights that I tried out some new stuff that I wasn’t ready for and at one point I actually fell off the pole, but you just keep doing it and keep going. I also saw that the strippers who took care of themselves, like who ate a lot of veggies and practiced and didn’t drink or smoke a lot looked hot longer and they got better tips. And I wanted as many tips as I could get so I got into all this yoga organic stuff and then this one guy wanted to hire me for private parties, because I was starting to get a little famous, which was good at the time but now I get really paranoid that someone will recognize me.”

That was true. Having a legitimate job was not nearly as solid as the general public liked to think. Since dietary was in kind a weird facet of healthcare anyone who had a problem with her could probably dig up enough to get her fired. But then again he had also done that to himself just through his own stupidity.

It didn’t matter too much to him though. Karolyn was getting more impressive by the minute.

“Could you wear masks or lots of makeup? Like a disguise?” Part of him didn’t want to let on how much experience he had being a patron of stripclubs… which was a lot, especially during his active duty days, and definitely after his divorce. She nodded, “Not so much in Texas because at first it didn’t really occur to me and then after that I didn’t really see the point. I mean, I never thought I would make it into college and a legit career. But another girl who was passing through, and who I kind of tagged along with to North Dakota had a whole system and put on tons of makeup, and wigs so that she looked different every night.”

“Why did you leave?” Brandon just sat with his forearms crossed on the table, and Karolyn shifted in the sheet. She sighed, “It was several things. Mostly all the girls I was friends with were starting to move on and get bigger gigs elsewhere or run away with guys, so I was kind of left with the older ladies who had been there forever and didn’t like me. Plus they started to sabotage my dances, so it got to the point where I knew I needed to make a change or I was going to start losing a lot of money.” Brandon was genuinely insulted for her, “Oh no, what were they doing?”

Their plates long cleaned, Karolyn began to pick hers up and reached for Brandon’s to help out. “Oh no, let me,” and he pulled the plates away. All this attention made her feel both desirable and self conscious. “Are you sure I can’t help?” she stood up and tripped as her foot caught in the sheet. Her cover fell off sliding down her back as Brandon stood there with the empty plates in his hands.

She froze, wondering if she should cover her naked body. Last night she had felt much more in control since he had been so drunk and apologetic, but now with him completely sober and doting on her she was nervous.

Brandon’s eyes darkened as he looked her up and down. Gone was the domestic feeling of playing house and Karolyn felt the color rising in skin.

He didn’t look all soft and warm and wonderful anymore, and she thought she could almost feel the heat of his body literally rising from across the room. He looked stronger, more formidable.

More dominant.

Karolyn watched as he set the plates on the counter in a very controlled manner, not knowing whether to be afraid or aroused. Her thoughts seemed to be suspended animation as she watched him not walk but stalk up to her. He reached out and pulled her hand up to his mouth, pressing the back against his lips and closed his eyes while sucking in air through his nose as if to get high off her scent. The simple act sent shivers down her spine as the sound of his breath combined with the sensation of rushing air on her skin rattled her.

It rattled her so much her cunt immediately puffed out and moistened.

He looked up, eyes locking onto hers as he lowered her hand, though he didn’t let go. He reached up with his other hand and combed his fingers through her hair to hold the back of her neck with a firm, gentle grip. “Why are you shivering?” His voice was deep and low with a softness that contradicted his body language.

Of course she only noticed that she had been trembling right then, and when she tried to answer him, all she could muster was a tiny “um…” as her heartbeat started to pound in her ears. He let go of her hand and reached down to cup her mound, a finger pushing its way into her puckered slit, surprising her as she sucked in a breath, her eyes unfocused to the point she closed them and let her head go back into his hand. The fear was evaporating out of her as a raw arousal took its place, seemingly being breathed into her as she felt the tip of Brandon’s nose blow heat onto her neck, tracing down to her collar bones. She gasped as she felt the gentlest little squeeze on her pussy. “Fuck, are you wet for me Karolyn?” he panted, the tone of his voice betraying a hint of arousal behind a calm, lovingly firm demeanor.

“Yes…” She heard the word practically slither out of her mouth and as she started to pant, his hand made little pulse squeezes on her cunt. Maddeningly gentle, erratic squeezes. Each one sent little pulsing shocks up her body, turning off conscious thought and awakening some deep, visceral, primal emotions that let themselves out of her opened mouth, panting. “Mmmmmm, you’re exquisite…” he whispered. Taking the hand off her head, he wrapped his arm around her waist and gently commanded, “hold onto my shoulders, baby…” she complied, running her fingers through his hair as she brought her arms up. Slowly he began to walk her backwards, taking her weight into his arms with a very different level of strength from what she had felt the previous night. She seemed to float off the floor and felt him take strides across the room, his bare feet pushing the floor away as it creaked, kicking the kitchen door open. They passed the sofa as she held him tighter, moving her head to one side so he could see the doorway to the bedroom.

I should be afraid. I should be close to screaming, she thought. After everything she had gone through and everything she still had to tell him the last thing she should want to do is be intimate with a man. All men one day let women down in the most horrible ways.

But why wasn’t she?

He began to gently lay her down on the bed, continuing to do the little squeezes on her cunt. Kneeling down over her he planted feather light kisses all over her face. Exquisite little kisses that tickled and teased her to the point she ran her fingers back through his hair and pulled his head down to her neck. The moan that escaped him was more a mix between a growl and a sigh that seemed to tickle right down to her cunt so much that she arched her back, pressing her body up into him. “Oh, Karolyn…” He just moaned her name, as if it was the most precious word he knew. Her last conscious thoughts falling away, tiny whimpers began to lace her breath. “That’s it baby… you like that don’t you?...” he smiled into her neck as his voice tinged with excitement.

“Uh-huh…” her voice came out soft and high. He had been just pulse squeezing her mound with occasional sweeps between her lips with his finger. “Oh, I know… you’re so wet...” he drawled lovingly. “Do you want to cum?” He quickened his pace, squeezing her lips together and teasing her clit with his fingers. She couldn’t speak, it felt so good. Her muscles jolted randomly as she was overwhelmed with growing orgasmic shocks coming through her clit. “Do you, baby?” He teased, chuckling when she tried to speak and he would do an extra sweep with his fingers so that she’d gasp instead. Then he made a frown, “Do you want me to stop?” and pulled his hand away.

Hell no! She attempted to sit up and pull his hand back to her cunt but he caught her across the chest and rolled on top, pinning her to the bed, spreading her legs with his knees. “Say please…” He laughed as she struggled, his cock bulging just under the sweatpants. Her thoughts fried, the most she could muster was a “ple...ple,” sound between gasps. Brandon smiled down at her, wide mouthed, gasping and writhing underneath him, pulling him down to kiss. But he resisted and held his head up.

Without thinking, but just following a natural impulse Karolyn finally whispered, “Please..sir…”.

Brandon’s eyes widened. His mouth opened as he sucked in breath. Karolyn was frozen in a state of wanting as he leaned in and kissed her, slowly at first but quickly turning primal. “Of course, baby…” and he took his hand away. As she whimpered he put his fingers on her lips, saying, “shh, baby taste it for me.” She opened her mouth, wrapping her lips around his fingers. Her salty musk and his scent mingling in her mouth gave a pleasurable experience, but what she really loved was how his eyes closed as he seemed practically cum right there just feeling her lips on his hand. “Mmmm, I love how plump they are, so juicy…” he breathed, sliding his fingers out and down her bottom lip.

He maneuvered onto his hands and started planting little kisses all over her breasts, taking time to suckle each nipple. Traveling down her belly, he then used his tongue to flick the inside of her navel, make her her squirm and giggle. Then he traveled further down and began to lick the outside of her mound. She kept it completely bare and the friction his tongue created on the smooth skin made her moan again, “Oh, please sir…” and then all at once she convulsed as he planted his mouth on her lips and slid his tongue in, flicking and caressing her clit. “OH!” her back arched up as she gasped, hands snapping onto his head. Brandon put one hand on her belly to hold her down while he hooked the other underneath her thigh to pull her closer. Inside Karolyn was building, the pressure was mounting, muscles tensing.

As he increased his speed the nerves throughout her body began to fire and a cool electric wave washed through her, permeating her very bones. From her toes all the way to her lips and the very hairs on her head the orgasm flooded through her like a tsunami, and it seemed almost a minute before its volume subsided and her eyes, jaw and skin all relaxed. Her hands fell away as she all but passed out, and was mildly aware of Brandon’s head resting itself on her thigh.

#romance #bdsmrelationship #bdsmplay #sexy tease #its getting hot in here #lovers

[am-i-obsessed---maybe]

Flirt With A Goon To Make You Swoon

First prompt request from @swimmingpainterhandsfreak with my favorite Jason

Prompts:

1) “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

5) “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

16) "you are a terrible influence"

30) “Can I kiss you?”

31) “God, I love you.”

Three minutes, that's how long it took for Jason to stomp over and take over your interrogation.

"What the hell hood? I had it." You told him, arms crossed over your chest.

"Well I did it faster, now we've got a lead to catch right? Come on" Jason said and walked off to his bike. It had been a long time since the two of you had worked together in costume, the Red Hood and the Ghost, two of Gotham's most morally grey vigilantes.

You'd known each other since Jason's street days. Then again as Robin when he found out you became a small time vigilante in the narrows protecting street kids, it was his death that helped you realize Batman's ways were far from the only option.

The two of you arrived at the docs to investigate a new drug ring that popped up, some low life has been kidnapping homeless teens and having them spread his product among the homeless of Gotham.

You adjusted your mask as Jason parked his bike.

"So what's the plan- and don't you dare say go in guns blazing" You asked.

"I was just gonna go in the front door but-" You cut him off. "Are you an idiot? That's gonna turn into a hostage situation faster than you can say hand me the crowbar"

"Low blow" he grumbled and you smiled.

"What can I say, you are a terrible influence" You joked and pointed to some windows under the roof of the warehouse.

"We sneak in from there and take out as many goons as we can without alerting the boss. This guy's growing but he's not big, he'll be in the building" You explained and you could practically feel Jason roll his eyes under his mask.

"Whatever you say boss" Jason retorted and the two of you grappled up to the roof. One by one you took care of the goons on watch before meeting up with Jason.

"My section's all clear, you?" He asked and you nodded.

"Taken care of, you make sure all the kids are here while I find our low life" You instructed and even though you could hear an argument in Jason's throat it stayed there and he jumped down to check on the kids.

You adjusted your hold on your knives as you kicked the door down.

"Alright asshole, jigs up!" You yelled and immediately rolled onto the floor when he started shooting.

"Okay asshole- wait Dean?" You asked once you got a clear look at the man.

"Guilty as charged, but I can't let you get in my way this time S/N" He said and you smiled.

"Has that ever stopped me before?" You asked as you charged punching, stabbing, slashing and blocking.

"Gotta say, the freelance thing doesn't suit you Dean, I just can't see you as the big boss" You quipped as he swept your legs from under you and you rolled back into a fighting stance as he charged you again.

"What can I say? I guess I'll just have to show you" He tried to hit the back of your neck with the butt of his gun but you disarmed him and flipped him on his back.

"Awe, you still got a soft spot for me Deedee" You joked and he kicked you as you tried to restrain him.

"What can I say? I appreciate a funny guy in spandex, doesn't hurt that he's damn good lookin" Dean said and you managed to restrain his hands and cuff him.

"good lookin huh?" you smirked at the sentiment when Jason's hand met the back of Dean's neck and knocked him out.

"The hell Jay?" You asked as you stood up to meet jason.

"You're welcome" He said and walked back out to the warehouse but you grabbed him by the shoulder.

"The hell is wrong with you? First the guy I interrogated earlier now Dean? I can handle myself." you reminded him and Jason crossed his arms.

"Not my fault you flirt with every goon you meet" he said and you scowled.

"It's called banter and sue me if I wanna have some fun and pretend I'm not bashing in bad guy skulls as a full time job" You retorted, "Besides since when are you the fun police?"

"Since it got in the way of a mission."

You looked at Jason intently, even with his mask on you've known Jason for most of your life and you could read him like a book.

"Wait a minute. Are you jealous?" You asked as soon as the words left your mouth you smirked.

"What- No!" Jason tried to say but you burst out laughing. "Oh my god, you sound so stupid with your damn voice modulator in that thing!" You laugh and you can hear the hiss of his helmet coming off.

"I am not jealous of some low life you decide to waste your time on." Jason said and you shook your head, still unconvinced.

"No way. You're jealous. You wish I flirted with you like I flirt with Deedee over there" You said and casually pointed at the unconscious Dean. Jason's lips twitched and you didn't need any more confirmation.

"Like I said-" He tried but you were having none of it.

"Oh bullshit. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice. You forget Jay I've known you since we were toddlers, I can see what no one else sees on you and I've noticed." You said and with every word you stepped closer and closer to Jason.

"I'm not-" "If you try to tell me you're not gay I'm going to smack you."

Jason didn't say anything else, he just looked into your eyes. You never knew the reason he left Gotham to go outlaw-ing around the world with his friends a few years ago but it was you. When Jason finally realized his feelings for you he was terrified. He's been with people before but you were his best friend, his original best friend. You'd known each other since you were in diapers and even if your friendship changed over the years he didn't wanna take the chance that his feelings would ruin it. But here you were, inches from his face and saying you knew about all of it.

"Can I kiss you?" You asked and you waited until you saw the doubt leave Jason's beautiful teal eyes and his head move as he nodded before you brought your lips to his.

Your hands on Jason's waist and his around your hips, the culmination of years of feelings.

When you both broke apart you gazed into his eyes again and smiled.

"God, I love you" Jason said and you brought your lips to his for another yet chaste kiss.

"I've waited so long to hear those words from you Jayjay" You said, leaning your forehead to his. "And I love you too"

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #batfam #reader insert #dc x reader #male yn #male reader #jason todd x male reader #red hood x male reader #red hood x reader #prompt fic

[wallyestwallyboi]

The Other Suit || Dick Grayson

Author's note: See, it's not always going to be ST. Now we got DC in this too. Send in requests, I like doing those.

Pairings: Dick Grayson x fem reader

Warnings: this is smut. Nothing more, nothing less. You have been warned.

Summary: After a mission, Dick has a little surprise for you ;)

You sat back a bit as you watched Dick debriefing the mission. Since you weren't a superhero, you weren't going, but Dick didn't want to leave you all alone in an apartment where something could go wrong. So, he brought you here. You had met all of the titans, and by far, you enjoyed all of them. It was quite funny watching him struggle to keep the teens in line, but you also couldn't help but feel slightly sympathetic towards him. It was a lot of effort to keep a team together, especially if a good percentage of them weren't even adults yet. Props to Kory, though, who seemed to have much more control over them, but in your opinion, she was also scarier than Dick was. No offense to him, but you couldn't take him very seriously most of the time when he simply whined and pouted like a child when he didn't get cuddles.

You sighed a bit as you watched them head out but couldn't help eyeing Dick as he was in his Nightwing suit. You weren't sure why, but something about it definitely made you feel those familiar, tiny butterflies in your stomach. He quickly made his way over to kiss you goodbye before he left with the others. You went off to find something to do in the meantime, hoping he and the others would be safe.

°•☆•°

It was a while before he came back, and most of that time, you spent either reading or staring out the window, missing him and just waiting for him to come back. 

You perked up at the jet coming into view, and you made your way over to greet them. You missed Dick so much, the moment you saw him, you tackled him in a hug, holding onto him tightly as he stumbled and hugged back after a moment. "I missed you." You whispered, enjoying his warmth and his scent. He hummed, burying his nose in your hair. "I missed you too." He replied. You pulled away enough to look at him and blushed as you looked him over in his suit. God, it was even hotter up close. It didn't go unnoticed by him, of course, with how perceptive he was. 

He gave a low hum, taking your chin in his index finger and thumb and lifting it so you could meet his eyes. "My eyes are up here, baby." He teased, a grin on his face as you blushed brightly. He seemed to think a bit more before pecking you on the lips. "If you go down the hall next to the kitchen, go to the third door on the right and wait there for me, babe." He said, "I'll meet you there. I need to change into my other suit." He said, pulling away from you. You sputtered, nearly choking on your own spit. "Y-You can't just say things like that!" You exclaimed. He just smirked and walked away, turning the corner before you could go after him.

You grumbled a bit to yourself but did as you were asked to, making it to what was probably his old room before he moved in with you. You sighed a little and plopped onto the bed, waiting for him as he asked you to. You took a look around the room. It was a bit dusty, but that was understandable. There were lots of photos on his bookshelf and dresser. Some of his family, others of his friends. It was interesting, to say the least.

You knew how he was when he was like this. So you sat on his bed, though you were getting a little impatient. You were very tempted to start without him at this point. Fuck it; he was taking too damn long. You started off simple, sliding a hand between your thighs as you rubbed your clothed pussy gently. It wasn’t much yet, but it was already starting to build the familiar pressure in your lower abdomen. It felt good, but after a few minutes, you needed more. 

After a few moments, you undid your pants and stuffed your hand inside, pushing past your underwear. You gave a small sigh as you lightly brushed against your clit, slowly applying more pressure as you felt how wet you are. 

It wasn't too long before you were pushing a couple fingers into your pussy. It wasn't the same as Dick's, but he wasn't here to help you with that. That was until you heard him clear his throat. You looked over and saw him standing there in his Nightwing suit, but it was slightly different from what you remembered. "Just couldn't wait for me, huh?" He said, going closer to you. You bit your lip. He took both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. "Well, looks like I'll have to punish you for that, baby." He purred, placing a chaste kiss to your lips. You bit back a whine when he pulled away and shifted so that he was hovering over you. “Since you decided that you couldn’t wait for me, you get to watch as I please myself.” He purred, using one of his gadgets to tie your hands to the bed. He pushed your shirt up so that it was over your breasts. He kissed them tenderly for a moment, smirking as he felt you shiver against him.

He pulled away and pulled out his cock. He was already very hard, the tip red and aching to be touched. He gave a small sigh as he started pumping slowly, looking over your form with hunger. You squirmed against the cuffs, watching as he went faster on himself and moaned out your name teasingly. He was enjoying this; you could tell. It was driving you insane. He panted a bit as he came a bit later, making a mess on your stomach. He grinned a bit as he looked you over now, getting hard all over again seeing you with his cum on you. He hovered over you again, kissing along your neck roughly before gathering some of the cum and holding his fingers in front of your mouth. “Open.” He ordered. “I want you to taste this before I fuck your brains out.” He growled. You opened your mouth and wrapped it around his fingers, moaning slightly at the taste. Once you finished licking off his fingers, he wrapped your legs around his waist. “Good. Now the real fun can start.” He purred, kissing down to your breasts and taking one of your nipples into his mouth. You moaned as he licked and nipped the skin gently. “Dick, please.” You begged. “I’ll be good. Promise.”

He chuckled, leaving plenty of marks on your skin before you felt his cock tease your entrance. You gasped as you felt him push in gently, biting your lip as he filled you slowly. “Fuck, you feel like heaven, Princess.” He purred, giving you a moment before starting to thrust slowly. “You liked watching me get off, baby girl? Just needed me to cum all over you before fucking you?” His dirty talk made you shiver, nodding quickly. “Yes. God - fuck it was so hot.” You answered, moaning louder as he started thrusting faster. If only you could actually touch him. You clenched your fists and mewled as he hit your g-spot over and over, feeling the coil tighten more as he thrusted hard. 

He growled a bit and buried his nose into your neck, moving one of your legs to rest on his shoulder, pushing him in deeper. He had you practically screaming as he rubbed your clit harshly, sending you closer and closer to the edge. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Can I cum, please?” You begged. He nipped your earlobe as he continued. “Go ahead and make a mess for me, baby.” He panted. You chanted his name as you felt the climax wash over you like a wave, Dick stilling inside of you as he came.

It felt like a few minutes had passed before you came down from your high, both of you panting heavily as you caught your breaths. He gave a grin, “So, you like the suit, baby?” He asked, pulling out of you carefully and taking off the restraints. You snorted a little, but nodded as he soothed your wrists, kissing them gently before laying next to you. “Yeah. We should do that more often.” You hummed, cuddling into his chest. He chuckled a little and kissed your forehead. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

#dc #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson one shot #dick grayson #dick grayson smut #dc comics

[radexchangeprogram]

This is a random one but can I request head cannons of the Brothers and Dateables reacting to an MC that’s actually a half demon but was really great at hiding her demon side since she grew up in the human world? They see a demon man just bounding towards MC before the boys could do anything MC’s like “DAD! 😃” before jumping in his arms like a child. Around her Dad she gains fangs and horns like him but she reverts back to normal when she wants to. The boys are like “Why didn’t you say anything?” And she’s like “I’m just used to my human side” or “You never asked 🤷🏾‍♀️”

Of course! I love this idea. I didn’t get a chance to proof read this so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

Author’s notes at the end (marked by *s)

Spoiler warning for up to chapter 17 to be safe. Especially with Belphie.

Half Demon GN!MC Headcanons

General

Everyone noticed that you never seemed too bothered by the fact that you were surrounded by demons, but figured you were just rather good at adapting.

This theory was proven wrong at a party Lord Diavolo hosted.

As you chatted with the brothers, a large demon with griffon wings, a lion’s mane, and horns similar to a gazelle began to head in the direction of your group.

The demon, who the others instantly recognized as Duke Vapula, walked up to them with a cheeky grin.

The brothers were instantly on guard, Mammon even growling slightly, as it was extremely uncommon for anyone to approach them so casually.

Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Luke, and Solomon all took notice and were prepared to intervine should something happen.

You turned around to see what the issue was and let out a loud gasp.

“DAD!”

Lucifer

Absolutely dumbfounded. How did he not know about this? He read your files to the point of practically memorizing them before you came here and he swears there was nothing about you being a half demon.

He was honestly a bit embarrassed that he didn’t know about something this major.

When confronting you, all you did was say that it wasn’t that big of a deal and that you figured they already knew.

You really give him a migraine sometimes.

