#They’ve split up morning crew

[solsays]

with qMike waking up and ccFit dropping hints to big angst lore at the end of the month and ccPac saying he’s sorry for people rooting for hideduo and qRoier being turned into a fucking rat it’s so jover guys

but I will continue to ignore canon as I have been for the last three months and force the cubitos to be happy in my silly little writing and art

#qsmp #qsmp fitmc #fitmc #hideduo #pactw #qsmp pac #fitpac #qsmp fandom #qsmpblr #qsmp mike #mikethelink #qsmp mikethelink #qsmp lore #brb sobbing #like wow #can’t have shit on this island #They’ve turned Roier into a rat #They’ve split up morning crew #Fit is being Fit #Phil is doing LORE #What am I supposed to hyperfocus on for dopamine now Quackity?!?!?!

[ceilidho]

prompt: ghost works on an oil rig. he meets reader during his osha mandated 2 weeks off. (ns/fw)

-

Ghost experiences time like a sudden swarming of locusts. Absolutely devastating for a period, and then silence, just him to observe the aftermath of the wreckage. 

Work on an offshore oil rig is split into shifts of two weeks on, two weeks off. During his two weeks on, he spends his near twelve-hour shifts in constant motion, muscles aching to the point of fatigue, to the point of giving out where he lugs tools and parts across the rig. He contorts himself into all manner of positions for quick and long repairs, breaking his back day in and day out because that is what work expects of him. What he expects of himself. 

Lying motionless in his bed, the sound of Soap’s snoring from the bunk over him the only thing half-resembling a lullaby. Hours before sleep falls on him, and then suddenly it’s day again, opening grit-crusted eyes to the bottom of Soap’s bunk, metal and leather straps across the underside, and then he’s up and down the halls that are never big enough for him. He wakes up ravenous, never full. Hungering always.

It takes nearly a full three days onshore to get his bearings; he never quite loses his sealegs. 

Foam-topped beer at his local pub. That’s how Ghost fills his days off; the rest of his crew flock off to their families, some into the warm arms of whatever casual arrangement they’ve got going on outside of the rig. For Ghost, he finds solace in counting down the minutes until his OSHA mandated period of rest is over and it’s time to head back. 

There’s nothing waiting for him outside of the rig. Family home long since burned to the ground. He won’t even let his mind turn to the family in it. 

He’s on the fifth day of his union-enforced leave, hunched over the bar like usual and picking away at an order of fish and chips when he happens to look up and catch sight of you. You’re chattering away at the other end of the room, dressed like one of the waitresses. 

You’re new. Ghost learns as much when he turns to the bartender—an old friend of his, though he’d call him less of a friend and more of a familiar face that’s come to know his name after the years he’s spent at this particular pub—and it’s said like it’s a novelty. It is. New faces are rare in towns like this, working class towns far off from any big city. It’s the same reason he hasn’t fallen into bed with anyone in too many years to count, not when he sees the same old faces whenever he touches land.

With you though, it’s different. Ghost keeps an eye on you while he nurses his pint. It’s not hard to catch your eye; you’re new and keen and curious and when your eyes rove over the crowd that grows as night outside deepens, it’s impossible to skip over the shape of him. His line of work has shaped him into something strong and solid; linebacker-size, a condition of which is to never feel comfortable on any chair. 

Your eyes go wide for all of a second, betraying you. Momentarily desirous. Ghost sees it and feels it stir in him for once in years. No longer the perfunctory thing to be dealt with in the bathroom every morning after waking up, one calloused hand wrapped around his thick length, grunting with his release and then washing his hands off before getting started with the day’s errands. 

Ghost waits until he’s nearly at the end of his glass before stepping from his chair, heading out the front door. Before he exits, he makes sure to catch eyes with you again, something significant passing between the two of you. 

Cigarette in an alleyway beside the pub. Taking the glove off his hand so he can feel the cig between his fingers, feel the ash flake off past his knuckles. He’s leaning against the brick wall when you come out, apron tied demurely around your waist. 

It’s you that breaks the silence first. “Hi—haven’t seen you around before.”

He stares into your eyes for a spell, taking another pull before he tosses the butt to the ground, snuffing it out under his boot. “Wouldn’t imagine you had.”

You take a couple steps closer, despite yourself. Despite the fact that you know what you’re broadcasting, the way you look up at him from under your lashes, cheeks dusted with a blush that’s hardly visible in the dim light but for the way you make it obvious with the rest of you. 