He feels a bit relieved that he doesn’t have to worry as much about you dying, though.

If you wish, he may start teaching you demonic etiquette, such as having you shift form at formal events.

If you prefer your human heritage, he won’t pressure you to conform to your demonic ancestory.

Mammon

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN HIS HUMAN ISN’T ENTIRELY HUMAN?!?

The loudest about his displeasure about not knowing.

“I’m your first man! I’m supposed to know everything about you!”

When you explain to him that you’re more comfortable with your human half, he calms down a little.

Tries to call you ‘stupid half-demon’ but it doesn’t feel the same as ‘stupid human’ :(

You tell him he can just keep calling you ‘stupid human’ :D

Wonders if he can get your dad to pay him for ‘providing his child with such incredible protection’.

You immediately tell him no.

Leviathan

Holy shit this sounds like something straight out of an anime!!!

Very upset that you didn’t tell him, you’re his Henry! You’re supposed to tell him these kind of things!

When you shrug and simply say that no one asked, he gets even more pouty.

You make up with him quickly by offering to play games with him all night.

Extremely curious about your demonic form for the primary purpose of cosplay. Do you know how many more characters you can be if you have a tail or wings?!?

You might inspire some fanfiction. (half demon Henry x Lord of Shadows au slow burn 100k words, def not Leviathan projecting no not at all-)

Satan

He is extremely shocked. Not only did he have no idea, but half demons are extremely rare.

From what he’s read, most half-human half-demon offspring don’t survive past birth and all documented cases that have survived reside in the Devildom so that their powers can be better managed.

He asks you about this and you reply that you’re actually quite good at controlling your powers, but that you prefer living as a normal human.

He’s not upset that you didn’t tell him, but he has a billion questions.

How long is your lifespan? Do you take more after your demonic father or your human mother in terms of power?What are your weaknesses?

He really wants to learn more about human-demon hybrids and will ask you to help in his studies.

Also a bit excited as your father is well known for some for his knowledge and writing about the sciences. He wants to discuss some of it with you, assuming you’ve read what your father has written.*

Asmodeus

Oh he is so excited.

A bit relieved that his charm isn’t wearing off, it just doesn’t work because you’re the child of a demonic duke!

You know those boiling hot springs he talks about visiting? Well he’s happy to learn that you actually can join him without fear of your skin melting off!

He’s not upset that you didn’t tell him, getting mad over stuff like that can cause wrinkles.

He will absolutely want to help you groom your horns/wings/scales/tail.

He already has shown you a lot about demonic fashion trends, such as extra clothing that can be fitted around demonic extremities, but now he actually can actually have you try on some! Do you prefer gold tail bangles or jeweled horn cuffs?

Beelzebub

Relieved that Duke Vapula wasn’t looking for a fight.

He can’t help but smile a little when you hug your dad. It makes him happy that you love your family.

When you blush and tell him that it just slipped your mind to tell everyone about your heritage, he isn’t upset.

Happy that he doesn’t have to be so scared of accidentally hurting you with how strong he is.

If you’re able to safely eat some more demonic food, he will absolutely get you to try some of his favorite foods that normal humans would die upon eating.

Overall, you’re still the MC he has grown to love and doesn’t treat you too differently.

Belphegor

Is now more awake than he has been the entire evening.

Half demon? Nah this is just some dream.

Is understanding when you explain to him that you prefer being human and living as a human.

He’s happy he found out after making amends with you. He used to despise half-demons just as much as normal humans, seeing them as repulsive.

He still very much treats you the same, but is a bit annoyed with his brothers.

With knowledge of your demonic blood coming to light, they drag you out even more often and naps with you are becoming rarer.

If you get too overwhelmed with his brothers constantly wanting to try things they thought would previously kill you, he will be more than happy to lend you some of his hiding spots. He does charge the small fee of getting to take a nap with you though.

Diavolo

Similar to Lucifer, is shocked that he didn’t know before you came to the Devildom.

You aren’t the first half-demon he’s met, but he is surprised that a demon of Duke Vapula’s rank had a child with a human.

He’s actually very excited to learn that you’re a half-demon who is in more in touch with your human side. He feels a lot more relieved that you aren’t as defenseless as previously thought.

He does, however, make absolute sure that you have full control over your demonic powers. Every other half-demon lives in the Devildom for a reason and he can’t have someone who is technically one of his subjects accidentally cause mass destruction.

He invites you for tea more frequently, asking so many questions about how being raised in the human world as a half-demon was.

He likes to exchange stories with you about your younger years and the power fluxes you both struggled with as you grew.

Tells you that should you ever wish to live in the Devildom that he would be more than happy to make the needed arrangements.

Barbatos

He knew the whole time. When Diavolo asked him to look into the success of the program, he made note of your heritage right away.

However, he decided that keeping this information hidden when he saw that you were raised human and preferred to be seen as human.

When he explains this to everyone, you can’t help but feel thankful.

While some of the others make no effort to hide how annoyed this makes them, he doesn’t mind. He knows he made the right choice keeping this from everyone and doesn’t regret it at all.

Barbatos is actually a pretty good friend of your father’s and grew up with him. He actually met you when you were a baby because of this.*

Solomon

He has seen a lot in his years in the world of magic, but nothing like this.

Usually, half-demons were very easy to spot as they struggled to control their powers, but you practically had it down to an art!

You explain to him that you’re actually pretty good at keeping your powers under control. He’s rather impressed by this and will ask to see your spell work.

Thinks it’s a little funny that he has a pact with your dad.*

Like Satan, he wants to know all about you. Unlike Satan, he is going to actually conduct experiments instead of stick to interviews.

He has a new potion that he wants you to try almost every day now.

Can half-demons make pacts? If so, you have now been added to the list of demonic beings he wants to make a pact with.

Simeon

Very surprised considering he’s blessed you before.

Blessings aren’t supposed to work on anything of demonic nature so he’s baffled.

When you explain to him that you were raised human and prefer to live as human, he smiles.

He comes to the conclusion that you being a good person must be greater than the demonic blood in your veins.

He treats you the same overall, knowing that you’re still you no matter your heritage.

Luke

Absolute denial.

There is no way someone as nice as you is part demon! He refuses to believe it!

Gets upset and accuses you of trying to manipulate him, which you quickly deny.

When you explain to him that you prefer being human, he huffs.

Simeon gives him a bit of a talking to, about how you’re still the same MC who he sees as a big sibling.

He bakes you some apology cupcakes for being rude to you.

You sometimes shift form to mess around with him, it never fails to make him let out a shocked yelp before he snaps at you for picking on him.

Everyone (except Luke) thinks it’s funny tbh.

Author’s Notes:

*Duke Vapula is described as being able to bestow knowledge about all science contained in books.

*Barbatos is also a duke in The Goetia. I thought a fun nod to this would be to have them as friends.

*The Goetia talks about the 72 demons that King Solomon evoked. Vapula is one of the demons that he evoked. The game actually references this by talking about his 72 pacts. Asmodeus and Barbatos are both included in the 72 demons which is why he has pacts with both of them in the game :)

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me Mammon #obey me Leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #Satan x reader #Asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader #diavolo x reader #barbatos x reader #solomon x reader #simeon x reader #luke x reader #obey me headcanons

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

A/N: this idea started as just random concept drabbling between leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ and i and we never really thought it would amount to anything tbh!! but as we started putting more and more into the plot and characters, we made the spontaneous decision to make it a full on, multi-chaptered collab fic! we have so many ideas planned and so much to elaborate on and we’re just so mfing excited to share it with you guys :’) any and all feedback is greatly appreciated 💌 we hope you enjoy the first part and that you fall in love with this stupid emotionally unavailable moron the way we did! happy reading!!

andrea’s askbox : leyla’s askbox : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : 

word count: 17.2k

content/warnings: vampire!harry being a lowkey asshole while downing straight tequila like a psycho, getting to know The Crew, Mitch being the iconic legend he is, mentions of smut, and Harry working his immortal charm on an unsuspecting human girl with a peculiar scent and intriguing personality

///

Harry hates clubs. 

In his two hundred years of life, through many trials and tribulations, through tricky scenarios and annoying encounters, through thousands of unappealing circumstances and patience-testing events, he doesn’t think anything quite compares to the crowded, nerve-wracking experience that is a Los Angeles club on a Friday night during peak hours. 

According to his wise, humble opinion, it’s absolutely fucking petrifiying. He’d rather swallow a stake than have to spend hours in a dimly lit room with synthetic smoke choking his lungs, half-conscious humans stumbling around into him, and the stench of sweaty bodies mixed with liquor fumes, alongside the faint yet unmistakable waft of vomit. 

Yeah, Harry would definitely rather eat a red oak spear than have to shoulder that.

Despite his intense hatred for this Californian city during its after-hours, he can’t deny that he fits right into the scene perfectly. Decades of grooming and practice have made him a prime candidate for the fast-paced characteristics that come with the party nightlife. 

Fitting into these aspects aren’t something he had learned willingly; he didn’t really have a choice on the matter, considering his entire existence depends on mortals immature tendencies to get properly shit-faced and make stupid decisions in tightly-packed glorified bars. Harry never understood that— how a fog machine, strobe lights, and an undergrad amateur DJ could ever seem more appealing than the quiet, stable ambiance of a semi-formal bar. How deranged do people have to be to actually enjoy strangers spilling alcohol on them while attempting to shag someone else two feet away on the dance floor? 

Whenever he dwells too much on that thought, he gets a spiking migraine. After this long, Harry’s just come to terms with the fact that humans are regressing as a species. His conclusion is a bit cynical, perhaps, but hardly difficult to accept. One look at a news outlet provides enough proof to launch an Ivy League research project on the matter. 

He really shouldn’t be complaining, however, because the combination of overflowed close quarters and dampened inhibitions makes it the ideal hunting ground. Picking up a living blood bag at a club is basically as easy as walking through a vineyard and plucking grapes right off the stems. It’s practical, it’s fool-proof, and if he plays his cards right, he gets to feed and gets his more intimate needs tailored (a combo that he and his friends refer to as Laid and Drained).  

So regardless of his distaste towards clubs and their eager inhabitants, Harry had learned to mold his persona to fit the bill, making himself as approachable and desirable as possible. His life literally hangs in the balance; he’d put up with throngs of drunk sorority girls and their affinity for shitty perfumed drinks if it means avoiding desiccation. 

It’s not like it’s hard. All Harry has to do is make himself look more appealing than the other hundred men milling around the establishment, which— if he’s being brutally honest— isn’t that challenging. The moral, physical, and ethical standards of men have dropped frighteningly low since his time. Most of the ones that creep around clubs are overconfident, overzealous, boundary-lacking douchebags who think they’re entitled to a woman’s attention, and therefore make complete, utter fools of themselves in the process of trying to court one into their pants. Buying a girl one Sex On The Beach and dry-humping to Daft Punk isn’t the way to convince her to come home with you. 

Harry has developed his own guidelines and tactics for securing a nightly bedroom companion, and his ideas have been working wonders for him for decades now. 

The first and foremost rule is to clean up nicely. Personal appearance is everything. Humans are visual creatures; they build first impressions solely based on outward attraction. That trait is enhanced the higher their blood alcohol content rises. The drunker someone gets, the shallower they become, and it’s Harry’s job to work that to his advantage. And at the risk of sounding shallow himself, he thinks he does pretty alright in that department. 

Especially tonight, present in all the elements of his physique. He’s clad in a pair of high-waisted tan trousers that have been ironed to a crisp, his fitted graphic tee tucked neatly along his waistband beneath his black leather belt. His t-shirt is probably his favorite part of the entire look. It’s a baby blue sturdy cotton number with pastel yellow detailing along the cuffs and collar and a giant cartoon puppy in a striped bowtie taking up its center, smiling cheekily at the onlooker. Arranged around the doodle in faded Times New Roman bubble letters are the words WE’RE IN THE SHIT. 

Harry loves the irony of the article— the innocence of the drawing juxtaposed by the crude message. The piece is a conversation-starter— people almost always comment on it— and that’s exactly what he needs. Something to draw attention to himself and shadow all the other men. Something that shows he has a personality; that he has taste and a good sense of humor and isn’t just another walking genital. Plus, what person doesn’t enjoy a funny little contradiction, especially when it’s this cute?

On top of his graphic top, he’s wearing a tartan cropped blazer (open, of course) with a creme background and royal blue lines. The hem ends at the bottom of his ribs, exactly where his pants begin, and the jacket's hand-sewn buttons and strap detailings show that it's an expensive garment. It shows that he puts money and effort into how he looks, which is something anyone would appreciate when scoping for a possible hookup.

Harry’s shoes are the most casual factor of his fit. They’re a pair of light yellow Vans that match the collar of his tee. They’re plain, but he keeps them clean and they tie the whole look together without a hitch.

Accessories are everything, as well. Aside from the pearls arranged around his prominent collarbones, the gold-dipped cross hanging from a delicate chain around his neck, and the matching dangling cross earring on his right earlobe (again, he adores irony), he’s sporting a plethora of chunky rings on his hands, each unique and effortlessly complimenting his appearance. On his left hand, his index finger dots a ruby jewel embedded into a thick rusted band, another large metal one with dancing bears on his middle, and two clunky golden letters on his last two digits— his initials, HS. On his opposite hand, he has a medium-width plated ring on his middle finger with peace engraved along its rounded edge, an elegant lionhead number with an amethyst stone snug in its mouth, and along his pinky is a decently-sized opal set into a delicate polished frame. 

His two last rings are the most important of all. The lionhead is his daylight ring, which he hasn’t taken off since he transitioned. It keeps him from bursting into flames everytime the sun hits his skin. The opal was his mother’s, and it was her favorite. 

Harry’s attire is something he’s immensely proud of, even though a good amount of people deem him eccentric in the eyes of modern masculinity. He couldn’t give less of a shit. With his lightly tanned skin, alluring cologne and lacquered nails, his shirt stretching across the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, his broad shoulders and tapering waist, his thick thighs, sharp jaw, jade eyes, loosely tousled chestnut curls, and the vast array of dark ink littering his arms...

He looks good and he knows it. And all the people whose gazes glue to him as he passes by know it, too. Especially a random group of young women in line, who ogle at him shamelessly as he casually strolls past. He treats them to a sly wink, an irresistible dimpled smile, and a soft, cheeky greeting of, “Ladies.”

He gets off on the way they swoon at his refined English accent, giggling and waving. 

The only other component Harry has for succeeding in the club environment is simple, but it’s important: Don’t seduce, romanticize. 

Anyone— even inebriated idiots— can try and seduce a woman. And if she’s had enough tequila shots to cloud her thoughts, they just might succeed. But only a real man can romanticize a girl, and it yields way better results. 

Females are an emotional sect (Harry says that with zero misogyny; it’s just a scientific fact and he actually praises it), which means that if you entertain their interests and fluff their egos, they are bound to fall right into the palm of your hand. It changes the game completely because then they don’t feel that they have to pleasure you, they want to. They pursue the guy who flirts without being too vulgar, who appreciates and acknowledges their efforts, and who can go head-to-head with their wit by carrying unforced banter. They chase after him because he’s showing genuine kindness rather than just sexual interests and if he’s that attentive on the getting-to-know-you front, one can only imagine how skilled he could be in other bases. Chatting up a girl the right way, with patience and courtesy, builds credibility and prowess. And as a thank you, they’re usually more than willing to pay special attention to your needs, as well. 

Thus, romanticizing is always the expert move. So, yes, Harry detests clubs and the disaster that is adult recreation. But he’s fucking amazing at playing it to his favor. He’s great at calculating everything down to the smallest detail and he’s going to piggy-back on those skills for the rest of eternity. He’s so good at what he hates that his closest friends have anointed him the title of Walking Paradox. He’s more than happy to keep it. 

All of these thoughts are circulating around his skull, hyping him up for the game ahead as Harry and his friend group walk up to the bouncer at the entrance of the club they had chosen for the night, faint stars twinkling in the dark sky as the sounds and lights of the city fall away into background static. 

They cruise by the long line of people, hearing sounds of disagreement and grumbling coming from the other patrons waiting to get in. Harry casually tucks his large hands into the pockets of his light brown slacks as he pulls up in front of the burly bald man, who is wearing a black shirt with the club’s name printed in neon letters. The security guard is at least five inches taller than him, overswollen biceps and pectoral muscles rippling under the flimsy material of his work outfit as he crosses his arms over his barreled chest, cocking a single thick eyebrow at the seemingly young vampire. 

Harry delivers a good-natured smile up at the employee, despite the man’s obvious begrudging disbelief at what he is about to try and do. His friends chat quietly behind him, uninterested in what is happening; after years of being acquainted, they know that Harry is going to get exactly what he wants. He always does. 

He’s the best of them, that much is obvious. Not only when it comes to his experience with persuading sexual partners and getting himself a decent dinner, but he’s the best at convincing just about anyone to do anything, neutral of gender. He’s the second oldest of the crew, yet he seems to have the most knowledge and practice under his belt; his easygoing charisma, undeniable good looks, and dazzling smile could sway even the most stubborn of souls. Frankly, he’s so successful in getting his way that no one cares to try and argue for the leader position. Not when they can just sit back and let Harry do all the work. 

“Good evening.” Harry’s deep voice chimes giddily in the direction of the bouncer, his accent particularly heavy for no real reason. “How you doing tonight, mate?”

The guard— whose name tag reads Brock and Harry has to actively stop himself from snorting at how fitting the name is for such a brick of a human— looks down at him with a stony expression, voice flat. “I’m good.”

“Well, that’s great to hear!” The curly-haired boy’s simper widens, dimples popping into place as he skates into his next question with dramatic friendliness. “Haven’t had anyone cause you any trouble tonight, have you?”

Brock blinks once, attitude remaining coldly indifferent even in the face of Harry’s cheeriness. His words, however, are snipped and pointed. “Not yet.”

“I’m guessing you’d like to keep it that way.” The young man comments sympathetically, nodding his head along with the worker. “Totally understandable.” 

“Good.” The employee remarks in the same detached tone, shifting on his feet, obviously growing uncomfortable and irritated with the conversation. “So I’m guessing that means you know you have to get in line.” 

Harry glances over his shoulder at the lengthy expanse of people gathered along the side of the building, a light wind filtering through his freshly-shampooed ringlets as he studies the way the bright sign on top of the club casts alternating rainbow colors across the crowd. 

He makes a disapproving sound by sucking at his teeth, lulling his sight back onto the guard. “I don’t know, man. At this rate, I feel like by the time we get to the front of the line, it’ll be last call.”

“Maybe.” Brock shrugs offhandedly. “It is what it is, right? Fair’s fair.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry returns his gesture, but his posture shows no intention of moving, the corners of his rose lip set in a knowing smirk. “But since you’ve been having a good night, do you think you could find it in yourself to just let us through? We’d greatly appreciate it.” 

The bouncer’s face hardens, any shred of professional amiability washing out of his defined features. “I don’t think so.” 

The vampire’s shoulders sag in exaggerated disappointment. “Are you sure? It’s just five of us. Don’t think we’ll do much damage. Right, guys?”

Harry glimpses over his back to his friends, who let their conversation falter for a moment to throw out a chorus of half-assed agreements, trying to keep themselves from snickering. 

“We promise we won’t cause any problems.” Xander speaks up, jutting his chin encouragingly at the man as his lips twitch slyly. He lifts one of his hands, the smallest finger sticking out stiffly and wiggling around. “Pinky swear.” 

The rest of the group bursts into a round of light laughter, causing Harry to release a few airy giggles of his own.  

Xander looks over at Niall, raising his eyebrows and quipping in an innocent manner. “Right, Ni? No funny business tonight. That means no climbing onto the bar again and stripping down to your socks.” 

“That happened one time!” Niall exclaims incredulously, socking the taller boy in the shoulder as the others laugh harder than before, his blue eyes narrowed and face pinched. “Once! And it was only ‘cause Harry challenged me to a tequila shot contest.”

The Irish vampire’s accented voice drops darkly as he reminisces. “Fuckin’ hate tequila. Makes me act like a moron.” 

“As if you’re not one already.” Mitch pipes up in his usual soft dialect, chuckling as he ducks away from Niall’s vengeful fist. 

Harry cranes back to face Brock, thumb playing with his daylight ring as his hands stay relaxed inside his trousers. He shrugs one shoulder easily for emphasis. “See? You can let us through. We pinky swore.” 

The entire charade seems to have only infuriated the security guard more than before, his brows now fully furrowed and a deep, unamused frown etched across his previously pursed lips. His voice is on edge with barely controlled anger. “I’m not putting up with any shit. If you want in, go to the back of the line. If not, leave.”

Harry sighs grandly in defeat, head shaking slightly. “Guess I’ll just have to go the other route, then.”

The creature takes a step forward towards the employee, close enough that their chests almost press together. The bulky man stands his ground, though there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes at seeing the smaller boy make such a bold move. 

“What the f—?”

Harry locks gazes with Brock, pupils dilating to twice their size, the usual emerald shade of his irises flickering a haunting red and looking sinister in the buttery light of the street lamps. Horror breaks across the worker’s face, the ability to form coherent sentences disappearing from his demeanor. Harry’s heightened senses can hear the way his heartbeat spikes, blood instinctively rushing into his chest as a response to the adrenaline materializing in his veins. The activation of human’s fight-or-flight modes is always so oddly pleasurable. Just feeling how they react so drastically makes Harry’s fangs tingle with longing. Fear is a good condiment, he’s learned; it gives blood’s usual metallic flavor a certain twang.

But at the moment, a beverage from this specific tap isn’t the one Harry has in mind. He has his interests set on something much tangier and full-bodied; maybe Casamigos golden tequila, or Don Julio's Blanco. Preferably mixed with a young office secretary or a Bath and Body Works employee instead of lemon and salt. 

All in all, Brock is just collateral for a much bigger prize, which lies behind the roped off area he holds dominion over. It’s Harry’s job to break that dam. 

Before the large man can fully react, the vampire begins working his compulsion strategy, tone coming out level and soothing, thick with persuasion and teetering along a sleepy undercurrent. “You’re going to let us through, and you’re going to forget we ever met.”