“I just moved into town a couple days ago. Guess I’ll see you around more often—Gaz said you’re a regular.”

“‘Spose you could say that.” Time feels molasses slow for once; Ghost feels the edge of his lip curl up into something half-resembling a grin, in another time. “Don’t suppose you’re off for the night, are ya?” 

Your legs around his waist are softer than anything he’s touched in years. It’s a near revelation. There’s something in him that grows frantic when he finally has you on your back on his navy sheets; the sparseness of his bedroom hardly seems worthy of having you in it, but he won’t pass up the opportunity. His eyes go half-lidded when he gets between your legs, tongue flicking over your clit and laving over you from hole to hole. Greedy for it. 

His head spins when he finally slots himself over you and pumps into the soft warmth between your legs. The little bitten off noises, kitten-like moans that get trapped behind your teeth. Your arms are snaked around his neck, tightening like your pussy around his cock. His big hands clutch at your ass, squeezing into the flesh there; everything so soft. 

“None of that, love,” Ghost grunts into your neck, sucking dark bruises into the softness there. Hoping they flare bright in the morning light. “Want you loud. Gonna imagine this every time I’m alone and hard on the rig. Perfect little cunt.”

When he makes you come, fingers rubbing at your clit until you squeak, nails digging into the muscle of his back, it burns into his memory. Time stilling for once, segmented only by your quick breaths in. 

For the first time in longer than he can remember, his time off-shore can’t be long enough.

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost/reader #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ceil writing #dont ask where im getting the energy to write this much itll vanish soon

[earthry]

Mafia Papas (Mafia AU Headcanons)

I couldn’t stop thinking about what if the papas were mafia bosses and maybe the Emeritus family’s territory is so big that they had to split it into four, one for each papa.

tw: mentions of violence and murder, sexual themes and content— just a little spicy, f!reader.

disclaimer: this is all fictional and romanticized, not at all reflective of what actual mafia life/people are like. plus my knowledge is absolutely not accurate this is all just for fun!

Primo

He’s not as hands on as he used to be in his youth— these days his ghouls do more of the work with him controlling the puppet strings behind the scene. You spend your days with him in a lavish estate with a beautiful growing garden that you both tend to.

The area you live in is known to be difficult to grow things, so you often get comments wondering how you managed to make the soil fertile enough. It’s probably all the bodies rotting in the backyard but you don’t tell them that.

Sometimes Primo hosts parties in the courtyard just to watch you flourish, fluttering around as others orbit around you. The life of the party. At the end of the day however he always makes sure everyone knows who you belong to.

“Dolcezza, would you like another glass of wine? Mm, yes you look very beautiful today. Beautiful and all mine, si? Good girl.”

Secondo

More hands on then Primo, works out of a night club as a front. You started as a dancer but now, as Secondo’s lover and beloved, you needn’t worry about anything else. Most nights are spent at Secondo’s side as he chats with business associates and plays cards, either curled against him or nestled in his lap. No one pays any mind to you— they’ve already learned long ago the danger of doing so.

Has a possessive streak and loves to have you wear things of his. Whether it be his jacket or shirt or even a watch, as long as you have something of his he’s usually satisfied. You bring up the subject of maybe getting a tattoo with his name or crest and he’s immediately chubbed up to full mast (good thing it was just the two of you in his office).

You move in to his large condo with large windows and a beautiful view of the cityscape and learn that he has a weakness for making love with you pinned against the windowpane. Whining with need and pleasure as the the neon lights of bustling city below illuminate your form. Laid bare for anyone who might happen to look up.

“Do you like that, tesoro? Do you like knowing the whole world can see you like this for me? I’m the only one who can reduce you to this, cara. No one else.”

Terzo

Loves to flex his power through dramatic appearances and is definitely the kind of monologue for a good hour to his victims before finally getting to business. He often has Omega stand beside him because of how intimidating the ghoul is.

When you first meet him at the coffee shop you work at, you are not impressed and he is immediately smitten. He visits almost every morning and orders drinks for both him and his ghouls for two months straight until you finally agree to a date.

For your first year anniversary Terzo goes all out, booking a cruise to the most exotic places he could think of. Of course you don’t know that 90% of the crew and passengers are linked directly to the mafia. He’d never put you on a cruise full of mostly strangers, it’d be too dangerous.