The guard’s pupils enlarge to match Harry’s, the look of utter terror on his face melting right off. His features go slack as the monster’s magical influence works its way through his brain, coating every neuron and bending him to the deliverer’s will. The man reaches over and removes the velvet rope blocking the group’s path, stepping off to the side obediently with an empty expression present across his appearance. 

The leader of the group smiles just as brightly as he had the second he’d walked up to the door. He passes by the worker, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder and feeling the muscular man strain under his supernatural strength. “Thank you very much. You have a nice night, Brock.” 

Harry’s friends follow behind him, echoing his parting message and sharing a collective chortle.  

The second the group dives past the frame of the club entrance, the whole ambiance of the atmosphere changes. Harry walks across the top ledge of the establishment, coming to a halt at the railing that overlooks the main level of the club, his inhumanly sharp eyes bouncing around all the corners of the building to construct some type of familiar layout in his head. Amidst the blinking lights, thick artificial smoke, and swaying bodies, his keen instincts sketch a mental image for tonight’s hunting ground. 

The bar is at the far left corner of the club, squared off and taking up a large chunk of the colorful tiled dance floor. The music station extends across the entire wall at the opposite end of the tavern, stocked with massive speakers and a professional turntable. Harry’s brows jump in mild surprise— it’s not every day that a club puts so much effort into their mixer. 

The animated dancing area is packed with people, the crowd all jumping and grinding to the beat of the bass, moving as one large mass while the rotating strobe lights hang from the cavernous ceiling, bathing their moving silhouettes in neon reds, drunken blues, groggy purples, and electric yellows. The dim surroundings and heavy fog make all the hues more intense, giving the endless party that timeless quality which people tend to enjoy about nightlife. It’s the night to remember effect that movies and shows always hyperbolize; he thinks this way because he’s well aware that not even a third of these people are sober enough to know what the fuck they’re doing, let alone recall it the following day. It’s comically ironic, really. 

But Harry profits off that liquor amnesia, so he brushes away his sardonic skepticism for the time being, settling his lean forearms onto the metal railing that lines the second story of the venue, which is meant to keep shit-faced customers from creating a messy lawsuit. He carefully absorbs the grandeur of it all, leaning his weight forward with a detached sigh, already flickering through the mental menu of his favorite drinks that he has expertly memorized. 

He’s in the process of choosing between a Manhattan— it isn’t a very complicated drink, which is exactly what he’s looking for; something simple and strong— or just straight tequila in a glass when he suddenly feels a familiar presence arrange itself beside him, bumping his shoulder playfully with their own.

Harry snaps out of his recipe retrieval, eyes casting to the side to land on his best friend of almost a century. He cocks an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the thin, bearded man to make the first move towards conversation.

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

The green-eyed vampire sputters into spontaneous laughter, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the small pits in his cheeks jolt awake. His tone is humorous and full of fake insult for the hell of the joke. “Wow, alright. So I get us into the club that you chose and that makes me a prick? Good to know. You can handle the muscle next time, then, if you’re gonna talk shit.”

Mitch cracks a gentle jesting grin, which is very on brand for him. He doesn’t seem like much, with his skinny, lanky frame, delicate features, shoulder-length hair, and somewhat scraggly stubble. He’s quiet, reserved, and hardly engages with anyone outside of their immediate group. He’s always been that way for as long as Harry could remember. 

When they had met back in 1924 at a speakeasy in New York, Mitch had given off a mysterious vibe that Harry had found amusing and intriguing. His slightly sickly appearance and distant persona made the younger vampire want to get to know him better; it was just so peculiar that this seemingly impassive man was working at an illegal bar as a live musician. One would think that a performer would have to display an engaging character to keep a loyal audience, but Mitch had been all the talk of the underground despite his unemotional coolness. It was startlingly unorthodox and Harry just had to know more. 

Therefore, with a bit of help from his convincing supernatural abilities, he’d secured a spot as the black market club’s leading vocalist. He wasn’t anything worth a Grammy, but he could keep his singing in tune and follow Mitch’s guitar rhythms easily enough, all thanks to his limited experience with piano. He fit right in. 

From the first show they had put on together, it was like they had known one another in a different lifetime. They clicked so flawlessly it was almost fictional. 

Harry was lively and charming on stage, working the crowd to his favor as easily as he could knock back a shot, wrapping every single patron around his jeweled pinky without breaking a sweat. His witty temperament countered Mitch’s timid disposition perfectly and that uncommon dynamic had been the foundation to their friendship. Their humorous shenanigans on stage (which included Harry pinching at Mitch’s ass and making vague vulgar motions at each other while harmonizing) was a hit within the drunken community, and it bled into their personal lives. They went from only interacting on stage to sharing drinks together afterwards, to hanging out outside of work, to deep late night conversations about the world and their experiences.

Soon enough, they were closer than either had expected to become. And once they found out each other’s true identities (Mitch had transitioned during the American Revolution, when a vampire in his battalion had given him blood to heal from a wound, unaware that the next day, Mitch would suffer a fatal gunshot to the stomach that would trigger his transformation) they grew inseparable. They had remained that way ever since. 

Despite his friend’s withdrawn tendencies, the older vampire never hesitates to make his opinions heard, obvious in how he’d just full-bodied Harry with that snarky comment. Even when it’s at his expense, Harry appreciates and respects the rawness of it. He loves the way Mitch is honest and straight-forward with everything that crosses his path— it’s one of his favorite traits about him and definitely one of the characteristics that had led Harry to deem him his best friend. He’s probably the most fulfilling person Harry has ever met and their friendship brings him a type of comfort that he doesn’t receive from anyone else.

Vampires can be so detached and cold not only towards humans, but towards one another, and it gets old at times. It’s unsettling not having someone to truly confide in, and Harry is grateful that Mitch had been so willing to fill that position.   

Due to this, Harry rarely takes genuine offense in Mitch’s digs. They’re normally expressed as a joke and they’ve both been alive for so long that thick skin is a default.

“How was I dick?” Harry inquires, slinking his head to the side with entertained curiosity. “If anything, he was the one being an asshole. I asked him to let us in nicely and he practically spit in my face!”

Mitch snorts in amusement, shaking his head lightly as his eyes streak across the humongous room in the same cunning manner Harry’s had. “You and Xander didn’t have to mock him that way.” 

That’s another thing that makes Mitch the better half of their power duo— he still has a decent shred of humanity in his unbeating heart. Pessimistic conclusions aside, Harry does have a bit, as well...but his is more like a paper-thin pencil shaving than a shred. Barely there, but there, at least. 

The young man returns his companion’s snort, rolling his eyes up to the hanging lights over their heads. “Was just some harmless teasing. Nothing bad came of it.”

Mitch scowls scoldingly. “It was unnecessary and mean.”

Harry mimics his expression with his nose scrunched sarcastically. “We were just taking the piss, and it’s not like he’s gonna remember it anyways. Stop being such a kill-joy.” 

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

“Or what?” Harry tilts his chin up challengingly, the amber specks around his pupils glinting tauntingly, faint black veins momentarily webbing across the whites of his eyes. He sweetens his voice into a honeyed drawl. “Are you gonna spank me, daddy? Have I been a bad boy?” 

Mitch belts out a feathery chuckle, shoving his friend with enough strength to send a regular human flying across the deck. But since the taller vampire matches his force, he hardly moves an inch. “Fuck off.” 

“I’m being serious!” Harry cackles, turning his hips and sticking out his ass towards his visibly disgusted acquaintance. “Go fucking in, if you want.”

He lowers his voice into a sultry hum, wagging his backside jestingly. “I like it rough, baby. Why don’t you bend me over this railing and show me who’s boss?”

It’s Mitch’s turn to roll his eyes to the ceiling, voice deadpan. “I think I’ll pass.” 

Harry juts his lower lip into a theatrical pout, sniffling faux tears. “You’re rejecting me that quick? Who’s the asshole now, huh?”

His best friend doesn’t even blink. “Still you.”

“I can live with that. And it’s probably a good call on your end to give up all this,” he signals vaguely up and down his tight torso with a ringed hand, grinning as he watches the veteran vampire pretend to gag, “because I don’t think Sarah wouldn’t be too happy about it.” 

Mitch’s humorous face immediately drops, eyes narrowing at the change in topic. “Very funny.” 

“I know, right? I’m a proper comedian.” Harry quips proudly, batting his lashes mockingly. “Where is Sarah, anyways? Have you heard from her lately?” 

Sarah and Mitch...They’re a complex couple, if they can even be called a couple. The two are more like occasional friends with benefits, “occasional” meaning “once every couple of months, if Sarah happens to be passing by.” 

Their relationship is open and very loose, mostly due to the fact that Sarah is fairly new to the world of blood-driven immortality and has decided to take full advantage of it. She’s been using compulsion to travel the world for the last three years since she changed, which had been the result of an unfortunate car accident. 

Mitch had been seeing her casually beforehand, keeping her around for the purpose of having a conventional feeding arrangement. Every time vampires feed, they heal the wounds they inflict with a bit of their blood, proceeding to then wipe the person’s memory with compulsion in order to eradicate any chances of getting caught. The caveat is that if a human dies with vampire blood in their system, they become one. 

Sarah’s death happened the day after she’d spent a night with Mitch, and one can imagine how distressed she had been when she'd awoken atop a metal table in a morgue within the basement of a hospital. Mitch had been there from the very first second she’d opened her eyes to her new life. Or rather, her dead life. He had helped her get accustomed to the next stage (meaning having to cut family ties in order to avoid a catastrophe— the less people that know the truth about the supernatural, the better) coaxing her through transition and teaching her the way to go about the rest of eternity without putting herself and others in danger. 

Vampires rarely have any compassion for life (usually out of spite, which stems from how their own lives were taken from them), so it’s not uncommon that bodies are found drained of blood in back alleys, abandoned warehouses, and washed up on banks of oceans and rivers. It could be either of two reasons, or even both: the monster doesn’t care about the consequences of their actions, or they never learned to control their urges. 

Harry’s crew isn't that careless. Through Mitch, they had learned restraint, taking up his practice of feeding enough to satisfy themselves without killing the host, healing them, and then erasing the occurrence from their memories. Mitch had come up with the tactic to cling to his humanity— to be as kind and nondestructive as possible— but if Harry’s being honest, most of their friends only play along because it’s convenient. No bodies means no police involvement, and no police involvement means being able to settle down in one place for an extended period, not having to stress about the annoying process of bouncing around the world for the rest of their lives to avoid detection. 

Keeping low was for the best, and when things get rough— whether it be a mistake on their part or a disastrous bender caused by another vampire passing through— they resort to drinking from blood bags until things tide over. Mitch has a contact at the nearest hospital, which is how he gets access to the stock, as well as how he managed to clean up Sarah’s passing so quickly. 

All in all, Harry had only mentioned Sarah to tease his friend, knowing the slight sensitivity that comes with the subject. Vampires rarely form emotional bonds, typically because it can get really messy, really fast, whether that connection be to a mortal or to another creature of their species. All of them have baggage of some sort— you can’t die, resurrect, be forced to abandon your family, and be a slave to drinking blood for the rest of eternity and just...be normal. That type of extreme emotional turmoil is corrosive towards love. It’s always better to just avoid it all together. 

That’s why this is so habitual to joke about; it’s a way to deflect. 

Mitch sighs grandly, Harry’s question echoing in his skull. “I don’t know where she is, to be honest. Last we talked was, like, four weeks ago, I think. She was in Japan, said she was drumming for a new upcoming band. Haven’t heard from her since.”

Harry nods his head once in understanding, itching to steer the theme of their conversation elsewhere now that he knows the topic is in a more sensitive state than he’d imagined. He doesn’t want to push Mitch into a depressive episode when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Spending the night consoling his sulky friend in the bathroom of a club is the last thing he wants right now. 

“I guess that makes Sarah the asshole, then.” He pokes jokingly, bumping the older vampire’s hip with his own. “She’s ghosting you. Get it? It’s funny ‘cause she’s actually dead.” 

Mitch’s sad expression shatters like glass, replaced by one of unamused secondhand embarrassment at the shitty pun. “I fucking hate you.”

“All the people who were ahead of their time were hated.” Harry sing-songs, turning up his nose haughtily. “Copernicus, Socrates, Einstein— all of them were hated for being geniuses. I’m willing to carry that same burden.” 

Mitch blinks at him three times. “No one hated Einstein.”

The curly-haired boy’s lips twitch darkly. “I’m pretty sure Japan did.” 

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

Mitch shakes his head, but even through the black lights, Harry can see him trying to ward off a laugh. After a moment’s pause, he speaks up again softly. “It’s not that hard to refrain from humiliating innocent people who are just doing their job, H.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re still on that?” The broad monster groans in exasperation, palms slapping down on the metal rungs below him. “We were just having some fun! But fine. If it helps you fake sleep at night, I’ll try and keep my condescending flare to a minimum.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Mitch responds peacefully, tapping his nimble fingers casually along the railing, his action much less violent than his companion’s. “S’not too difficult.” 

“Whatever.” Harry scoffs, returning his intent gaze to the dance floor, scoping out the scene once again in hopes of finding a proper meal for the night. 

He zones in on a group of young women gathered along one side of the bar, their messy giggling and lack of balance giving away that they’re obviously sloshed off their faces. Seems promising enough. 

When he talks once more, his tone holds an attitude that plays on a grumble, but it’s somewhat distracted. “The least you could do is let me have some fun, considering I didn’t even want to come.” 

Mitch huffs, making an entertained noise in the back of his throat. “You say that every single time we go out, and yet you always end up taking someone home. Don’t know why you’re complaining.” 

Harry side-eyes him from his peripheral vision, the corners of his pretty cherry mouth dipping down grudgingly, mood defensive. “You drag me to these things so I’m not going to apologize for making the best of it. I put a lot of effort into my pick-ups! I deserve to get my dick wet.” 

“God, please don’t say that again.” His best mate physically makes a vomiting sound. “You’re acting like a spoiled fraternity douche.” 

Harry’s gaze ignites into flames, his back straightening out as he fully turns to face the shorter man. He’s never been insulted so low before. “Take that back!” 

“Take that back!” Mitch mocks in an exaggerated, high-pitched British accent, attempting to stifle giggles. 

“Take it back! You know how much I hate Gen Z.”

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

“I know. Your lack of maturity is a constant reminder.”

Harry opens his mouth, prepared to make a sharp comeback about how Mitch should have left the shaggy-haired stoner aesthetic back in the eighties, but then a heavy Irish accent interrupts his rebuttal. 

“What’s all this about getting your dick wet?” 

Both of the vampires turn towards Niall, finding Xander and Adam accompanying him in a loose semi-circle. 

Xander isn’t paying any attention, too busy tapping away at the screen of his smartphone, apparently engaged in a very riveting conversation with whoever is on the other side. Adam has his hands tucked into the pockets of his plum purple wind-breaker, looking over Harry’s shoulder, seeming to be adamantly searching for someone in particular amidst the mob on the level beneath them. Niall is the only one interested in their dying conversation, probably only because he heard something crude being mentioned. 

“It’s nothing.” Harry dismisses, but he can’t help but stick Mitch with a glare. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”

Adam speaks up for the first time. “Charlotte and Ny texted saying they got here about ten minutes ago. Mentioned they were dancing near the DJ station, so I think I’ll go find them.”

“Sounds good.” Harry bobs his head in accordance. “We’ll see you out there, yeah?” 

Adam returns his action, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the bottom floor. The leader of the group watches him trot onto the large spiral staircase, disappearing into the thick throng of people scattered across its wide steps. 

Harry shifts his attention to Xander, snapping his fingers a few times in his direction and giving a two-toned whistle. “What about you? What’s got your head?”

“Not what, who.” Niall teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and making kissy faces at their friend. 

Xander ignores him, glancing up at the green-eyed brunette to let him know he’ll be with him in a second, returning his focus back to his iPhone. After a few more elongated moments of typing, the older man finally locks his device. 

“I have a date.” He throws out casually, almost as if it should be obvious. 

“A date?” Harry reiterates slowly, not quite buying it. Xander doesn’t date. He couch-surfs just as much as Harry does. 

“Mmhm.” Xander glimpses behind his fellow vampire, eyes carrying intention. “It’s just a random dude from Tinder. I thought it’d be easier to set something up beforehand, just so I don’t have to spend the whole night trying to figure out if a guy is making eyes at me or trying to keep his whiskey down.” 

“Smart.” Harry shrugs his sculpted brows, impressed. A cocky grin toys with the corners of his mouth. “But we both know no one will ever compare to me.” 

“Right.” Xander scoffs in a deadpan manner, gifting him a tight, aggravated smile. “If only you weren’t such an emotionally unavailable prick.” 

“Oh, like you’re mentally stable enough for a relationship?” Harry bites back, but it holds no true malice, just some petty rivalry. “Piss off.”

“Happily!” The other vampire exclaims, clasping his hands together for dramatics. “Have fun finding someone out there. I’m just gonna grab a to-go box for my already prepped meal.” 

Harry doesn’t bother watching him leave. Instead, he turns to Niall, pointing at him to symbolize it's his turn to share his plans for the night. “What have you got, Lucky Charms?” 

His friend breaks into a jolly cackle at the nickname, arms falling crossed over his chest, hands absentmindedly squeezing his elbows in thought. “Well, I dunno, Tea and Crumpets. What’s your game plan?” 

Before Harry can answer, Mitch butts in, feeling left out of the banter and somewhat hurt that no one had assigned him an alter ego. “What’s my country-derived nickname?” 

Niall gives the American a slow once-over, shifting in his dark brown Clarks boots, fitted navy slack riding up his thighs and allowing his rainbow polka-dot socks to peek out. He hums lowly in the back of his throat, a grin spreading across his rosy cheeks. “Biscuits and Gravy.” 

Harry chimes in, his own arms casually folding over his strong chest, index finger tapping on his bottom lip as if mulling something over. “I quite like We The People, actually.”

The Irish lad snaps his fingers as if having a sudden epiphany. “Uncle Sam!”

Harry’s emerald eyes twinkle with glee at seeing the way Mitch’s go half-lidded, no longer entertained. “Four Score And Seven Years Ago.” 

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

Niall wags a finger at Harry, lifting one shoulder in question, seeking approval on his next idea. “Star Spangled Banner?”

Harry copies the boy’s motion from before, snapping his fingers and making jazz hands. “I Pledge Allegiance.”  

“Ok, I get it!” Mitch whines with annoyed finality, pushing off the metal railing with a curt grimace on his scraggly face. 

“You asked!” Niall rationalizes between hiccups of evilly delighted joy, cupping his stomach as if to keep it from splitting open. 

“Won’t make that mistake again.” The older creature grumbles, leaning his back against the rungs and looking off towards the distance, communicating that he’s done being a part of the conversation. 

Once Harry manages to reign in his giggles, he rubs at his nose with the side of his finger, releasing a wistful sigh. He refers to the question Niall had stated before their little bullying fest. “I think I’m just gonna do what I always do— sway a nice, pretty girl into doing some not-so-nice but very pretty things.” 

“Solid.” The Irish bloke remarks, toying with the plastic buttons on his silk beige top. “Not much to do other than that, to be fair. Adam’s usually my wingman, but I guess he abandoned me for a girl’s night.” 

“Mitch is mine, and he knows better than to dip on me.” Harry roughly nudges his best friend with his elbow, dodging to the side when Mitch tries to hit him in return. 

Niall hums softly in amusement. “Maybe I should make Adam sign whatever contract you drafted for that poor bugger.” 

The curly brunette snorts. “Good luck. Adam’s as stubborn as they come. But, hey, if you can’t find anyone, just come to me.” Harry’s irises flit crimson for a millisecond, an ominous smirk buckling his features. “You know I’m always happy to share.” 

“Thanks,” his friend exhales flatly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you’re taking tips,” Mitch pipes up, vaguely signaling at Niall’s shirt with his chin, “maybe don’t wear that stupid shirt next time. The elephant doodles look ridiculous.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not taking fashion tips from anyone who actually enjoyed living in Ohio, then.” Niall snaps in an exaggerated American accent, middle finger jutting towards the other man. “The only thing you know how to dress is a cornfield scarecrow. Must be why you look like one.” 

Harry forces down more laughter, clearing his throat softly. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t get hammered— girls hate that.” 

“Note taken.” The pale boy runs his fingers through his hair, fixing it up and adding texture to appear more laid-back and rugged. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Later.” The younger vampire recites, giving a big thumbs-up. 

“Good luck out there. You, too, Boston Tea Party.” 

With that, Niall saunters away, leaving a fully laughing Harry and a grouchy Mitch in his wake. 

The two acquaintances decide to follow in everyone else’s example, descending down the looped staircase and chatting about Mitch’s latest gig at a new bar downtown. 

Harry praises Mitch's talent with his guitar, specifically the fact that he found a hobby which he enjoys so much that he’s willing to keep it as a permanent part of his life. It’s easy to get bored of things when you have hundreds of years ahead of you; everything can seem pointless, in the end. But Harry doesn’t think Mitch has ever let himself fall into those types of dark headspaces and he finds that extremely admirable. 

Harry wishes he could say the same. He’s no musical prodigy, that much is obvious, but he is an expert at playing a few specific French songs on the piano by memory. He rarely does it, though; only when he’s in a low state of mind, which— given the origin of how he learned said classical pieces— isn’t something he’s proud of. They’re tied to a very gruesome part of his past that he’d rather bury deep inside, but he can only push back his troubles for so long before they begin to leak out, staining the clean sheet of recovery he had sewn into place. Those arrangements just bring him a warped sense of comfort he can’t explain.

Even though he’s aware of the destructive aspects of the songs, he finds himself humming one now out of instinct as he elbows through squished bodies and flailing limbs. The second he notices he’s doing it, he cuts it off, focusing all his intention on making it to the other side of the room to the bar. It’s a hard trip when it feels like the walls of the building are closing in on him. 

When Harry finally breaks free from the Human Centipede re-enactment that is the club dance floor, he practically collapses onto the sleek glass counter. Death was less painful than that walk. 

He cranes his neck to the side wildly, suddenly remembering that his much smaller, much skinnier, much more crushable friend had been in tow behind him. To his utter shock, he watches as Mitch calmly weeds around grinding drunk couples with the poise and grace of a swan, filling the empty spot besides him without a single ailment in the world. 

Harry blinks at him blankly in silence, almost as if he’d grown an extra set of fangs. 

Mitch flags the bartender from all the way down the counter, not bothering to meet the green eyes peering at him in disbelief. “You’re so fucking dramatic, H.”

“How did you not die? Again?” Harry sputters, sight jutting all around the older vampire’s body, looking for any battle wounds or missing appendages. “I almost lost an arm in there!”

“It’s a good thing it wasn’t your favorite one, right?” Mitch smirks at his own lewd joke, the simper molding into one of genuine kindness when the mixologist slides up in front of them. “Hi, how are you? I’m good, as well, thank you for asking! Yeah, I’ve got something in mind. Don’t worry, I’m not one of the ‘just make me something sweet’ type of assholes.”

Harry zones out the rest of the friendly chat Mitch entertains with the employee, letting his gaze wander around the large auditorium-like room. He dances his vision over the DJ remixing music on top of the stage, head beginning to bop along to the beat that is currently shaking the seven foot tall speakers. He’s pleasantly surprised at how good this specific producer is. 

He continues scoping out the rest of the venue, taking notes of the different clusters of people that seem to hold promise for the plans he has in store later tonight. A small group of hippie friends here, a two-party duo of tipsy stoners there, and a clump of college students at the edge of the ruckus, stumbling around loudly. Things are looking somewhat decent, in his opinion. The hippies seem to be catching his attention more than the others— specifically, the one that looks similar to Stevie Nicks. That’s a fantasy that’s been waiting to be fulfill for decades now. 

Harry lulls his head forward again when he feels Mitch give a squeeze at his elbow, telling him that the bartender is waiting to take his order. He decides to go for the gold tequila, asking for it straight in a highball glass without any garnishes. The worker’s eyebrows jump up slightly at the unorthodox request, but he drops a polite, “Coming right up.” either way.

“You truly have no flavor.” Mitch tuts once their waiter has stepped away to prepare their drinks. “No taste buds whatsoever.” 

“Yeah? Well, you can suck my flavorless dick.” Harry chimes brightly, eyes crinkling shut as a result of a theatrical smile. 

The younger vampire goes to turn back around, legitimately interested in the girl he’d seen that looked like one of his seventies celebrity crushes, already running through scenarios in his head on how he’d get her into his bed for tonight. Weed and ABBA are probably good conversation starters for that, if Harry’s undisputed people skills have anything to say about it. 

As he’s rotating his torso, a blurred image catches his eyes. He does a double-take, honing in on a group of girls that look faintly familiar. He scans them carefully as they huddle around the corner of the bar area, laughing and toasting along to the multiple conversations they all have going at once. They look like the typical posse that would be a backdrop clique in a mainstream movie. 

He knows where he recognizes them from— it had been the same girls he’d spotted earlier up on the second deck.

Harry expertly surveillances each woman, picking out potential candidates as easily as he’d pinch petals off a flower. The one in the center of the group is obviously the leader, present in how she’s the prettiest and is somehow managing to juggle all of these interactions at once. It means she’s used to being the center of attention— probably strives under it. He throws her out as a potential; the last thing he needs is someone who everyone knows and seeks out. He wouldn’t be able to sneak away with her quietly. 

The rest of the girl crew all seem to be the same status-wise, appearing as supporting characters to the main one in the middle. He could choose any one of them blindly and it wouldn’t make a difference. They all seem so tight-knit, they probably share personalities, at this point. It’s like dipping his hand into a jar of jelly beans and they’re all the same flavor. That notion makes him laugh to himself a bit; maybe Mitch was right about his lack of taste. 

Then, Harry spots her, and all the other women immediately go up in smoke. 

It’s hard not to spot her. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but not in a good way. 

The prospective contender is off to the side, sitting atop a barstool with her feet tucked along the footrest, tapping them against the metal rung awkwardly. She’s talking to one of the other people in the group, but the interaction seems forced and not very satisfying, obvious in both of their faces. She’s tracing her middle finger around the edge of her glass cup distractedly, the contents inside barely touched, the ice in her drink long-melted. She seems disinterested in the chaos her friends are causing, her expression bored and borderline regretful, as if she doesn’t want to be here. 

The further he sizes the girl up, the more appropriate she looks for the role he needs filled. Since barely anyone is paying attention to her, that means he can lead her astray without too much resistance from her acquaintances, if any at all. She appears somewhat unimportant to the narrative— merely a background extra— and it makes him wonder what she’s doing with this clique of women that can’t seem to be bothered by her presence. It’s sad, really. Sad, but beneficial, because that means he can succeed in making her the supporting protagonist of his narrative, at least for tonight. 

The girl is attractive, but not anything astronomical. She’s unconventionally pretty in a way that makes her relevant, but not particularly distinct in the eyes of regular men with presumptuous standards. She’s easy to pass up, and if Harry hadn’t been actively pursuing someone of her bashful persona to card into his plans, he wouldn’t have noticed her. At the risk of once again sounding shallow, Harry’s aware that— physically speaking— he’s very much out of her league. His above-average appearance gives off the vibe that he’d fit better with the leader of the group instead of with her, but he doesn’t want someone that would raise suspicions as a result of their absence. This girl, sitting along the edge of the party with barely any purpose and no one to really question her whereabouts, is exactly what he’s looking for. She’s perfectly imperfect for the cause. 

Harry continues to examine her meticulously, analyzing other traits that can give him a better feel for her character. She’s clad in a pair of high-waisted pastel pink silk pants that stop right at her ankles, accompanied by a flouncy creme lace blouse tucked into her waist. Tan wedges, no accessories, delicate rosey nail polish, and minimalist makeup. The boldest thing about her is the brick red shade of her lipstick, which is easily shadowed by the sparkly sequin dresses, five inch heels, and layered tops her friends are wearing. 

Harry likes her outfit, though. It’s concise and safe, which he can appreciate. Yes, perhaps she looks like she belongs in a dentist’s office rather than a Los Angeles nightclub, but he thinks there’s beauty in simplicity. She looks cute, and that’s good enough for him. 

“She seems interesting.” Mitch’s soft voice snaps him out of his detail-hungry haze, drawing him back into the reality that is the black lighting of the club and the deep booming of the music’s bass. 

His friend slides his tall drink across the glass counter, the amber liquid inside warping his reflection. 

“I suppose so.” Harry answers passively, shrugging one shoulder in indifference while accepting the cup, ringed fingers clinking against the crystalline surface. 

He takes a leisurely sip from the straight tequila, its tangy kick sending a warm surge up through his ears and down his throat, spreading into his chest and along the trench of his tummy. Alcohol really is the cure to everything. 

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, the strobe lights alternating across the glossy surface of his hazel irises, highlighting smugness. “You’ve been gawking for five minutes. Put your pride back in your pants and go talk to her.” 

The curly-haired vampire flashes him a light smirk over the rim of his drink, absentmindedly tapping his two initial rings along the bottom of the highball cup. “Ever so blunt, aren’t you?”

Mitch scuffs, taking a swig from his trusty beer bottle. Out of everything, that’s the one aspect Harry despises about his best mate— that he goes to a club and orders the same drink every time. Where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement of trying something new? When you have an eternity, the least you could do is utilize it to your advantage. Cycling through every cocktail in human history is a prime example of making the best out of immortality.  

But Mitch is a creature of habit— as are most of their kind— and Harry knows he won’t shake easily. Not when it comes to surrendering his preferred beverage, and definitely not when it comes to sticking his nose in Harry’s intimate business. Meddling and being irritating are what best friends are for. 

“What can I say? Pep talks are my forte.” The older monster remarks sarcastically, bumping his bottle against Harry’s glass in encouragement, using the spout of his container to point in the general direction of the mysterious girl. “Now go make dinner.”

“But, darlinggggg,” Harry whines playfully, a smirk still tugging at the corners of his slightly liquor-swollen lips. “I made dinner last night. Isn’t it your turn?”

Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves Harry’s shoulder harshly, with just enough force that it actually has some type of impact this time around. “Just go, before she gets creeped out by your staring.” 

Harry’s own irises copy his friend’s actions as he pushes himself up from the bar, rubbing at the new sore spot on his shoulder with an exaggerated pout present. “Ow.”

Mitch blinks at him flatly, fighting off a grin. “You’ve had worse. Go.”

Harry swivels on his heel, once again facing the group of tipsy girls at the other end of the counter. It appears that most of them have dispersed into the dance floor, having found partners to entertain them for the time being, moving to the music as if there are no other people in the room. They had left behind three of their companions, one of which is Harry’s aspiring hookup; he gets the feeling that the two girls had stayed behind out of the kindness of their hearts, feeling too guilty to leave the runt of the litter all on her own. He hopes that’s the case because if so, the second Harry inserts himself into the situation, they’ll take that chance and split, leaving him to tend his meal in peace.

He tucks one large hand into the front pocket of his trousers, the grip on his glass tightening a smidge, rings biting into his skin as the condensation of the chilled tequila cools the small spike of pain. He spins his lionhead ring around his finger within his slacks, gradually drifting closer as he goes through a checklist of prized pick-up lines he could use to garner her attention. He ducks and dodges inebriated club-goers with ease now that he’s had something to take the edge off, finally reaching the end of the bar, slowly coming to a halt right behind his target for the night. 

Harry nearly passes out as soon as her scent hits him. 

It’s faint and tender and nothing quite like anything he’s encountered before, a mixture of honey and lavender that permeates through her normal perfume. He feels like his head’s been put through a wringer, his whole body clenching for a moment as raging sparks erupt across the pit of his belly. He indulges a deep breath, willing the blazing current away in order to keep his cool, but all he can see flashing before his eyes are images of her leaving traces of that smell smeared all over his face as he bobs his head between her quivering thighs.

He takes another penetrating inhale, centering his mind back into the present. He needs to behave.

Her friends spot him immediately, their side of the conversation faltering to ash. They give Harry a wide-eyed once-over, mouths parting in slight shock as they drink up his attractive appearance, gazes lingering along his thick chest as it strains the baby blue material of his tee. Their sights drag across his broad shoulders, dainty collarbones, and strong neck, faces gawking without remorse, blinking emptily at the slope of his sharp jaw and the peaks of his prominent cheekbones. They seem to be at a loss for words the second his dimples indent into place, his brows shrugging in a half-assed greeting before he cocks his head to side a tad, voice velvet as it directs towards the girl they had forgotten existed.  

“I’m guessing you’re the designated driver?”

Y/N jumps slightly in response at the new addition to the painfully dying conversation, not recognizing the heavy English accent and deep baritone that booms behind her. She had been wondering why Melissa and Isabel had stopped talking so abruptly, and she now has her answer. 

Y/N slowly goes to cast a curious glance over her shoulder and Harry can hear the pulse flaring in her neck from the sudden intrusion to her surroundings. His fangs prick along the inside of his bottom lip due to carnal instincts; he has to will them back into receding. 

 When her eyes land on the owner of the random words, her finger immediately halts its swirling motions along the hem of her glass.

‘Fuck.’ is the only thought that registers through her short-circuiting mind. 

The lanky, curly-haired brunette that stands before her gives a gentle yet confident smile, the gesture dazzling even in the low lighting of the atmosphere. He’s absolutely gorgeous, with deep pits carving into his cheeks, perfect teeth complimenting full cherry red lips, eyes the color of a rainforest canopy, and a broad frame that is somehow not overwhelming. He’s sporting neatly ironed tan slacks, a fitted cotton shirt with a cute yet crude graphic at its center, a fancy plaid coat, and crisp yellow Vans without a single smudge in sight.

Y/N can’t help but take notice of all the little details of his fit, especially the accessories. A beautiful pearl necklace laid along his delicate clavicle, a cross resting between his defined pectorals, and a matching earring dangling from his earlobe. Not to mention the array of clunky rings arranged along nimble fingers, hugging a tall glass carrying caramel liquor and somehow managing to dwarf the cup’s size. The extra decoration is sensual in such an unexpectedly delicious manner. 

The hand he has tucked in his pants ducks out to comb through his dark auburn ringlets and Y/N can feel her mouth water at the new round of elegant rings. The action activates the cologne Harry had thoughtfully spritz in specific pressure points along his body, the scent of tobacco and vanilla traveling through the fog-heavy air and causing Y/N’s stomach to summersault. 

The young man is as close to flawless as anyone could ever come. 

Y/N feels an unmistakable sharp pain shoot through her ankle, and she comes to the realization that it had been the tip of one of her friend’s heels. The reality check jars her out of the embarrassing daze he’d spelled onto her, open mouth snapping shut and her lashes fluttering over her previously unblinking eyes. 

“Oh! Uhm—uh—” She clumsily twists sideways to fully face him, swallowing thickly and tasting the remnants of the alcohol she’d barely been nursing. “N-No. I’m not— well, I don’t think…? We Ubered here so that wouldn’t make any sense ‘cause I have no car to drive...so...” 

The boy chuckles softly at her choppy monologue, his laughter warm and inviting, similar to the look reflecting off his shiney irises, the golden flecks around his pupils seeming to swell and shrink from the rainbow lights cascading across them. Despite being caught off guard and utterly embarrassed, she can’t seem to break eye contact with him. The longer she gazes into his eyes, the more relaxed she begins to feel, a fuzzy heat stemming from the center of her belly and spreading up her neck and ears. 

Y/N gulps heavily like before, willing her tongue to produce a less embarrassing comment. “Sorry. Let me...Let me start over…Hi.”

“Hello.” He quips back playfully, lopsided grin widening in fond amusement. He lifts his drink up a bit in greeting. “M’Harry.”

“Y/N.” The girl squeaks out, copying his gesture because it’s easier than forcing her disoriented brain to try and come up with its own. 

Harry flirts his intent up and down Y/N’s body slowly, checking her out without any subtlety. He wants her to know he’s interested. 

When his sight locks with hers again, he bats his lashes sultrily and pours as much passion as he can into his tone, accent weighing in just right. “S’nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Her entire face prickles at how her name sounds dripping from those faultless raspberry lips. She’d pay anything to hear him say it again. “You, too.” 

This is not what Y/N intended. This is most definitely not what she’d intended to happen when she’d reluctantly agreed to go out with some coworkers on a Friday night, giving in simply because she had promised herself she’d be more social within her new job. 

She had moved to California roughly two months ago, wanting to get away from her old life in the small, boring town she hated to call home. Buying the flight had been a drastic decision made when she had been under the influence of something she’d rather not admit, but the following day— after she had sobered up from a wicked hangover— she found herself not wanting to cancel the trip. Found herself craving the excitement and adventure of beginning anew somewhere far away from everything she had ever known. 

All of Y/N’s friends back home had supported her without hesitation, egging her preposterous idea and congratulating her on “getting the fuck out of here.” Her family had been a little less supportive, but after a few heartfelt chats about following your ambitions and a budgeting lesson from her cousin, they had gingerly gotten on board. They understood that keeping her trapped in that lame town where nothing really happened wasn’t the way to ensure her success in life. Therefore, the people closest to her had swallowed their opinions and respected her choice to dive off the deep end, in search of something better beyond the borders of their tiny city. 

Within a week, Y/N had secured a decent job at a semi-popular cafe, courtesy of a connection from a family friend. Within two weeks, after many sleepless nights full of Rocky Road ice cream and the bright white pages of ApartmentFinder.com, she had managed to book a nice flat close to her place of work. It was a miracle, if she’d ever seen one. Especially within the crowded, expensive community that is Los Angeles. Within three weeks, she had been walking out of the giant glass building that was LAX with only two suitcases in tow, boarding an Uber to her new life. 

Things had never seemed more picturesque, she’d thought. Everything was falling into place in a way that seemed almost blessed by the universe.

Then, the culture shock hit. 

California was different. It’s was so fucking different than anything she’d ever faced and she wasn’t prepared for the social difficulties she’d have to hurdle. All her life, Y/N had grown up with the same people around her, spending every school year with them up until graduation, expanding her friend group as time passed. Even after high school, she’d remained closely connected with most of her graduating class. The region she lived in was tiny, tight-knit and friendly; it was hard not to. She couldn’t even go to the store for groceries without bumping into at least three people from her Algebra II class. 

Point being, it had been ages since Y/N had been put in a situation where she actively had to try and make friends. She’d been through that challenge way back in kindergarten and had never been hit with it again. 

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

Y/N didn’t mesh well with Californians, she quickly found out. They were all about crazy parties and club-hopping, whereas Y/N had been raised on community cookouts and mass sleepovers. They enjoyed getting cross-faded and streaking down the beach at two in the morning, meanwhile Y/N liked stripping down to her undies and spending the night binging Queer Eye while stuffing her face with Cheeze-Its and Snickers bars. They freely boasted about their sex adventures while bussing down tables at the restaurant, while Y/N’s intimate life had been nonexistent since the move. 

It was just...startling, to put it lightly. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and that’s mostly her fault for not doing the correct amount of research before jumping headfirst into a cliche LifeTime film. 

Therefore, Y/N had made a pact with herself one month in, swearing to let loose and allow her surroundings to sweep her into a new dynamic— into a new, social butterfly version of herself. She’d started accepting the invitations from her coworkers to go out at night, and she’d started putting more effort into being open to wild experiences, no matter how scary they might seem. Shutting down and refusing to mold to her environment would only result in her having to return home with her tail between her legs, and she’d rather jump naked off a pier than see her parents’ faces wracked with pity. 

And that’s exactly what she’d done a couple nights ago, at the encouragement of the group of girls she was at the club with now. It had, in turn, ended in her coming down with a mild cold, but at least now she’d be able to tell her friends back home a cool story about dropping inhibitions. 

Dropping inhibitions is also why Y/N’s here tonight, dressed in the most party-like outfit she could put together, prodding an overly-boozy drink into her system, attempting to release some of the tension that had been building in her head for the last couple of weeks since she’d left her old life behind. That’s why she’s here, with strands of her blow-dried hair catching on the dark red gloss Melissa has slathered on her mouth in a thick layer. That’s why she’s here, with synthetic smoke scratching at her lungs and drunken men and women bumping into her every two minutes, most of them too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats to realize they’d almost toppled her off her seat. That’s why she’s here, with a blasé expression plastered across her features as her coworkers talk over her head without a second thought, her mind far away from the walls of this overhyped horror house. 

Y/N had been thinking about how she’d just started her Disney+ membership, finding comfort in putting together a mental checklist of all the movies she’s going to plow through the second she sets foot past the doorframe of her apartment. Indulging on her childhood was an ideal form of escapism, in her opinion. She’s positive Walt Disney would agree. 

That’s what her brain had been lost in when Harry’s deep, melodic voice had interrupted her daydreams, sending her spiraling into an embarrassing performance of nerve-induced hysteria. 

Now here she is, blinking back at him dumbly, eyes the smallest bit damp from the smoke machine and neon flashes of light. And here he is, smirking at her over the rim of his glass, eyes raking down her wired up body suggestively as he takes a calm sip from what appears to be the straight tequila in his colossal, bejeweled hand. 

The English boy takes a gradual step closer to her, wanting to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries that would make her uncomfortable. The scent of his cologne intensifies and she feels a fiery heat suddenly pour between her clasped thighs. It just hits her how long it’s truly been since she’s gotten laid and fuck, it’s sad.

Harry begrudgingly peels his attention away from Y/N for a second, aiming his words towards the girls standing behind her with their mouths still opened stupidly. Even from a respectful distance, his warm breath still washes across her jaw and cheek, causing electricity to zip down her spine. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a bit, do you?”

‘Yeah,’ Y/N thinks in the back of her muddled skull, ‘that’s definitely tequila.’

Isabel and Melissa slowly shake their heads in unison, glancing at each other as if to confirm he’d just spoken to them. 

The edges of Harry’s lips jolt into a kind, easygoing smile. “Thank you. Promise I’ll keep her safe.” 

Y/N feels her heart hiccup at his statement. If she’s not insanely mistaken, it appears to have carried an undertone of dirty intentions. God, she’s praying she’s not mistaken. 

The two girls clamber away on their tall pumps, rounding around Harry and pausing for a moment. They make moaning faces and vulgar motions behind him, encouraging Y/N to pursue the stranger. She then watches them disappear into the throng of crowded bodies, leaving her alone with the beautiful boy and her heart slamming against her ribs. 

Y/N focuses back onto Harry, licking her itching lips lightly, not knowing what to say next as he settles himself beside her. He rests his forearm on the counter along with his drink, tucking his other hand back into  his trouser pocket and fixing himself into a comfortable standing position, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. The friction between his jacket and the bar rides his sleeve up an inch or so, and Y/N gets a view of the anchor tattoo he has along his wrist, as well as the upside-down cross inked between his thumb and index finger. 

Harry catches her looking, mouth twitching with a smidge of arrogant self-assurance. He loves when girls drool over his tats. 

“I have more.” He remarks lightly, a pang of condescending pleasure shooting through his chest at the way she jerks and pins her gaze down to the floor. 

Blood rushes into her cheeks at the realization that she’s been caught and Harry’s teeth grind. It’s so hot watching her fidget for him. Maybe he finds her more attractive than he’d originally let on. “Would you like to see them?”

Y/N timidly coaxes herself into locking stares with him once again, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, barely nodding with a soft, “Sure.” 

She looks so pretty like that, he notices, staring up at him all doe-eyed and shy. It’d probably look even better if she were on her knees.

Yeah, he definitely likes her more than he’d thought. 

Harry proceeds to shift about, shrugging his coat off his strong shoulders, letting it slip down his lean arms and reveal the plethora of dark tattoos strewn across his left arm. Y/N watches avidly, drinking up every flex of his biceps under the black paint and every twitch of his pecs beneath his cotton shirt, the tendons along his throat going taut for just a moment. That moment is enough for her to etch the image into the back of her eyelids for the rest of her life. 