Loves dressing you in jewels and expensive gowns and showing you off. The two of you definitely have a few matching sets of suits and dresses that compliment each other perfectly.

“Let me help you with that zipper, amore mio. Fuck you’re gorgeous. Can’t wait to take this off you later.”

Copia

Out of all the brothers, he’s definitely seen the most fights. To him, it doesn’t feel right to have his ghouls go out to do the dirty work while he sits behind a desk or goes have fun somewhere else. To him, the mafia is family. While he may be the boss, he treats his members fairly and like equals. He’s earned a lot of loyalty as a result, even from those that may not have been on their side at first.

Out of all his brothers, everyone had expected him to fail because of how timid and anxious he was growing up. He can still be awkward and anxious but when his family’s lives are on the line? When your life is on the line? He’ll show no mercy, no remorse.

He worships you, absolutely adores you. Buys the cutest little house because he knows you’ll love it. There’s plenty of extra room for your rats and for a mafia boss you’ve never seen anyone coo or baby talk animals quite like him.

Nothing gets Copia harder than the idea of you being his little housewife waiting at home for him. It’s the dream he never thought he’d have. Of course, you’re way more than that to him; you have your own job and career too. But whenever he comes home to a home cooked meal and open arms, you’d better expect to eat the food cold cause the first thing he’ll wanna do is rail you again the kitchen counter.

“Fuck that smells good, dolcezza. You’re so good to me, how about you let me be good to you? Let me show you my thanks, si?”

#the band ghost #copia #terzo #secondo #ghost band #ghost bc #primo #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus iii x female reader #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iii #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus iv x female reader #papa emeritus x reader #headcanons #omega ghost #omega ghoul #ghoul #the nameless ghouls #mafia au #papa copia #probably the spiciest i’ll ever get

[thora-jane]

Poncho (pt. i/?)

Told y’all I’d be back. I really don’t know how long this’ll be, but I started writing it. We’ll see where this takes us.

Summary: years after the Mantis’s crew splits up, you’re still with Greez on Koboh. But when disaster strikes, your quiet life may be disrupted.

Wordcount: 1698

warnings: Cannon-typical violence, light swearing, vague angst, some spoilers for Jedi Survivor

Koboh sunrises never got old. Not to you. Walking along the trail in the morning had become a habit, a ritual. Your day didn’t start until after you had walked the perimeter of the little prospecting town you had spent the past few years at. You never had much to say about Koboh, but you liked the peace it brought. And over the years you had earned the respect of those that called that place home. It was you who circled Rambler’s Reach every morning and took care of any bramlik or gorger problem, or heaven forbid the occasional gorocco or rancor. And when the Bedlam Raiders got a little too close to the edge of town, it was you who took your blaster and quickly taught them to stay away if they knew what was good for them.

What you had going for you was a life. An honest life. A respectable life. 

A quiet life. A lonely life. 

Someone had to take care of Greez. Keep him out of trouble. That’s what you told yourself at least. You two had been on your own for years. Ever since everyone else had broken off and gone in their own direction, you two stayed side-by-side. And after he lost his arm, you knew you weren’t going to go anywhere without him. 

“Hey kid,” He greeted over his shoulder as you made your way down the steps of the saloon, “How’s it lookin’ out there?” 

“Not much. Couple of bramliks. But no one hurt. Just a few startled boglins,” you slouched into the stool next to him as he slid over a plate of food, “Weather’s great though.”

“What is it with you and boglins? We stop back at Bogano once and you bring back a whole heard of them.” He rolled his eyes and threw his hands over his head, “Next thing you know I can’t go outside without stepping in boglin droppings. And who’s fault is that?”

You let out a breath just shy of a laugh, “What you don’t think they’re cute?”

“Oh sure! They were cute back on Bogano. But why’d you have to take ‘em with us?” He kept talking, his voice trailing off as he wandered out of earshot. 

You chuckled to yourself. Greez didn’t need you half as much as you needed him. You were pretty sure he knew that too, though neither of you ever said it. You did your best not to think about the life you too had lead before you settled in Koboh. The things you left behind. The places you were avoiding.

The people you were hiding from.

Yes, the galaxy needed help. It needed help real bad. But the folks here needed help too. And maybe you were no great jedi, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t help and defend this town.