Harry tosses the article onto the table, extending his arm over its surface for her to get a better reading. She doesn’t miss the chance, her pupils tracing over every line and stroke of the pen, over every shaded area and meticulous detail. 

His voice comes out as a low, garbled murmur, his own irises studying her features with just as much intensity. “You can touch them, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

After a moment of hesitation, the brim of her crystalline cup is replaced by the ridges of his smooth, tanned skin. She drags her digits over the naked mermaid, tracing the curve of her figure and the dip of her tail, then passing onto the stem of the large rose, ghosting over every thorn and prickle. Harry can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips and it’s making him throb. 

“They’re very pretty.” Y/N whispers, allowing her touch to fall away, palm finding refuge across the counter. “Did they hurt?” 

“A bit, yeah. But I’ve gotten so many done that I think I grew numb to the needle after a while.” Harry answers, shrugging one shoulder to show it’s no big deal. He grasps his glass once again and takes a drawn-out swig, extending the action just so she can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. Once the cup is back in its place, his tongue peeks out and swipes any leftover liquid from his rosy lips, which then settle into a coy simper. “Plus, I kinda like the pain.” 

Y/N’s breathing stutters in her lungs and she swiftly swerves the topic onto something much less explicit. “So why’d you ask if I was the designated driver? That’s kind of an odd question. Very out of the blue.” 

Harry lulls his middle finger across the hem of his glass, exactly how she had been doing earlier, the motion weighed by an innuendo. She seems to understand it, present in how she bites into the inside of her cheek. “I just figured that a pretty girl like you would have easily found someone to dance with. So when I saw you sitting here looking all bored with your drink barely touched…I just assumed, I suppose.” 

And there it is again— the blood pouring into her face. Christ, if she keeps that up, he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Thank you, that’s— that’s really sweet. Proper gentleman.” 

Harry runs his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes snapping to her tinted mouth for a second, establishing some sexual tension that he’ll expand on as they go. “Who doesn’t like a guy who knows how to treat a girl, right?” 

Y/N clears her throat softly, obviously phased by his forward compliment, but she tries to play it off. “To answer your question, I— uhm...I’m not really one for the club scene, I guess. Don’t really like it, but I didn’t want to be rude and turn down the invitation.” 

‘Good girl,’ Harry thinks, silently cheering her on for having more brain cells than the typical human. 

“Well, that’s where we share some common ground, then.” He chimes brightly, a soft smile bringing his dimples to life. “I don’t care for clubs, either, but my friends have an affinity for them so here I am.”

He gestures vaguely towards the general direction where he’d left Mitch, continuing his rant. “The choking smoke, the annoying strobe lights, the crowded floor, the drunk morons—”

“Bumping into you without giving a shit.” Y/N finishes his sentence, her vulgarity drawing a boyish giggle from her companion and now she’s convinced she’d do anything to hear him laugh like that again. “And there’s always a faint smell of vomit coming from somewhere.”

Harry slaps his hand down against the glass table in passionate agreement, voice pitching up slightly as his brows jump in emotion. “Right?! It’s fucking disgusting. Don’t understand how anyone could genuinely enjoy it.” 

Y/N nods vehemently, sharing the same expression of utter distaste towards the subject. “It honestly doesn’t make any sense to me, either. Why come here when you can go to, like, a nice bar somewhere, y’know?”

Harry blinks at her in astonishment, her opinion mirroring his own with psychic-like accuracy. “My thoughts exactly.” 

“Great minds think alike.” Y/N responds playfully, taking a hearty gulp from her drink since the first time he’d spotted her from across the room. 

After a comfortable pause, Harry speaks up, also entertaining another sip from his own drink, which is now nearly empty. “Are you from around here?”

She can’t be. Rarely anyone born and raised here is willing to bash the status quo, and never so openly. 

She’s once again mesmerized by the attractiveness of his rings, but manages to get her composure in check. “Kinda. I moved here about two months ago.” 

Precisely his point.

Harry releases a curious hum over the cup between his lips. “Let me be the one to officially welcome you to Cali, then! Where people go to shitty clubs for fun and tan themselves into a strip of leather.”

Y/N sputters out a half-suppressed giggle and Harry’s brows almost furrow at the weird fluttering in his stomach. He rarely gets it.

Y/N takes another deep gulp of what he thinks is probably an Old Fashioned, silently praising the way she’d finished it off so quickly. She crunches an ice shard between her teeth and lets it melt across her tongue before engaging again. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here either though, are you?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to chuckle a bit and she fights off an endeared smile. 

“What gave it away?” He asks, purposefully doing a thicker, fuller accent, his teasing nature making the grin she’d just stifled fully break through.

Y/N lifts a shoulder offhandedly. “Your accent seems a little too…posh for this area. Or even this hemisphere.”

Harry scoffs softly, the pinky around his glass sticking up jokingly as he kinks an eyebrow at her, a few rouge curls falling across his forehead. “Keen ears, mate.”

Y/N lifts her drink up a bit with a playfully knowing air, mimicking an English dialect. “Cheers.”

He places his empty cup down on the counter, his middle finger once more ghosting around the edge absentmindedly. She notices the pastel yellow polish covering his nails, tiny black smiley faces decorating the lacquer.

“I like your nails.” She admires, tipping her empty lowball towards his hand for significance. “Did you do them yourself?”

Harry glances at his fingers, stretching and wiggling them out, his features taking on a bit of pride. “Sure did.” 

“Don’t think I’ve ever met a guy at a club who could pull off nail polish so easily.” 

The left edge of his lips flicks upwards. “How do you mean?”

Y/N’s gaze bounces back to his and the tone twirling in his jade irises tells her everything she needs to know about keeping this conversation going: he enjoys being praised. 

She chooses her next words carefully, wanting to appeal to his interests. “I mean that it looks amazing on you. The color suits your skin nicely, makes your hands look good.” 

Harry breaks eye contact, glimpsing down at his shoes and she realizes he’s actually trying to hide a blush. The fact that she had managed to coax one out of him boosts her confidence while simultaneously making his own waver. He’s never like this— never so easily flustered. He needs to get it together.

Harry tilts his chin back up, lower lip strung between his two front teeth. His voice comes out as a flirty laugh.

“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.” 

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach. 

“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”

Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”

Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”

“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”

“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.” 

She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give. 

Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”

“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath. 

He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.” 

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.” 

A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.

“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”

“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”

The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.” 

Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks. 

When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.

By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs. 

The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.

By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge. 

An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.

“So how do you like your new home?”

She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”

The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.” 

“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”

“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”

“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.

“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?” 

“Hm?”

His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”

She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.

Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.” 

It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”

Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”

Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again. 

He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”

A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”

“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”

He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.

Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke. 

She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.” 

Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”

The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.” 

With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.  

Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning. 

Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil. 

Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.” 

The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name. 

Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.

She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done. 

She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?

Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”

She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight. 

Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”  

“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”

He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.” 

Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”

“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.” 

It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.

Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” 

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night. 

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer. 

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.  

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.  

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had. 

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.” 

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys. 

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell. 

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them. 

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately. 

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.” 

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

[wordsnwhiskey]

As It Should Be | Chapter 6: Negotiations in Pain & Pleasure

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: The summary is smut, good, fun, BDSM smut, and aftercare. OR, Frankie needs to let go and hasn’t been able to for months. Jack promised to help and show him the aftercare that his old partners had been neglecting him. He’s making good on that promise.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: M/M, BDSM, Dom!Jack, sub!Frankie, impact play (with a flogger), oral (M receiving), praise kink, dirty talk (it’s Whiskey here), anal, unprotected sex, alcohol, food mention. (I think that’s it but let me know if it isn’t!)

A/N: Y’all, it’s finally here! I have been waiting for this chapter for a while and I am so glad it’s here. These men both need this, especially Frankie and I really wanted Jack to be the person to provide it for him. If M/M isn’t your thing, I’m not sure how you got here, but this probably isn’t the fic for you, and this chapter is definitely not your thing because that is literally all there is. Huge shoutout to my friend Agent Capri Sun and mi esposa @danniburgh for feeding my thots and beta-ing!

For those of you who don’t know, PrEP is a medication that can be prescribed to those who do not have HIV and are looking to further protect themselves against it. Why did I include this? Because on the whole, it’s recommended as a safe practice and it’s rarely mentioned in media/writing. Also, please remember BDSM revolves around SSC and/or RACK. Go learn about these things. So there’s my soapbox moment. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Ch 5: Breaking In The Newbies | Art | AO3 | Taglist

“C’mon, Flyboy, we’re gonna have some fun tonight.”

Without hesitation, Frankie stood up fluidly and grabbed his go bag from the corner of the room while Jack shut his computer down for the night and collected his keys from his desk. The energy around them was buzzing with anticipation. Jack’s outward demeanor seemed casual, but the way his whitened knuckles gripped the steering wheel as his other hand alternated between tenderly playing with the hair at Frankie’s nape and searing Frankie’s thigh, showed Jack was anything but cool, calm and collected.

Frankie’s breath was coming in shallow, shaky puffs. Funny how he could maintain his breathing while being shot at, while going through combat exercises, and even when he had to crash land their helicopter in Colombia, but feeling Jack’s hand on him as they drove back to the condo broke his composure. That large, warm hand had found its way to his thigh again, fingers pressing, squeezing gently at his inner thigh, and Frankie could hear his blood roaring in his ears.

Mercifully, the drive was short. Frankie grabbed his bag with a shaky hand and quietly followed Jack to the elevator, just a short ride to the fulfillment of a promise Frankie was aching for. The elevator doors shut, and Frankie tried to take a steadying breath. The anticipation was heavy on him, and he wanted nothing more than to lean into Jack, but didn’t want to seem clingy. That had been something that his old partners, Sam and her husband, had discouraged.

Jack could see Frankie struggling, his wants warring with his nerves. With a soft smile, Jack pulled Frankie so his back was flush against his chest, loosely wrapping his arms around Frankie’s waist so he didn’t feel trapped, and pressed soft, teasing kisses along his neck. Frankie was dizzy from the feeling of Jack’s lips, his mustache tickling at his skin, the intimacy of the action, and his embrace. He was so lost in the feeling that Jack had to clear his throat to alert him that the elevator had in fact stopped and the doors were open. Frankie blushed, quickly disentangling himself from Jack, clearing his throat while he stepped out of the elevator.

Jack’s hand appeared, warm and steadying at the small of his back as he guided Frankie to the door. Jack unlocked the door, and Frankie stepped over the threshold. He didn’t even have time to drop his bag to the floor. Jack was on him, pushing him against the door, Jack’s Stetson collided with Frankie’s cap as Jack’s mouth claimed Frankie’s. There was no care for either the Stetson or Frankie’s cap as Jack’s tender kisses from the elevator turned hungry, his tongue swiping at Frankie’s lower lip. Frankie dropped his bag, his now free hand clutching at Jack’s shirt. Jack’s fingers gripped Frankie’s hair tightly, pulling a whimper and a moan from Frankie that was muffled against Jack’s own growl of approval. His knee pressed between Frankie’s thighs, and Jack could feel the other man’s erection, hard and needy against his hip.

“Damn, Flyboy, eager aren’t ya?”

Frankie could only nod as he tried to catch his breath, Jack’s drawl making his cock twitch and his eyes blown with lust.

“Go to my room, strip, then kneel at the foot of the bed. Put a pillow down for your knees.”

Jack’s voice dropped in register and took on a delicious edge that sent a shudder down Frankie’s spine. Any reservations Frankie had about being clingy or too needy were obliterated by the desire in Jack’s commanding presence.

While Frankie did as he was told, Jack shrugged off his blazer, tossing it over the back of the sofa, then rolled up his sleeves and poured himself a drink. He savored the smooth heat in his mouth, rolled his shoulders, then made for his room. His cock hardened at the sight that waited for him.

“Hands on the bed, Flyboy.”

Frankie was quick to obey, glancing over at Jack briefly to admire him. He quickly turned his gaze back to the empty space on the bed in front of him, instinct telling him that Jack would want him to face forward. Jack strode over to one of his wardrobes, opening the doors to reveal an assortment of hanging implements. After a moment’s consideration, he pulled a flogger from its hook along with a pair of leather cuffs.

“Normally, I prefer to use rope, but we did such a number on you in our haste the other night, I’m gonna have to settle for the leather cuffs for now.”

Frankie shuddered as the distantly familiar sensation of smooth leather strips teased his back and ghosted over his shoulders.

“Color?” Jack asked. Despite it being on Frankie’s list of interests, he wanted to confirm Frankie was still ok with the implement being used in this session.

“Green.”

Frankie responded quickly and took a deep breath. Jack hummed his approval, a smile tugging at his lips when Frankie’s body moved of its own accord at the sound, leaning back to seek Jack’s touch. The flogger appeared in Frankie’s line of sight as Jack teasingly ran the leather lightly down then up Frankie’s left arm before giving the other the same treatment. Frankie fought to sit still, goosebumps left in the flogger's wake, and another shudder raced down his spine. Jack switched the flogger to his right hand, and his fingers traced the path of the flogger down from Frankie’s shoulder, over his bicep and to the tips of Frankie’s fingers. He covered Frankie’s hand with his own while he kissed his shoulder and the fading bite mark from two nights prior. Jack’s teeth grazed over the sensitive skin at the nape of Frankie’s neck and hummed at the moan that caught in Frankie’s throat.

“Are you ready, Flyboy?”

Frankie’s breath hitched, and he nodded. Jack tutted and grabbed Frankie’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Use your words, Flyboy.”

“I’m ready, sir.”

Jack’s eyes flashed at the honorific, his smile broadening as his grip tightened on the handle of the flogger.

“Good boy.”

Jack hummed his approval, brushing Frankie’s jaw with his thumb before pulling away. The whisper of leather on skin was a teasing promise of what was to come, making Frankie tense. There was a painful absence of sensation for the briefest of moments before the crack of leather filled the air, followed by another; sensation lighting up his back. Both weren’t particularly hard, intended only to warm him up, but Christ, did Frankie want more.

Jack marveled at the way Frankie’s back muscles twitched, aching to see them spasm at his hand, to make him squirm. Another two light flicks of Jack’s wrist before a resounding crack echoed with Frankie’s moan. Then again, two light cracks followed by two slightly harder ones. Frankie clenched his hands, bunching the sheets in his fists and crying out.

“Color, Flyboy?”

“Green!” Frankie keened, his back feeling delightfully warm.

“Good boy,” Jack praised again, smiling at the way Frankie whimpered in response. “Can you do more? Do you want to go harder?”

Frankie nodded, then remembered the rules.

“Yes!”

“Yes what, Flyboy?”

“Yes, sir!”

“That’s my good boy.”

Frankie gave an obscene moan at the praise, breaking off into a whimper as Jack gave him another stroke of the flogger, making Jack smile. The next one was harder, the painful whisper of leather across his back left a stinging ache. At the eighth total stroke of the flogger, warmth enveloped Frankie, a knot caught in his throat at the feeling. By the ninth stroke, Frankie was almost floating, tethered to the moment by the wave of overwhelming emotion threatening to crest in his chest.

He wanted this so badly, he needed it. He needed to let go and not think about all of the shit in his life that had converged on him the last few days. Frankie choked out a sob at the last stroke, the cresting wave of emotion breaking free and crashing over him.

Everything he had buried, his mixed emotions, the drugs, and losing his job, bubbled to the surface all at once. The tears were just as cathartic as sinking into the pain had been.

He let out a shuddering exhale, and before Jack could ask, Frankie called out “Green!”

Jack sighed, the kneeling man’s back was an angry red, stripes forming from the flogger. He adjusted himself in his jeans to get some relief, then set the flogger back on its hook and returned to the bed. Jack sat down and maneuvered them so that Frankie’s head was cradled in his lap. He understood that Frankie needed this, now more than ever probably. It was one of the reasons he had offered to do this for Frankie, to give him an outlet to just feel and let go.

“Shh, you did so well, Flyboy. You were such a good boy for me.”

Jack cooed as he stroked Frankie’s damp, curly locks. Frankie hummed in response, and Jack lifted Frankie’s chin to see his flushed face.

“Can you do more, or do you want to stop for now, Flyboy?”

Frankie blinked, his eyes hazy then he buried his face in Jack’s lap, finding it hard to think and trying to ground himself.

“I-I can do more. I want to do more.”

Jack’s breath hitched as Frankie’s cheek brushed against the cock straining in his jeans.

“Alright, Flyboy. Lean back then, hands behind your back.”

Frankie did as he was told, his back burning slightly from the flogging. Jack stood up, a steadying hand on the sweet, willing man kneeling before him. He took a moment to let his gaze find Frankie’s cock, his eyebrows raising in surprise at just how hard and leaky he was.

“Shit, boy, I’ve never seen someone get as hard or leak as much as you from just the flogger.”

He carefully secured the leather cuffs, making sure they were fixed a bit above his wrists so as to not chafe the already irritated skin, then sat back down on the bed and tugged Frankie forward. Without his hands to stop himself, Frankie’s head landed unceremoniously back in Jack’s lap with a grunt. A low groan fell from Jack’s lips as Frankie nuzzled the large bulge in Jack’s jeans. Frankie mumbled something into Jack’s lap that he couldn’t quite make out.

“What was that?”

“Said ‘s not just the flogger.��

“Oh? What is it then, Flyboy?”

Frankie squirmed, and Jack did nothing to stop him.

“S’you, never was like this before.”

Jack’s heart melted at the trust, vulnerability and adoration that was tinged with sadness in Frankie’s words. This was about more than just the clear arousal Frankie had. The look in his eyes earlier, and the way he was nuzzling him now, told Jack that Frankie had been missing the safety and ability to truly let go for a long time now. Jack was honored that Frankie was able to find that solace in him.

“Hey,” Jack’s hands cupped Frankie’s face as he bent down and kissed him tenderly, making sure to place a kiss on each of Frankie’s tear-stained cheeks. After allowing them a moment, Jack pulled back, his thumb swiping over Frankie’s lower lip, nudging insistently until Frankie took it in his mouth and sucked on it eagerly.

“D’you want to put this mouth to some good use, Flyboy?”

Frankie watched hungrily as Jack made to unbuckle his belt until he realized that Jack was waiting until Frankie had consented to go any further .

“Fuck… I mean yes, sir.”

Jack chuckled, then finished unbuckling his belt, adjusting so that he could get his jeans and boxers down to his mid-thigh. He smirked at the way Frankie stared hungrily at his cock. It was nice to know that the hunger he’d seen the night at the safehouse hadn’t been entirely drug induced.

The smirk promptly disappeared when Frankie widened his knees to balance better then leaned in and his lips enveloped the head of his cock.

“Fuck…”

The curse fell softly from Jack’s lips, a moan catching at the back of his throat. It took all of Jack’s strength not to buck up into Frankie’s mouth from the searing pleasure of Frankie bobbing up and down on his cock, moaning as he took more of Jack’s length.

Frankie smirked as best as he could, feeling proud he was able to elicit such a reaction from Jack. Strong fingers gripping tightly and twisting in his hair pulled a whine from deep in Frankie’s chest, and his eyes rolled back a bit as he felt Jack’s hand push him further down his cock until Frankie’s nose brushed Jack’s dark curls. Jack held him there for a minute, getting used to the hot warmth that surrounded his cock. He let out a breathy chuckle when Frankie’s hips jolted forward involuntarily, the feeling of being held down making him seek the sweet tantalizing friction of the bed.

“F-Fuck, Flyboy… S-shit, y’got a hot fuckin’ mouth.”

Jack started to pump into Frankie’s mouth, his other hand on Frankie’s throat to feel his cock move. He could feel the small whimpers and moans Frankie made around him, increasing arousal turning his breathing into shallow pants.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ… Such a -shit- Such a good, cock-hungry… Fuck!”

He felt Frankie start to struggle and pulled him off of his cock. They were both panting, trying to catch their breath, and Jack ran his fingers through Frankie’s hair to help soothe him. Frankie nuzzled into his lap then turned his head and breathed in Jack’s scent, marveling at the sight of Jack’s twitching cock. Smirking, Jack tenderly wiped some spit from the corner of Frankie’s mouth.

“How you doin’ down there?”

“Mmm... good.”

“Yeah?” Jack chuckled, “You sound a little cock dumb, Flyboy.”

“Maybe…” Frankie’s voice sounded dream-like and far away.

Jack put his hands on Frankie’s shoulders and pushed him back gently to see the head of Frankie’s cock flushed a needy red and leaking a small puddle on the hard floor beneath him, just missing the pillow cushioning his knees.

“Do you wanna cum, Flyboy?”

Frankie’s eyes widened at the whine that bubbled out of him, a deep flush taking a hold of his cheeks, and his gaze dropped from Jack’s dark, warm eyes.

“Yes, sir… Please.”

“Do you think you can take me?”

Jack watched Frankie intently, taking his chin between his index finger and thumb to make their gazes meet again. He didn’t want Frankie agreeing just because he thought that Jack would let him cum by doing so. Frankie bit his lip, then nodded.

“Words. I need to hear you say it, Flyboy. We don’t have to tonight if you don’t want to or can’t.”

Jack’s gaze was hard, yet tender, and Frankie felt a little lost in it, but he knew that he trusted Jack completely. He knew that if he wanted, they could stop at any time. Arousal pooled in his belly, and he knew that he wanted to take Jack, wanted to feel his weight pin him down, make him feel safe before sending him over the edge of pleasure.

“Yes sir, I-I can, and I want to, it’s just been a while.”

Jack’s chest tightened a little as he looked down at Frankie, smiling, then leaning down to kiss Frankie before moving down to nibble along the column of his neck.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow, Flyboy, and you just let me know if you need a break or to stop.”

Frankie nodded, then grumbled in surprise when Jack effortlessly hauled him up and bent him over the bed. He turned his head on the bed to breathe a bit better and saw Jack grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand.

“Do you want to use a condom? Me and Bourbon are exclusive, but I get tested regularly and am on PrEP for Statesmen. All my tests came back negative.”

Excitement tingled down Frankie’s spine. He wanted to feel him.

“No condom. I’m on PrEP too, got tested after Sam and haven’t been with anyone since.”

Jack nodded, then walked back over to the bed, his large, warm hand kneading Frankie’s ass.

The cool liquid was in stark contrast to the heat of his fingers. Jack slowly circled Frankie’s hole while he reached around and took Frankie’s cock in his other hand. Frankie’s keening moan turned into a whine when Jack gently pushed a finger inside of him.

Jack felt Frankie clench around his finger and started to lightly stroke his cock while letting him get used to the feeling. After a bit, he coated a second finger with lube and slid it in beside the first. Frankie let out a shaky breath, the muscles in his back rippling lightly.

“Look at you. You’re doing so well for me. Just take it easy, Flyboy.”

He continued to work him gently, understanding it had been a little while for Frankie. Then Frankie began to relax, slowly fucking himself back onto Jack’s fingers and forward into Jack’s fist. Jack let Frankie get used to the sensation again, adding more lube and delving deeper, harder with his fingers.

After they were able to work up to three fingers, Jack pulled out of him and took a step back, drawing a whimper from Frankie at the loss of contact. He heard the shuffle of denim as Jack shucked his jeans and boxers, then felt Jack’s steadying hand on his back.

“I’m right here, Flyboy.”

Jack murmured reassuringly while he gave himself a few strokes with his lubed up hand, he teased the hole with the tip of his cock with a feathery touch then slowly started to ease into Frankie.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Flyboy!”

Jack hissed, then moaned as he slowly worked himself inch by inch inside of Frankie, taking encouragement from Frankie’s keening and ragged breath.

“Fuck… So… -mmmmmfuckme- So full, Jack!”

Jack smirked at the way he had reduced Frankie to nothing but babbling, but his smirk quickly faded when he smacked Frankie’s ass and felt him clench in response.

“Shit, Flyboy, you’re so fuckin’ tight.”

Frankie moaned, fingers grasping helplessly at Jack’s shirt. His arms were still bound, and he needed more contact than the teasing drag of the fabric.

“Shirt… off, wanna feel you, Jack.”

He let out a low moan that filled the air as Jack leaned back, pushing himself deeper into Frankie as he unbuttoned then tugged his shirt and undershirt off. Frankie hummed when he felt Jack’s warm body envelop him, giving him the contact he wanted. Jack chuckled as Frankie’s hands sought to feel his soft tummy, fingers brushing the trail of hair that gathered there.

Pulling back, Jack grabbed the leather cuffs for leverage and he started to fuck Frankie in earnest.

“Fuck yeah, Flyboy. Taking me…. So. Fucking. Good!”

Jack’s heavy hand came down with a loud smack on Frankie’s ass, and he steadily increased his pace until Frankie was squirming and whimpering beneath him. Frankie was so close, teetering on the edge, but not quite able to get there. He felt like he was slowly being driven mad by exquisite torture.

“J-Jack! Please… I n-need-”

“Not yet, Flyboy.”

Jack gritted out, getting closer to his own orgasm. Leaning over, so his chest was as flush as it could be against Frankie’s back, Jack growled.

“Ask me nicely, Flyboy.”

“Please!” Frankie cried out, “Jack, please, I want to-”

Jack adjusted his hips, and dropped a hand to wrap around Frankie’s cock again. “Alright, let go, Frankie. Cum for me, Flyboy.” He thrusted again, hitting a different angle, finding Frankie’s prostate and causing him to cry out hoarsely as he came all over the sheets and Jack’s hand.

“Fuck!”

The answering growl that came from Jack’s throat seared Frankie’s soul, and he could feel Jack tense above him, his hips stuttering until he gave one final thrust and stiffened above Frankie. As Jack came, his grunts made Frankie’s chest flutter, the sensation of having been claimed and marked running hot in his veins.

Frankie’s breath hitched when Jack brought his fingers up to taste Frankie’s cum, and he moaned before bringing his fingers to Frankie’s mouth to give him a taste as well.

They both groaned as Jack slipped out. He took a moment to admire the mess he made of his Flyboy, soothingly rubbing Frankie’s hip.

“Alright, gimme a minute, Flyboy.” Jack’s voice was soft, trying not to interrupt the bliss that smoothed Frankie’s facial features.

Frankie grunted as Jack undid the cuffs one by one, easing Frankie’s arms to his side, massaging them gently to soothe the soreness.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. Don’t move. I’m gonna take care of you, Flyboy.”

Frankie mumbled in response. Jack cleaned himself up and returned shortly, with a soft, damp washcloth and a glass of water. He set the glass down, then began to gingerly dab the cloth over Frankie’s back, soothing him from the sting left behind by the flogger. Small little whimpers fell from Frankie’s lips at the contrast in temperature.

“Shhh, you did so well. This’ll help the burn a bit, Flyboy.”

Jack cooed, murmuring praises as he went. Once he was finished, he put the washcloth in the hamper, then wrapped the light comforter around Frankie to insulate him from Jack’s body heat. He pulled him in close, tucking Frankie under his shoulder.

“‘M so proud of you. My Flyboy… you were so good for me.

Jack kissed his ear, nuzzling the curly locks atop Frankie’s head, humming when Frankie curled in closer at his words. Frankie couldn’t do much more than that. His mind was still mostly floating on cloud nine, slowly easing back to the solid safety of being enveloped by Jack’s arms and his scent.

“You thirsty?”

Frankie nodded, but as Jack moved toward the bedside table, Frankie’s hand shot out and grabbed Jack’s wrist..

“No leaving, only water.”

Jack broke out into a hearty laugh, harmonizing with Frankie’s own laughter.

“It’s just right here on the night table.”

Frankie let him go. Jack stretched to retrieve the glass for Frankie, who took it to his lips, becoming more and more aware of his surroundings and less in the haze of subspace as he drank.

“Thank you, Jack. That was… incredible. I really needed that.”

Jack nodded and smiled down at Frankie, still nestled into his side, thumb rubbing circles over Frankie’s arm.

“It’s been a minute since I’ve done that, and I’m glad I could do that for you, Flyboy. I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t love every minute of it myself. Are you feeling alright? Do you need anything?”

Frankie shook his head, and Jack grunted as he peered over to look at the clock: 20:30.

“You hungry? There’s a biscuits and gravy place that delivers, and I did say I’d take care of you tonight, Flyboy.”

Frankie’s stomach growled in response and they laughed again. Jack got up and placed their order, then turned to find Frankie had retrieved his go bag and was rummaging through it.

“Shit, I barely have anything to wear. I wasn’t expecting to be gone from home this long.”

“Don’t worry about it, you can borrow mine. I know I definitely enjoyed seeing you in my clothes today.” Jack teased and winked at Frankie, pulling a flush to his cheeks. “Besides, me and Bourbon can take you shopping tomorrow.”

Frankie frowned a bit, remembering that he was technically out of a job, and though he was looking forward to a big paycheck from Pope, he had no idea when he’d next be able to get a decent job flying.

“Uh, I don’t really think I could afford much out here. I usually just wear cargo pants and a t-shirt or button down.”

Jack scoffed, “I said we’d take you shopping, not that you’d be paying, Flyboy. Either Statesman’ll pay or I will. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Frankie squirmed. He was not accustomed to such things, but Jack’s voice left little room for argument. Shortly after, Jack went to pick up their food from the lobby, and they promptly devoured it upon his return. Frankie sat back with a groan, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Time to hit the hay, I reckon.”

Frankie nodded and made his way to the guest bedroom. Jack frowned, putting a hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“I’d rather have you in my bed again tonight... if you’re alright with that?”

“Y-yeah, I’d like that.”

Jack nodded, then threw away the trash and tugged Frankie along to bed. He smiled as Frankie scooted to curl up beside him, imagining how things would be once you were in bed with them as well.

Frankie thought to himself how easy this felt, how good it felt. Hell, maybe this was something he could do and not have it end up like before. Just in this night alone, Jack had done more for him than his old partners had the entire time the three of them had been together. Despite how easy or how right it felt, Frankie knew that any relationship, especially one with three people, required a lot of communication and effort.

He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather do that work with than you and Jack.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and Comments are very much appreciated!

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[delimeful]

to taste your beating heart (5)

warnings: blood, miscommunication, imprisonment, arguing

-

Logan met Virgil-- Anx’s eyes over Patton’s shoulder, and watched as his gaze went from bewildered to guarded in half a second.

In the next moment, Anx had shoved out sharply, pushing Patton away from him hard enough to make him stumble back a few steps-- just far enough to be outside the protective ward, Logan noted. 

As though to cover up the fact that he’d just stripped himself of a potential hostage, Anx stiffened up to his full height, fangs bared at them all.

“Careful!” Roman snapped in an eerie parody of Virgil’s normal catchphrase, rising to his feet as Patton narrowly avoided overbalancing.

“No, no,” Patton said, wiping at his eyes without any shame, “it’s my fault, I should have asked first. I always get kind of emotional after thralls break. My apawlegies, Anx.” He accented the words with a flap of his cat hoodie sleeve.

Logan had time to notice the way Anx’s face twisted-- a mix of confusion-amusement-wariness that was familiar from Virgil’s first weeks working with them-- before Roman cut in with a startled shout.

“The thrall is broken?!” he squawked, head whipping back and forth between Patton and Anx. “Since when?”

“None of your business,” snapped Anx.

“Pretty much as soon as I walked in!” cheered Patton, at the exact same time. He paused. “Whoops, sorry, Anx! Did you want that to be... confangdential?”

“Boo,” Roman called, instantly distracted by the bad wordplay, “That was a reach.”

Logan let his audible facepalm speak for itself. “Out of the way, please, Patton.”

Patton obligingly shuffled to the side, and with every step closer Logan took, Anx folded inwards like a snake rearing back to strike. Seeing Virgil’s body bracing for the worst at his approach made something in Logan’s chest pang oddly, but luckily he was well practiced at ignoring such things.

Once at the edge of the circle, he crouched and inspected the activation key. As expected, nothing was out of place. Logan doubted Anx had been awake long enough to even consider tampering with the circle, let alone attempt it.

Now that the ash had cooled, the spell would be vulnerable to outside influence. It wasn’t as big of a concern anymore, seeing as the thrall on Patton had been removed, but Logan wasn’t one to leave things half-done.

… Also, if left unattended, Patton would probably free the vampire without telling anyone even without being under thrall.

Logan set his palm on the activation key and nonverbally cast a warming spell, reactivating the part of the spell that singed any unauthorized fingers messing with his circle. He could add the warming charm into the circle’s layout later, when there wasn’t a twitchy vampire watching his every move.

Despite his efforts to make his spellcasting subtler than usual, Anx still seemed to go still and stiff like hunted prey when the change in the spell sent a mild warmth into the air around them. Those uncanny purple eyes flickered between all three of the hunters for a moment, and then seemed to settle for glaring at nothing.

“So, Draculame, what prompted the sudden change of heart?” Roman asked, arms crossed over his chest.

His tone wasn’t as accusatory as before, but Anx’s bristling only increased, likely at the nickname. It had taken a while for Virgil to realize Roman’s ruder habits weren’t mean-spirited. It seemed like Anx would have to relearn that.

Provided they got that far.

Shaking the rather grim thought away, Logan tilted his head at the vampire. “I’m admittedly curious as well.”

Anx hissed at them, which they probably should have expected. It probably said something about their friend that this had already been standard Virgil behavior before he’d been turned. It was almost nostalgic.

“Now, kiddos, let’s not vamptagonize him!” Patton cut in firmly, ignoring their groans. “It’s almost dawn, so how about we call it close enough to morning and have some breakfast? I’ll make pat-cakes!”

He swanned out of the room without waiting for an answer, nearly hip checking the doorframe as he went. For a moment, Logan half-expected to see Virgil fall in a half-step behind him, like a particularly emo shadow. The absence was jarring.

“He hasn’t slept tonight,” he finally said, capturing Roman’s attention. “Make sure he doesn’t use salt instead of sugar?”

“And meanwhile you will be…?” Roman prompted doubtfully. Logan rolled his eyes.

“Figuring out a way for Anx to safely move to the kitchen, as Patton no doubt wants him there,” he replied, raising a hand to forestall any protests. “I took precautions.”

Roman threw his hands up dramatically, shot Anx a warning glare, and then turned to leave.

“Ugh. There goes my appetite,” he grumbled as he stormed out the door.

Logan allowed himself a sigh and then turned to face Anx. The vampire was still staring at him oddly. “I will be placing a pair of enchanted cuffs on you. They have no chains and they will not hurt you, but if you move against any of us with malicious intent, they will freeze in place.”

“And what am I supposed to do if you move against me?” he challenged automatically, lip curling. “Stand there and take it?”

“The cuffs will not stop you from running or hiding,” Logan told him, “and you’ve proven yourself to be skilled at both of those things in the past 48 hours. None of us are planning on attacking you, but you will have options regardless.”

This wasn’t how he would have reassured Virgil, but this wasn’t the Virgil he knew, the one that trusted him. He couldn’t soothe Anx’s cognitive distortions, not when he was barely more than a stranger.

He retrieved the shiny black cuffs from a nearby cabinet. They hadn’t had a thrall aggressive enough to use them on in months. “If you’ll put your wrists forward, we can proceed. Otherwise, Patton will be bringing breakfast to you, and I’d prefer not to get syrup or blood all over this room.”

Anx eyed him warily for another few moments, but eventually Logan’s patience paid off, and he stuck his wrists out with a growl. Logan reached past the barrier without any trouble and clicked the first one into place. Before he could proceed with the second, Anx’s hand flipped around and grabbed onto Logan’s wrist tightly.

Logan’s head jerked up to meet Anx’s gaze, already shifting his weight to counter a pull, but the vampire didn’t move further, just stared at him intently. “I know what you are.”

He clearly expected some kind of dramatic reaction, but Logan wasn’t in the habit of those, particularly not for such vague accusations. “If you’ll specify?”

“You’re a witch,” Anx said. “I saw you tamper with the circle without any instruments. You have natural magic.”

Logan felt his stomach sink slightly. Logically, he knew that this wasn’t the Virgil he knew, but it still made something in him twist to think of any version of Virgil blackmailing him over his magical heritage. “And what of it?” he asked, as lightly as he could.

“You’re living in the same house as hunters. You’re doing magic right under their noses, you’re going to get yourself killed!” Anx scolded, sounding more like Virgil with every word. “Do you need help getting out?”

Logan wasn’t entirely sure what sort of face he made in response to this endearingly dense offer, but it was apparently enough to make Anx frown with uncertainty. He held a hand out for his other wrist and clicked the cuff on it without any problems, and then deactivated the circle with a simple gesture of his hand over the key.

Anx’s eyes flicked to the door, and Logan tried not to think about him darting out into the early morning sun. He turned and headed to the door.

“Follow me, and you’ll get your answer.”

While traversing the halls, Logan resisted the persistent urge to check behind him. Gone were the slight shuffled footsteps that had previously accompanied Virgil’s presence, replaced by Anx’s supernatural silence, as though he was gliding over the floor without even touching it.

He entered the kitchen, where Patton had evidently wrangled Roman into setting the table. Whether the four plates set out were out of habit or Roman reluctantly accepting Anx’s presence at the table, Logan wasn’t sure.

He cleared his throat, making both of them look up from attempting to draw funny faces with the pancake batter.

“Observe,” he instructed, and then drew a sigil in the air and lit a simple flame in his hand. Behind him, he could practically hear Anx go as stiff as a board.

“Are we showing off?” Roman asked, a bit excited but completely unsurprised. “Should I perform a monologue?”

“Great spell, Lo! No arson in the house, though,” Patton added in a bright chirp. “After all, I have enough ar-sons here already!”

Logan doused the flame by clenching a fist, giving Patton a Look that went blithely ignored. “You two are incorrigible. That was a simple demonstration.”

He turned to Anx, who looked a little shell shocked.

“As we’ve informed you, ‘hunter’ is a title that we use mostly for convenience and ease of access to jobs. We help magical beings just as often as average humans, if not more frequently.”

“We tried out ‘Protectors of the Innocent’ for a while, but it never really caught on for some reason,” Roman added, subtly sneaking a piece of bacon from the serving plate while Patton’s back was turned.

“Perhaps it would have worked better if someone hadn’t only put P.I. on all the business cards, resulting in us being mistaken for Private Investigators and all of our calls being about spousal infidelity for a solid two months,” Logan snarked back, moving past them to retrieve the orange juice from the fridge.

“The printing office charged by the letter!” Roman protested, and then recoiled from the countertop as his next attempt at sneaking ended with his fingers smacked mercilessly. “Augh! Forsaken by those dearest to me! What cruelty!”

“No sympathy for bacon thieves,” Patton chided, wielding his spatula like an instrument of mass destruction. “Go sit!”

Logan seated himself as well, and turned to Anx, who had been watching the banter play out from the doorway with a somewhat dazed expression. “You’re welcome to sit. Patton will likely insist on it, actually.”

“You people,” he enunciated slowly, “are crazy.”

“You get used to it,” Logan assured him with the certainty of someone who had heard this exact phrase from Virgil before. He checked his watch. “It has been some time since you last ate. I can retrieve some stored blood from our refrigerator.”

“Actually,” Patton set a plate stacked high with pancakes in the center of the table with a plonk, “I figured I could just be Anx’s donor for a while!”

Roman, who had just stolen a sip of Logan’s orange juice, did a movie-perfect spit take, and Patton slid the pancake stack swiftly out of range of the spray.

“It will be 55 days before you are viable for another blood donation,” Logan recited the fact automatically, but he was just as thrown off as Roman.

“Not if he drinks from me directly!” Patton retorted, a beacon of cheerful composure.

“What?” All three of them replied, at varying levels of screech.

Anx shot a wild-eyed look at the room at large and took a step back, as though physically distancing himself from the idea.

“Patton, you can’t be serious!” Roman pushed his chair back and stood, looking distraught. “Fangs For The Memories over here might look like Virgil, but he’s proven quite thoroughly that he’s not! We just got you un-thralled, clearly he can’t be trusted not to take advantage of you!”

Logan noticed Anx wince, though he couldn’t tell whether it was from the harsh assessment or Virgil’s name being spoken.

“Me not being thralled anymore is exactly why we can trust him not to hurt me,” Patton said, chin tilted up stubbornly. “He doesn’t know what he did wrong, but he fixed it anyway! That’s more than good enough in my book.”

“Well, maybe your book needs some copyediting!” Roman snapped back, exasperated. “So his unbeating heart isn’t as completely shriveled up as it originally seemed! So what? That doesn’t change the fact that he was the one who thralled you in the first place!”

Logan cut in, physically moving between them to break up the beginnings of a shouting match.

“I have to agree that this is a bad idea, for a multitude of reasons,” he started, raising a quelling hand before Patton could protest. “The matter of Anx’s trustworthiness aside, you shouldn’t be directly donating blood to any vampire. It is an unnecessary risk to your mental and emotional well being.”

“Thank you,” Roman said, apparently keen to seize allies where he could. He gestured expansively, looking at Patton with earnest eyes. “You’ve come so far, Pat. We don’t want to see any of your hard work undone. Virgil wouldn’t want that either; you know he’d fight this harder than any of us.”

Patton’s face had softened at their-- Roman’s sentimental worrying, but even bringing Virgil into it couldn’t sway his determined course.

“I know you guys just want me safe, but this is something I need to do. Even if it is a risk, I can’t be held down by this fear forever. And who better to help me than Anx!”

“Literally anyone who hasn’t threatened to kill everyone here in the last 48 hours,” Roman moaned, dragging his hands down his face.

“Besides,” Patton continued, undeterred, “this way we don’t have to worry about our emergency transfusion supply going low! It just makes sense.”

Logan had to begrudgingly agree. Between the hassle of trying to explain why they suddenly needed significantly more blood and the fact that a vampire drinking directly would replenish blood cells at a much higher rate than drawing blood, the best option really was to have a direct donor. He simply didn't want it to be Patton.

Unfortunately, his odds of actually being able to stop Patton were quite low.

“Nothing about any of this makes sense,” Anx grumbled, having retreated to the hall like a skittish feral cat.

The vampire seemed almost more unsettled by the idea than either of the other objecting parties, despite being the only one who directly benefited from the hypothetical arrangement. Nervous about their responses if he agreed, perhaps?

“We can at least give it a shot!” Patton insisted, coming a little closer to Anx and reaching out to gently pat his shoulder. It spoke volumes that the touch wasn't brushed off or rejected. “It could end up helping us both! And if it doesn’t, we’ll just find another way! You won’t be in trouble for messing up, okay?”

Anx blinked, slowly, still looking somewhat unconvinced that this was reality. Still, after a few moments of exposure to Patton’s encouraging smile, he dipped his head in a nod.

“Okay.”

#sanders sides #ts virgil #ts patton #ts logan #ts roman #vampire au #ttybh #to taste your beating heart #writing #my writing #well. hope this is good.

[fleckcmscott]

Coffee & Donuts

Summary: Arthur’s thrilled to be part of a crowd. Though the evening doesn’t go perfectly, Y/N’s flirtations make it sweet.

Warnings: Smut

Words: 4,602

A/N: Alright. After the heart wrenching angst of my last piece (which I love, by the way; don't get me wrong! 😂), I had to write another story in which Arthur and Y/N are happy and together. It's inspired by one of Arthur's visions during their kiss. I hope you all like it! Special thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for beta-ing!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Parties and celebrations weren't foreign to Arthur. He'd worked plenty, enough to make him realize what he'd been missing out on. He was well-versed in pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs, and balloon animals. But as an adult, those activities didn't satisfy. He wanted to be included rather than paid. Connect with people, introduce himself. Discuss his experiences and pursuits. Feel sufficiently at ease to loosen up a little and have a good time.

Now he was a guest - a certified guest - at Patricia Gorman's fifty-sixth birthday party. The first party he'd been invited to since being the weird kid in class who'd rotated between three worn out sweaters and could never afford a gift.

He'd been a tad apprehensive about going to Burnside. Gotham's nicest borough had a reputation for high rents and low tolerance. When Y/N and he had entered 2E, however, Patricia's greeting ("You made it!") and the apartment were thoroughly welcoming. Crocodile brown walls and forest green shag carpet made the spacious living room a cozy hideaway. Marigolds leapt across the polyester of the T-cushion sofa and its easy-chair companion. The floor lamp's amber, crimped glass shades cast the spacious living room in a glow borrowed from warm autumn days.

Patricia's husband, Robert, was out on an emergency call. An HVAC had gone haywire in a residential building in Hinckley. Her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson had been by for lunch. That meant the only other guests were Matt - Y/N's old boss - and a bottle-blonde in a black halter dress and spike heels, who Y/N introduced as Laura. ("She's Matt's ex-wife," Y/N later disclosed. "He's been trying to win her back since I moved to Gotham.") Both shook Arthur's hand when he offered it, and he felt a little thrill whirl his stomach when Y/N laid claim to him by telling the woman, "This is my husband."

A collection of appetizers served as dinner, a fun and novel menu. The slow cooker meatballs Y/N and he had lugged over on the subway were a bit tangy; he still couldn't believe the recipe called for grape jelly. The deviled eggs with paprika, a pleasant mix of savory and sweet, was a dish he'd heard about on television. Cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches were light and airy, a good match for his iced tea. Only the artichoke and spinach dip gave him pause. Its beans and hot sauce made his taste buds wince.

That unpleasant flavor was quickly forgotten when Y/N pulled him to sit next to her on the sofa, so Patricia could open her presents. She proudly showed off the orange, clay ashtray her grandson had made for her. Arthur, having successfully kept the secret of her light smoking from Y/N, chuckled at Patricia fibbing she'd put candy in it. She thanked Matt and Laura for the champagne, wrapped in a silver bow with a simple "Happy Birthday" tag. The bottle wasn't popped. Upon peeking into the large giftbag Y/N placed on her lap, she made a soft sound. The Dazey whirlpool bath, which attached to the side of the tub and had three strength settings, was a hit. She announced her plans to try it in the morning. The dark blue Rexbuilt briefbag was intended to replace her cracked, leather briefcase, Y/N explained. Patricia ran her fingertips along the expanding inner compartments, the personalized planner that included the credential "CLA" after her name, and flipped through the included steno pads, eyes brimming.

She sipped at her cocktail and put an arm around Y/N. Melancholy tinged Patricia's voice. "At my age, the people in your life tend to stay the people in your life. Whether you like them or not." She reached further and patted Arthur's knee. "I'm glad an old dame like me gets to call you all friends." His throat clenched in gratification, though he wasn't daring enough to squeeze her hand and thank her for deciding he was a friend.

Still on top of the world an hour later, Arthur sauntered to the red and white enamel dining table to serve himself a second slice of upside-down pineapple cake. The evening had gone well, better than a guy with a natural inability to mingle could've expected. He bobbed his head to the beat of "Come Fly with Me." It was a happy coincidence that Patricia's taste in music aligned with his. She'd regaled him with tales of seeing Sinatra and Count Basie on her and Robert's honeymoon in Vegas. Arthur took a bite absentmindedly, wondering how long it would take for him to save the money to surprise Y/N with plane and concert tickets.

The daydreaming didn't last long. Matt's plodding footsteps preceded him, followed by a long sigh as he propped himself on the beige stone of the dining area's accent wall, across from the u-shaped kitchen. He held out a Budweiser and smirked. "Marriage is a hell of a lot of work."

Pleased that he was being treated like one of the guys, like a regular husband with a regular relationship who got to speak about his regular wife, Arthur accepted the beer and considered the comment. Matt's sentiment was hard to grasp. Dr. Sally had said marriage could be difficult, and Y/N's first hadn't survived the ripples of her life. But it didn't feel like work with her. Their arguments were minor. Her nagging him to find a primary doctor for annual check-ups, even though he'd survived this long without one. Or back in Missouri, when he'd told her to stop shielding him and trust he could take anything she had to give.

Arthur adopted a similar nonchalant posture and jutted his hip against the table's edge. "I like it. It's easy to take good care of her." He wasn't able to completely erase the smugness of success from his tone.

"You're what? Two years in with the most headstrong woman in Gotham? She's great and all, but she spikes my blood pressure." Matt slapped Arthur's back and let out a hearty guffaw. "Give it five more and you'll be in my office trying to avoid alimony."

"Don't. Say that." Arthur crinkled the can in his grip and glared up at him.

"Hey," Matt started, withdrawing even as he tried diplomacy. "It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by it."

Flinching, pulling at the cuffs of his red sweater, Arthur fought the surge of anger in his veins. It wouldn't do to lose control and cause a scene. Of course Matt's comment about them splitting up was supposed to be a joke. But Arthur didn't find it one bit funny. Even with his complete faith in her and his firm belief that they were meant to be together, the possibility that she'd stop wanting him hurt. It didn't occur to him that the implication of the punchline could be that he'd get sick of Y/N.

With a muttered apology, Matt walked to the others in the kitchen. Arthur glanced over to see her laugh tipsily, until she grabbed her stomach and swatted Patricia's shoulder, a stark demonstration of how much he and Y/N differed. She always knew how to respond to people, the right comebacks. Appropriate timing and levels of interaction. It seemed she was in her natural element, the loveliest swan on a lake. Whereas after years of therapy and practice with her, he was still a fish out of water, flopping around on the shoreline in hopes some stranger would take pity on him and throw him back into the sea.

Maybe that was the real punchline. Eventually their contrasts would no longer complement each other and instead become a chore.

Scowling, he ambled towards the record player stationed before two double-hung windows. Increased the volume to drown out the intrusive notions. It didn't really work. He settled on a grounding technique he'd practiced, all the while lamenting that he couldn't handle a party without needing it. His attention went to the spinning LP, the needle following its grooves. The bright blue album cover, where Ol' Blue Eyes beckoned him, the scuff marks on the cardboard's corner edges. He acknowledged the spider plants sat on the windowsill, worried a papery leaf until it broke off. He stared out the window, taking in the whole of the city. Pinpricks of light dazzling in the darkness.

"Gotham's beautiful at night," Y/N said from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to watch her approach. Her cheeks glowed with alcohol and good cheer, the collar of her ivory blouse unbuttoned. "There's a life behind every light out there. Ten million of them. Here. Try this." She offered her hurricane glass, filled with an off-white slush.

He sipped the pina colada with cautious skepticism and grimaced as soon as it hit his tongue. The blend of pineapple and coconut tasted of cheap sunscreen and tropical imitations, the kind advertised in smudged brochures for bad cruises to islands with made up sounding names. "No, thanks."

Snorting, she shrugged and embraced his back at the waist. "How are we doing?" she asked, curling into his side. After a few seconds, she prodded him. "Had your fill of Matt?"

"He was just joking." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  She set the drink next to the record player and brought her hand to his, trailed it over the inside of his wrist, up his forearm. She pecked his chin and nudged him until he turned to her. As soon as their gazes met, the concern in hers told him she'd continue to pepper him with questions. But he wasn't about to let his misplaced doubts spoil her evening. And he knew the perfect way to distract them both.

A new song started. An oldie that sang of Jupiter and Mars, playfulness among the stars. He cupped her cheek, thumb sweeping the corner of her mouth. "Dance with me," he said. Before accepting his proffered palm, she laid a sloppy kiss on him. With a flutter of her eyelashes, she grinned, and his smile grew to match her own. As he held her side, led her in a slow, swaying circle, he marveled at her. At her ability to soothe every molecule, every lingering ache. Self-assurance welled in him, chased away his earlier dejection. He cradled her to his lanky frame, trembled and felt himself blush. She was the only woman for him. That was as certain as his cigarette habit.

Despite Patricia's reassurances she was fine, that Robert working late wasn't unusual, Y/N insisted on staying until he got home. Though Arthur would have preferred they take their leave an hour earlier, being allowed to smoke inside blunted his grumbling. The disarming flirtations she bestowed on him also didn't hurt. She'd pour herself a drink (four in total, if he counted correctly), help Patricia make a plate of leftovers for her husband, then throw him a wink. Whisper and cackle while cleaning, then kiss his temple.

Around midnight, Patricia put her foot down. Ushered them out with a promise to call and a hug fierce enough to crush his ribs. She raised a brow at Y/N's unsteady gait, grasped Arthur's arm, and said with a wry, tired smile, "Make sure you put that woman straight to bed." His dark brows shot up and held. Had she intended a pun? Or had Y/N's spare caresses caused the interpretation? Either way, he liked being trusted to take care of her. And the hint of arousal that flared in his belly.

By the time they stumbled into their apartment, that arousal had reduced to a dull exhaustion. She kicked off her heels on the way to the bathroom, calling a slurred "night!" as she closed the door. Yawning, he put dish soap and hot water in the crockpot, scrubbed burned bits of sauce from its rim, turned it upside down on a towel to dry. Once he'd brushed his teeth for one minute rather than the recommended two, he tossed his sweater, trousers, briefs, and socks in the hamper, and went to the bedroom. He found his blue pajamas in their usual spot, the chair in the corner, and slid them up his skinny but toned legs. Tucked in next to her, he was carried to sleep on waves of fatigue and her quiet, wet snoring.

~~~~~

A tickle threatened to rouse him. Whispers along the waistband of his bottoms. Heat snuggled his back. Delightfully drowsy, he cuddled deeper into cozy, cream-color sheets, already returning to a pleasant, dreamless slumber. But a rumble of exhaust, likely from a bus that needed a new muffler, dragged him to consciousness. Arthur grumbled and tucked his arm under his pillow, not ready to transition to a world of overcrowding and concrete, commotion and bad jokes.

Yet, Y/N's insistent grazes continued, luring him with promises of placid pleasure. Her toes wiggled at his heel until he made space for her to slip her foot between his ankles. The corner of his mouth quirked. He was reminded of last night's playfulness, her endless teasing. The way he'd held the crockpot as a shield to fend off her advances on the train home, her forwardness to the point that he would've preferred having a laminated card to present on her behalf. Forgive my wife: she has a condition. It causes frequent and uncontrollable displays of affection.

Nimble fingers edged lower, loosened the tie of his pajamas before dipping beneath the loose elastic to lace through his dark brown curls, darker than the chestnut hair on his head. Her knuckles ran over him, lazy caresses full of intent. Up and down, up and down. Delicate. Deliberate. The blood racing to his groin, the pleasant swelling, made his abdomen twitch. Soon full and heavy, the sensitive tip straining the cotton seams, he pressed his lips together. When she skimmed the tender skin resting on his inner thigh, he flexed the muscle at the base of his erection. It bobbed and hit her wrist and she let loose a girlish giggle, more intoxicating than wine.

With her left leg draped over him at the knee, she undulated against his rear. Plush lips brushed the boney knobs of his spine, damp breath fanned the nape of his neck, labored, needy. Pebbled nipples grazed his back through the thin nylon of her nightgown, taunting and compelling. He made up his mind to throw an arm around her, to yank her on top of him. To eagerly take part in her seduction.

But she withdrew from his bottoms to palm his stomach and plant a gentle kiss to the shell of his ear, whispering, "Sleep tight." The mattress shifted and she rolled away from him. He furrowed his brows. She rarely relented this easily - other times he'd awakened, hard and aching, enveloped by the captivating wetness of her mouth. What was she up to?

Covers rustled. Her calf bumped his. And the opposite of what he'd assumed occurred. Instead of light footfalls leading out of the room, there was silence, silence that seemed to stretch on and on...

Until a hitched gasp gave her away.

Touching herself. She was touching herself. She'd just been all over him, acted like he was some sort of model on the cover of Vue magazine, and now she was touching herself. Right beside him! Ecstatic to have inspired such brazenness, he grinned and fisted the pillow. Her fleeting, stifled moans tangled him in knots, implored him to give her what they both burned for.

He flipped in her direction, his hand shooting under the sheet to grab hers. "Gotcha."

Eyes wide, she gaped at him in surprise. But adoration softened her expression as she entwined their fingers. "How long have you been awake?" she asked.

"Long enough."

He stretched to rewind the shades, the diaphanous curtains staying in place. Sunlight diffused over them, wrapped around her face, lent her disheveled hair a warm luster. He twirled a feathered lock and pecked her eyelids. "Finishing what you started on the subway, hm?"

"Me?" Y/N brought his knuckles to her mouth.  "You're the one who came to bed without any underwear."

"Well, it was a late night." The pad of his thumb tugged at her bottom lip to reveal the pink tip of her tongue. He bent to claim it. "I was lucky to find my pajamas."

Chuckling, she broke their connection. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. The cake was good. And the music. Everyone was nice."

"Patricia loved having you there. She thought you were very sweet." A pause as she mapped a dimple. "Matt said he'd upset you. Something stupid about breaking up?"

Vague shadows of discomfort flashed through Arthur, a frustration he'd mostly moved on from. He did his best to ignore it, waving her concern away. "Don't worry about it."

"He was just jealous, you know." Her nails ran along the small of his back. "He wants Laura to look at him the way I look at you."

Arthur had spent so much of his life yearning for change, to understand his purpose in the world and improve himself. The idea that a man with a good education, a successful career, and no disabilities could ever be jealous of him was, frankly, bizarre. But he didn't correct Y/N, instead locking her praise within his heart, preserving it for when he needed it most. He boosted himself on his forearm and fiddled with her V-neck, traced its button loops as he slipped the plastic knobs through them. "And how's that?'

A hint of scandal glimmered in her irises. She arched into him as he eased a strap down her upper arm to reveal her shapely breast, the lilac fabric momentarily catching on its taut peak. "Like I can't get enough of you."

He huffed at that, fondled her faintly before his lips met the velvety skin of her chest. A tonic comprised of the musk oil she'd dabbed on before the party and distinct sexual wanting wafted to his nostrils. He licked at her nipple, the bumps on her areola, and drew it between his teeth. She whined softly and lifted the bottom of her nightdress to her waist.

Hurriedly, he yanked on the waistband of her cotton panties, pushed them past her knees. She kicked them off while he knelt to lower his bottoms. Straddling her, he pumped himself back to hardness and opened the drawer of her nightstand. He searched haphazardly until he retrieved a small, glass bottle of lubricant. (She'd ordered it from a mail catalog, both of them a bit too bashful to walk into an adult shop, even together.)

She snagged it from him and poured half a teaspoon in her hand, then palmed herself. He moved between her legs and she grasped his length, coating him with the warm, slippery liquid. He pushed forward into her. Gradually, slowly, savoring every millimeter of her enticing heat. He noted the stretch of her mouth, the jut of her jaw, the lifting of her upper lip. "Mmm..." she breathed and begged him to keep going. When he did, her head tilted back into the pillow, eyelids falling shut. A smile cut across her cheeks as she purred her satisfaction. "Arthur, I love you."

His touch wandered down the curve of her thigh. At the sight of her subtle writhing beneath him, the sway of her slightly uneven breasts in time with his languid thrusts, he pushed her knee into the mattress, splayed her wider. He grunted lowly. "Look at me."

Their gazes met but didn't hold for long; hers dropped to where they were joined. She caressed right above his pubic bone. "I love seeing you like this." Her fingertips walked a line up his sternum to his chest. "And touching you like this." She wrapped her arms around his middle and drew him to her, locked their lips in a greedy kiss. "And making love like this."

He snorted. "I think this is the only reason you married me."

"Well, not the only reason. There's your good hair, too."

"I've been thinking about cutting it. Trying something new."

"Don't you dare." She tugged at his loose curls, wore her best pout. "What else would I hold onto when we're doing this?"

Laughing lightly, he bumped his nose to hers. Falling into her was like falling into his old fantasies, the ones that'd sustained him through years of isolation. Dates at diners, at comedy clubs, at donut shops, at home. Their shapes had changed as he'd matured, his role in them, his aspirations and infatuations. But they'd remained a warm comfort nonetheless, a place that felt like belonging. And now he belonged with her. Hunger filled him. Happiness. And love. So much love, more than he'd ever believed he'd carried in him. He bucked a little harder. "You feel so good," he murmured. "You make me feel so good."

A strained cry left her and her pelvis answered his steady rhythm with demands of its own. Her calves rose to squeeze him closer, encircle his narrow hips. They were pressed together so tightly; it felt like they were one flesh. He never wanted it to stop. But a dizzying euphoria had ignited, one that eclipsed the romantic yearnings of his heart, twisting his desire to last all morning into the desperate drive to possess her. Gasping, Arthur raised himself to his knees, delving deeper with each push. Their foreheads met and he grit his teeth at the scald of her, the texture of her walls. She fit as though she'd been made for him.

He supposed she was.

Pressure began in the base of him, building and building in terrific torment. The muscles of his inner thighs contracted inward. Tingling climbed his shaft, his tailbone, his spine. He wove his fingers into the sheet, his grip a vise that wrested its corner from the mattress. She kissed the spot where his jaw met his neck, all the while murmuring encouragements for him to let himself go.

Bliss shot through him, from the tips of his toes to the follicles on his scalp, and his back stiffened as he whimpered and poured into. Fever engulfed his frame, sublime in its frenzy, leaving him in a heady stupor. Aftershocks made him tremble. Once, twice. Until, sated and spent, he landed on top her. He closed his eyes, ribs rising and falling as he forced air into his lungs.

A minute later, he swallowed and looked down at her. "You didn't come."

She carded through his sweaty locks. "It's all righ-"

"Shh." He slid out of her and settled at her side, reached between her legs to swipe at her core. "I'm not done," he declared, tracing the edges of her entrance, slick and swollen. One of his favorite things about getting her off was demonstrating his prowess in bed, how well he'd learned with her. His thumb met her plump clitoral hood, and he felt her throb beneath his ministrations.

Nails biting his bicep, she rocked upwards. A bewitching blush crept up her breast, her neck, spread across her cheeks. Shallow pants hit his face, short puffs suffused with high-pitched whines, utterly irresistible. He circled her nub at a steady cadence, tapping when she'd shiver, and she clasped the back of his hand. He swirled his tongue around her nipple, sucked the pretty peak, and lowered the other strap of her nightgown to bare her completely. A hushed plea fell from her lips. "Please, please..."

Suddenly, her vulva grew white hot and she seized, her hips stuttering with each flutter of his touch to her folds. She thrusts her breasts towards him, a sharp moan caught in her throat. Liquid pooled against his fingers, proof of her rapture that made him wish, with mild amusement, that he could be an unmedicated young man again. He would've gladly taken her a second time.

Giggling and rubbing her temple, she released a long exhale and opened her eyes. He brushed her hair back and grinned, completely smitten, like the first time he'd heard a joke and understood the punchline. The light brown picture frame on his nightstand caught his attention, and he regarded the wallet size photo in it, one of the shots of Y/N from the booth at Amusement Mile. The last thing he looked at before turning in each night. He lay his head her shoulder and hummed, listened to the drum of her heart.

She smooched his hairline and wriggled out from beneath him to stand. Her nightie had been reduced to a crumpled stripe of lilac cinched about her waist. It felt tawdry and shameless and he wanted to see her in it for the rest of the weekend. But she peeled it down her legs, wrinkling her nose when it got stuck on her thighs, and stepped out of it one foot at a time. She dropped it on the floral bedspread and retrieved her bathrobe from the closet. "Meet you in the kitchen," she said, opening the door.

The sun had risen higher, its beams slanting across the covers. He basked in it, catlike, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled on his pajamas, got a new pair of socks from their dresser, and made his way to the kitchen. He washed off the remnants of Y/N's arousal from his fingers, popped open a prescription bottle and took a tablet. He poured water into the coffeemaker, grabbed the can of grounds from the second shelf, added three scoops to the paper filter. Their three-tone brown mugs sat in their spot next to the machine, waiting to be filled.

When the glass coffeepot was half full, Y/N emerged from the bathroom, chuckling to herself. She opened the breadbox on the opposite counter and took out a wax paper bag. "Do you have any idea how dull this morning would have been if we'd never met? I'd have read the Sunday paper, had a drink. Probably worked on a file." He handed her a couple dessert plates, watched her put a donut on each one. "I wonder where you'd be. What woman you'd have breakfast with, what jokes you'd be writing, what magic tricks you'd have learned."

"Um..." At first he wanted to ask where this speculation had come from, if Matt had let her in on exactly what he'd said. But the confident slant of her smirk told Arthur she was teasing. He tried to play along but winced. No matter how appealing, how extraordinary she found him, his gut told him there wouldn't have been another woman. There'd be no more stand-up routines, no more Carnival. He certainly wouldn't be taking care of Penny. He'd likely be locked up in the hospital, maybe even dead. Without an anchor, his life would have lost what little sense it had.

Y/N was one of his anchors now, hooked into the sand alongside his material, treatment, the ability to pay bills. He seized her hand and squeezed it tight, unaware he was squishing her fingers. "I don't wanna think about it," he said quietly.

She sidled up to him and pulled him to her side. Rubbed his flank soothingly and pecked the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry." She took his chin and guided him to look at her. The intimate comfort of her smile helped him believe her next words, even before she spoke them. "I'll always be here."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @fakestreet​ @ralugraphics​​ @iartsometimes​

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

[ramp-it-up]

Communication

Pairing: Lin Manuel Miranda x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Minors DNI, Dom Lin, light bondage, explicit laguage, edging, oral sex (female receiving), love fluff, marriage. All errors my own.

A/N: This an ask from the 100 smut prompts ask list by @sebastianabucknettastan (pic credit as well) AND the following birthday request from @sillyteecup

Love You Tee! I hope it’s filthy enough and that you have a great day! ❤️

Lin was talking to a reporter when he saw you enter the venue.

He was instantly pissed the fuck off, but used his acting skills to play it off.  

There were so many things you needed to answer for.

First, you wore the dress he specifically told you not to wear. 

The gold one that set off your skin tone and that that fit perfectly before the baby, but after, with your slightly larger thighs, hips and breasts, fit like a glove.

A skin tight glove.

Next, you put your hair up, showing off your neck and your cleavage, which was pushed up by the special fuck me bra that you had on. The one you only wore for him at home.  

Then, you wore your 6-inch gold Jimmy Choos with the stiletto heels.  The ones that you only wore for him at home.

That is, after your fuck me bra had been thrown across the room.

What was worse was that he didn’t know any of this before he left the house because you were taking so long to get dressed that he had to leave without you.

When you joined him, you met his cold, hard glare before the acting took over and his face broke out in a smile.

Oh.  Lin was pissed, but he couldn’t let it show. He was the man of the hour. 

For the next 30 minutes, you two were gracious recipients of the most mundane conversation of everyone who wanted to talk to him.  

And you were especially charming, touching every man’s arm, and managing to play with every woman’s hair and smiling at all with that alluring grin that made them all practically drool into your cleavage.

As the night wore on, his smile slipped more and more.  Although you were at his side, which he made sure of, he couldn’t get close enough to say anything to you, which you made sure of.

He knew what this was about.  Lin had informed you that his next gig was halfway around the world and that you would either have to accompany him, or stay in New York while he had fun creating shit while you took care of your son. A single parent yet again.

Shit was getting old.  

Lin didn’t want to leave you, he wanted you to come with and he couldn’t understand your resistance, especially since your job was easily mobile and you had the means to go.  

But he was especially frustrated that you wouldn’t talk about it, you were just torturing him with this display of your sexy allure that he wanted to be just for him.  

Each time you gave someone else the benefit of your attention, yet pulled away from him, he got more and more determined to demonstrate the importance of effective communication to you.

When you were finally seated at the head table, Lin whispered as he drew closer to you. 

To everyone who was watching, and there were a lot of people watching, it looked like normal couple interaction. 

But in reality, it was a threat. 

"You keep acting like a little brat and I’ll take you over my knee right here. I don’t care how many people are watching.”

You finally turned the full wattage of your smile on him.  His heart stopped and he wanted to crawl under the table and lick from the soles of your feet up to your pussy.  

Damn, his wife was beautiful.

“Sir.” 

You said it to piss him off, not project submissiveness, but you could tell by his smirk what he wanted that word to mean. Well, fuck him.

“I’m not acting like a brat, I’m acting like the wife of a Very Important Man at a Very Important Event.”  

You leaned toward him and he was drawn to you, but still pissed.

“If you don’t settle down, I’ll make you.”

You turned and looked him fully in the eye.  

“I’m not scared of you. What are you gonna do? Write the fuck out of a story about me?”

The raised eyebrow and disrespect was the final straw. The emcee was about to introduce him.

Lin leaned even closer.

“I got something better than a spanking. When we get home, I’m cuffing you to the bed and I’m going down on you all night until my jaw is sore.  And if you straighten up now, I might let you cum.”

Your mouth dropped open as the emcee finished introducing him and Lin rose and went to the podium.

You recovered quickly and looked around to see if anyone noticed and then put on your neutral face.

————-

After his speech, it was like nothing happened. And you miraculously found some act right.  

For the remainder of the night, Lin was charming to everyone, even you.  

You even danced and he held you close, caressing your side and seamlessly catching your rhythm.

It was like you dreamed what he’d said, because he even kissed your hand before he led you to the car, and you even leaned your head on his shoulder and fell asleep on the way home. 

It turned out to be a pretty nice night.

You got home and paid the babysitter and ordered her an Uber. Lin watched her get in the car while you went to check on the baby.  

He was so freakin cute and you stayed to watch him sleep a bit, never getting enough of his big fat cheeks.

When you went into the bedroom, Lin was nowhere to be found, coming out of the walk-in closet as you closed the door.

“Hey, come here.”  

His smile was his signature mix of angelic and devilish, and you were sure of what he wanted.  

You were glad he seemed to forget the earlier difficulty and you glady went toward him.  

Maybe you would give him some tonight and you could talk about the issue in the morning.

Lin put his hands on your shoulders.

“You look. Incredible tonight.”  His hands moved down your arms and moved to clasp your fingers.

"You want me to make you come?"

"Yes." You started unbuckling his belt. 

Lin pulled away from you. His eyes glinted, hard and cold.

"You want it?" He moved to sit on the bed.  He patted the duvet beside him. “Come.”

You came and sat beside him, anticipation making you shiver. Lin leaned over to you, his lips oh so close, and watched as you closed your eyes. 

He gave you a quick kiss on your lips and pulled you onto the bed with him.

His mouth laid ravage to yours and just as your senses went wild, he moved to pull your dress up. He stopped and smiled.  

You were only wearing the fuck me bra and no panties.

“You do wanna get fucked I see. How convenient.”

You just smiled back at him and clenched your thighs together. 

Him still being in his tux making you very wet.

Lin’s dark beauty was making you weak.

Lin continued to pull your dress over your arms, and you raised them to make it easier.  But somehow, the dress stopped over your eyes. 

You smiled before you panicked, thinking Lin was playing some cute little game.

You panicked when you realized the game wasn’t cute.

You realized the game wasn’t cute when you felt the cuffs go around your wrists and onto the bars of the bed.

“Lin?” 

You could only see his outline moving around as you struggled and tested the cuffs.

“This isn’t funny Lin!”  You were panicking.

“No. It’s not. But I told you what was going to happen.”

“What?”

Lin took your legs and spread them apart, you pulled them back together.  He slapped your thigh and pulled them apart again.

“Leave them open or I’ll get the spreader bar.”

Lin watched your lip tremble as kept your legs open, while also watching your slick drip down your folds. 

He smiled and leaned over, mouth near your ear.

“I’m going to keep my promise.”  You visibly trembled.  

“Do you want to watch, or not?  Your choice.”  

Lin’s hands were on your thighs now, slowly, too slowly moving up toward your apex. He stopped, thumbs about two inches away from your slit, and asked again.

“Well?”

You whimpered, wanting some kind of contact. Something to give you relief.

“I wanna see you Baby.  I wanna see you make me cum.”

You were trying it, and Lin shifted, lifting your dress and propping your head up with it as he shook his head at you.

“IF I make you cum.”

Lin returned to the exact position he was in, with this thumbs exactly two inches away from where you needed them to be.

“I need your words.  What’s your greenlight word?” 

Lin moved his hands a quarter of an inch closer and you tried not to move.  

“Banquo.” 

“Good girl. What about when you need to stop?”

You were getting anxious.  Safe word play was intense.

“Macduff.”

“Good girl. Where are we at now?” 

Lin was sliding his thumbs closer to your dripping heat. He was right there and you practically screeched, “Banquo, Banquo.”

“Gooooood girl.”  

Lin finished sliding both thumbs into you, circling and sliding them up and down your slit, bumping and teasing your clit, making you jump and whimper every time.  

He separated his hands and put one thumb on your puckered hole and one thumb in your pussy, rotating them, fucking one hole and teasing the other.

“After I eat you out, I should take your ass. Make you squirt all over the bed. But that would involve you cuming.  And I don’t know….”

“Fuckkkkk, Lin! I want you to feel how wet I am for you. C’mon. Please?”

“Keep begging.”

Your pussy fluttered around his hands and he slowly withdrew them, trailing your wetness down your thighs. 

He was edging you like you had all night. 

And he did. 

He sat back and watched you squirm, a soft smile on his lips.  He took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. He stared between your legs as he rolled up his sleeves. 

His fucking forearms were driving you crazy. Shit, you should not have been such a bitch.

“Damn, I would take a picture, but I have a specific purpose tonight. And I already have several in my collection.”

Lin was obsessed with your pussy. Absolutely obsessed.  It was his precious.  

He leaned in, his dark head obstructing your view as he oh so slowly licked a long stripe from your ass to your clit. You craned your neck to see him go to work.

“Unnnnnnnhhhhh.”  

You tried to capture his tongue with some kind of impossible pussy trick, but Lin held you fast to the bed.

He chuckled into your folds, and shook his head.  

“You’re hilarious.”  

Then, he opened his mouth wide and stuck his talented tongue as far in your pussy that it could go, his top lip capturing your clit.  

He reached up and grabbed your heaving breasts, squeezing them and rolling your perky erect nipples.

Lin was chowing down.  He fucked you with his tongue until you were about to come again, but stopped.  You groaned, and Lin was glad he’d soundproofed your bedroom.

“Lin. I’m sorry.  Let me cum, please. Please? This pussy is yours. See how you got me? Please. I don't care what you do to me. I want you to make me feel good. Only you can Lin."

He loved your begging and pleading.  He put his face in your place again, this time sucking and manipulating your clit until your legs started shaking violently. 

Your curses and moans only make him lick you faster.

Lin pushed your legs back apart and inserted a  finger inside you, expertly curling it, inexplicably telling you to come hither from inside your vaigna.

“NOW you want to communicate? Should have thought of that earlier.”

"Lin, its...." you breathed.

"Tell me."

Lin ordered, as he stopped what he was doing and wiped his face.

You were panting now,devastated by the loss of your orgasm, and coherent thought completely gone from your mind.

Lin reached out and rubbed your clit again. He leaned over and drew it between his lips, sucking it and making you see stars this time. 

All of a sudden, he stopped sucking and gently, very gently, slapped it. Then, he inserted two fingers from behind while he slapped your clit. It was very intense.

You yelped loudly and had to open your mouth in order to breathe. Your heart was beating so fast.

"Fuck! This pussy is so pretty.”

He started alternately lightly slapping and licking your clit this time. And he stopped every so often to let you come back from the brink. 

Each time he would stop, you would moan louder and louder. The first time he stopped his shirt came off, the third, his pants.

"Lin! I'm going crazy!" 

"But you taste and feel and look so fucking good. I don't know if I ever want to leave where I am right now." 

Lin had stopped and started stroking himself.

“Except…”

You watched him stroke and had to close your eyes. 

Lin shifted and started stroking his tip at your entrance. You were panting so hard you could hardly breathe.

You wiggled your hips and Lin stopped all movement, causing you to whine and pull on the cuffs, causing your breasts to jiggle.

He leaned over, pulled your breasts from the cups of the lace cups, and captured one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your nipple then biting down on it.

You were so overstimulated that this new sensation almost sent you over the edge. Yet again.

You were losing hope of getting satisfaction and started keening. 

“Lin! Pleaseeee!”

This time the desperation in your voice triggered mercy. 

And the way you were coming apart for him triggered his lust.

He continued to suck both nipples brutally until you were arching off the bed, and when he slapped your clit again, plunging two fingers inside you that curled to your spot, you came, hard, squirting all over him and the bed.

“Yes, give me all you got. Such a good girl.”

You trembled as he slid inside, and your body came alive again as he slipped in and out of you. 

You could feel every ridge and vein on his huge, hard cock as he lit you up from the inside out. 

You gripped him so good, despite the wetness, that he had to concentrate.

Lin moaned and kissed your pulse point as he felt your walls clench around him.

“So fucking good…so tight and wet… fuck.”

You struggled to catch your breath and Lin leaned up to lift up your ass, pulling your pelvis up to meet him on his knees.

“You feel so good. Make me want to come so bad baby. Take this dick.”

He stroked and stroked until he felt you quivering again.

“Do you like how that feels? Do you like how I’m fucking you?”

“FUCK! Yes Lin. Oh fuck yes. I love it. I want it all.”

“Pussy. Feels… so fucking… goooood.”

His thumb found your clit again. The pleasure built up in your body, your eyes rolled back into your head, and it was game over.

Lin came as you screamed and milked his cock dry. 

It was perfect.

Next thing you knew, Lin was unlocking the cuffs, sitting you up and massaging your shoulders. He led you into the bathroom where the whirlpool tub was halfway full.

You hadn’t realized that you were out for a few minutes.

Lin put your hair up while the tub kept filling.

You climbed into the tub, and Lin climbed in behind you, gathering you in his arms.

You relaxed as he took care of you, his hands soothing your exhausted body.

You floated off to sleep in the warm water surrounded by Lin, the brat in you tamed. 

For the moment.

——

Tagging: @theatrenerd86 @sebastianabucknettastan @imatyoursurrvicesurr @riiyy @ivycomet @lonelydance @jbrizzywrites @ohsoverykeri @curtainremote @delaber @honeysucklechocolatedrippin

#lin manuel miranda x reader #lin manuel miranda #lin manuel x reader #lin manuel miranda smut #lin x reader #lin manuel miranda imagine #lin smut #lin manuel #Lin Sin #ask dj #100 smut prompts #Happy Birthday Tee! 🎉

[tendouluvr]

hq!! dads and their kids singing a cartoon’s theme song

- characters: bokuto, hinata

- warnings: none but in hinata’s it talks abt doctors and medical procedures but it’s all fake and just toys (doc mcstuffins)

- wc: 1k, 839

a/n: thought of this in the shower,,, lots to think abt

BOKUTO : sofia the first

#! noooo he has twins u cannot tell me otherwise

#! little twin girls,, they both have his pepper colored hair

#! one has shorter hair, she likes to keep it shoulder length

#! the other one is “growing her hair out so daddy can practice doing hair”

#! not her words, it’s bokuto’s words

#! you were out doing some quick errands, leaving all three kids at home alone

#! bokuto just finished showering the girls and they both ran out of the restroom with little towels wrapped around them before he could grab their clothes

#! a chase ensues and very loud high pitched giggles could be heard from both of them as they run around while keeping their tiny hand on their towel so it doesn’t fall off

#! “i’m gonna get cha~!!!” bokuto sings as he walks around the house, following their giggles that just keeps getting louder

#! they think they’re being quiet, but sadly bokuto’s their daddy :((

#! bokuto tries not to laugh when he hears them shushing at each other to be quiet even though they were both making noises

#! “hmm where could they be..?” he feigns ignorance while walking back and forth in front of the curtains they hid behind

#! his daughters behind the curtains: 😦

#! “found ya!” he yanks the curtains to the side and they both screamed as he wraps his arms around them to keep them in place

#! another fit of giggles comes from the twins while bokuto chuckles, chest rumbling against them making them laugh even more because it tickles

#! “can we weh pwincess, daddy?” the one with shorter hair mumbled against his arm

#! the other quickly agrees with her sister and excitedly hits bokuto’s other arm while beaming up at him, “bwaid!!!!”

#! he pretends to think about it until they both were clinging onto his arm to shake him before he laughs and opens his arms to let them go get their dresses

#! he follows behind them into their room to see them standing in their closet looking for their dresses

#! after they found it and he helped them put it on, they each grabbed a hand and hurriedly pulls him out to the living room

#! the one with shorter hair lets go to look for the tv remote and the one with longer hair pulls him towards the couch

#! she makes him sit down and she stands in between his legs, both of her tiny hands resting on each of his knees, with her hair facing him

#! “you want braid, angel?” he asks while tucking her hair behind her ears

#! she doesn’t turn around but gives him quick nods so he gets to work

#! now, bokuto’s been practicing his braiding skills. he started out terribly, there were knots, loose strands of hair, and tying it off was so hard :((( why does it keep getting looser as he’s trying to tie it </33

#! but now he’s still not that good, BUT the braids are more composed and he can tie them without ruining the final look :))

#! good job bo

#! he feels the remote hit his arm and looks up to see his daughter staring at him, which makes him laugh

#! “what funny?” she pouts making him laugh harder

#! she huffs when he doesn’t say anything and holds out the remote to him

#! “sofia the firsht, daddy,” giving him a toothy grin

#! “what’s the magic word!!!,” he grabs the remote from her but does not turn the tv on

#! her eyebrows furrow as she stares at him with one side of her hip leaning against the couch, “..pwease?”

#! he gives her a big kiss on her forehead while mumbling a, “good job, princess.” and turns the tv on

#! he goes onto youtube and searches for the ‘sofia the first’ theme song

#! right when the song starts, he was immediately pulled off of the couch by his twin daughters taking him by surprise

#! bokuto stumbles onto his feet, trying to find his balance before his hands were grabbed again and the girls started jumping around

#! his loud laugh could be heard from outside and little giggles could be heard following it as they all bounced around in a circle

#! the twins took turns singing parts of the short song and bokuto joins in when he hears them stuttering over their words

#! “daddy!! can we get pet cwackle?” he heard his daughters asking below him

#! “pet dragon?! of course we can!” he cheers while bending down to pick them up, both girls on each arms

#! “what’s that about a pet dragon?” your voice comes from the doorway and their heads quickly turned to look at you

#! the twins squirm around in his arms to get off so they could run to you

#! bokuto lets them down and you suddenly get ambushed by two mini bokutos while the big one is right on their tails

#! bokuto’s big body drapes itself over you, practically encasing all three of you into his arms

#! his face is in your neck and you feel the girls’ faces smushed against your thighs

#! “daddy said we get ‘wagon!!” one of them excitedly tells you with her hands moving around to show how big the dragon was going to be

#! “a wagon?” you pretend to not understand making her pout with furrowed brows

#! “no! pet ‘wagon!!!! daddy said pet ‘wagon.”

#! “it’s pet dwagon, not ‘wagon,” the other one subtly rolls her eyes at her sister, making both you and bokuto raise an eyebrow at her action

#! “where’d she learn that?” you mumbled so only he could hear and you felt him shrug against your body

#! “dunno, probably uncle omi,” he chuckles into your ear, sending shivers down your spine

#! you push him off for making you feel ticklish, but he caught the smile on your face before looking down at the girls

#! one of them looks up at him and he picks her up to walk to the couch while the other was talking your ears off about a pet dragon, but somewhere along the way her words got jumbled and she lost you lmao

#! you picked her up to walk to the couch, settling against bokuto’s side with her laying on you

#! bokuto turns on a playlist full of ‘sofia the first’ episodes and you guys let the twins watch while laying on their parents as you both softly talk to each other about your day and tonight’s dinner

HINATA : doc mcstuffins

#! hinata’s little boy likes to help people so ‘doc mcstuffins’ easily became one of his top shows

#! his tiny, slightly tilted mop of orange hair could be seen in front of the tv majority of the time during his play time

#! for christmas, he was gifted a doc mcstuffins play set with the tiny white coat and everything

#! whenever hinata had a day off, he would spend his day playing with his kid by pretending to be a patient

#! you guys have considered the possibility of your child growing up to be a doctor seeing that he loves to help people feel better

#! OMG and if hinata happens to get one of his sudden fevers that prevents him from playing, his son would try to fix him up but because hinata’s actually sick he can’t keep going near him 😭😭

#! so his son is just persistent on helping and hinata is just laying in bed hiding under the blanket, which is super hot and making him sweat like balls

#! “dada, why no play?” his head is tilted to the side with a curious look and his hands are up like his shoulders are shrugging, a tiny pout on his lips at his dad who was hiding from him under the blanket

#! “it’s because i’m sick, bubby.” he hears his dad muffled grumbling

#! “but ‘m doctor!!!!! i can giveyu check up!” his chubby little hands raise up in excitement

#! “nooo, i’m sick for real. if you keep touching me you might get sick too. i love you, but please go play with your stuffies instead, baby.” by this point, he lifted the blanket off of himself to talk directly to his son whose hand was holding onto the fake stethoscope around his neck

#! “ok, daddy. i go, but wait here!” he quickly runs off before hinata could say something and a few seconds later, the kid’s fast like his dad, he’s already running back into the room holding a stuffie

#! “here you go! she better doctor so she can make you good fast, daddy,” a shy smile on his face as he hands hinata his small doc mcstuffins plushie

#! hinata lets out a laugh at his antics before taking the doll and hugging it to his chest

#! “thank you, bub. go play now, i love you.”

#! “lub you too!!!!” he squeals as he runs out of the room

#! ANYWAY back to the actual scenario, so it was hinata’s day off and he was currently laying on the couch with a fake blood pumping cuff around his arm that was dangling off of the couch

#! small mumbling could be heard from his son who was quietly talking to himself as he looks around in his doctor chest

#! “am i doing good, doc?” hinata asks him to keep the scenario going

#! his head quickly moves up to look at hinata with wide eyes, “you scared me!” he giggles making hinata giggle along with him

#! “i need to see doctor b’cuz i forgot what to do.. can you turn it on?” he hands hinata the remote

#! without replying, he turns on ‘doc mcstuffins’ and as soon as the theme song plays his son jumps up and his eyes were glued onto the screen

#! “hey, scoot back a lil before you go blind!” hinata slightly raises his voice to get his attention

#! once he’s concentrated on something, he tunes out everything around him

#! hinata knew his son heard him when he saw his bum make the tiniest movements to scoot itself back, he thought it was still kind of close but shrugged it off

#! the mini hinata was bobbing his head side to side, eyes sparkling, and mouth moving along with the words

#! halfway through the song, he hurriedly gets up from the floor to make his way over to his dad who had his eyes closed

#! when hinata heard his small voice singing along to the song, he opens an eye to look up at his son

#! a big smile made its way onto his face and as his son is pretending to pump his daddy’s blood pressure and checking his heartbeat, he also started to whisper along with the song

#! the voice caught his son’s attention and he looks up at his dad before taking his tiny hands to smoosh hinata’s cheeks together

#! they both giggled and the boy crawled up onto the couch to straddle hinata’s waist

#! “dada, you look funny,” he giggles even more then begin poking hinata’s cheeks with a finger

#! “hmm, is that a good thing?” hinata tries to speak but it sounded muffled from his squished cheeks

#! “no!” he gives him a toothy grin as he giggles even louder, finding the situation funny and thinking he was the funniest comedian out there

#! hinata rolls his eyes before grabbing his son by the waist and rolling him over so he was laying on his side

#! hugging him from behind, hinata gives him a gentle peck on the side of his head before turning up the volume on the tv

#it wouldve just kept haunting me unless i wrote it #guys.. dad hinata do we talk abt this enuff #written with love - ar #hinata shōyō #hinata shouyou #hinata scenarios #hinata imagine #hinata fluff #bokuto scenarios #bokuto imagine #bokuto fluff #bokuto koutarou #bokuto kōtarō #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu headcanons #hinata headcanons #hinata hcs #bokuto headcanons #bokuto hcs