You finished up the rest of your food and headed down to the quarters to two of you shared. With the morning here and the day beginning, it was time for you to venture out a little further from town.

“-And their fur? Oh don’t get me started! You can’t do anything with it. But those little wispy hairs get everywhere!” Greez began swatting at his mouth with all four hands, pretending to spit. You strode right past him on the steps.

“Yeah but you can’t beat the way they curl up on your lap,” You reasoned, reaching for your wide brimmed hat from the post by your bunk.

“Wait, they do that? They’ve never done that with me! How come they do that with you?” He threw one set of hands in the air while resting the other on his hips.

“Because they like me.” You smirked again, settling your hat atop your head, “I’m heading out.”

“Wherever you’re going, be careful. The-”

“The Bedlam Raiders are acting up again? I know. Why else do you think I’m heading out?” You spun around, walking backwards so you could look at him, lifting up the panel of fabric to reveal an old blaster, “Someone’s gotta keep ‘em in their place.”

“Just don’t get hurt out there, kid.” Greez sighed as you spun back around and took the stairs two at a time. 

***

“Heya.” Mosey greeted, “fixin to head out again?”

You didn’t say anything, just nodded, pulling the brim of your hat down a bit more to shield your face. You wandered over to Phenny, the Nekko that had taken a liking to you. You grabbed the quaterstaff you kept in Phenny’s stall and slipped it in the saddle holster in silence You adjusted the saddle before hopping on, patting it’s neck and letting it know to start moving. 

“Stay safe out there, Poncho.” Mosey smiled.

“Thanks,” You mumbled before Phenny took off. 

Poncho. It was true that you didn’t care much for talking to anyone in the last few years. But for the people of Rambler’s Reach, that suited them just fine. You didn’t want to share your name? Fair enough. You’ll just have to learn to respond to their new name for you. The whole town wasn’t going to call you kid. That was reserved for Greez alone. Instead, they went for much lower hanging fruit. Poncho. Not the most creative nickname, but there wasn’t anyone else in town dressed like you, so everyone knew who was being referred to. ‘Cause who else wore the same poncho every damn day?

Which you probably wouldn’t have minded if the poncho had actually been yours.

You hunched down, motioning for Phenny to run faster along Koboh’s rocky ridges. 

Breathe, you thought to yourself, just breathe. It was what you reminded yourself every time you felt trouble creeping inside your mind. But today felt particularly challenging. You didn’t know why, but something about the air just felt…off. 

You and Phenny traveled up along the cliffside, slowly approaching where the tar pits began to flow. If this had been a mission like you had done in years past, you would have been here as fast as possible. But life on Koboh was smaller than the galaxy. The raiders were rising more each day, but life moved a little slower. And when it came to stopping them, it was better to take your time than rush.

 You hopped off your Nekko and tied him up to the nearby tree, safely hidden in the shrubbery. From your point along the ridge you could see scattered clusters of the raiders and their droids below. Nothing you couldn’t handle from a distance, though.

Breathe you repeated to yourself as you got down on your belly in the dirt and crawled up the the edge of the cliff, slowly pulling out your blaster and closing your eyes.

“Let go of the tension and fear your mind holds. Let go of your surroundings, free your mind and allow each blast to be guided towards the target,” You couldn’t go a round of Raider Pushback without repeating what Cere had told you when you first learned how to use a blaster. And ever since then, your aim had been near perfect. Not that you had ever bragged, swearing instead that it had been the blaster you used, not your own doing.

After a moment, you opened your eyes. The smell of blaster smoke filled your nostrils, and out across the cliff you could see the remnants of clankers and commando droids. Quickly getting to your feet and grabbing your staff from your side, you began your next phase of pushback.

You called it deflection practice. Greez called it stupid. The raiders didn’t call it anything. How could they? They never had a chance to.

Holding your staff in both your hands, poised and ready for whatever blasts were shot your way. You watched as the three raiders scrambled to draw your blasters. 

Let go of the tension and fear your mind holds

*ping* A blast hit your pole as you shifted your grip, feeling the vibrations in your palm as you ricocheted the blast back towards the shooter, landing it as he dropped dead.

Free your mind. Allow each blat to be guided toward your target

*ping* The next blast ricocheted and hit its shooter

You’re one of the greatest shots I know, (y/n). The force will always be with you wherever you go.

You let your mind wander too far, out to where it shouldn’t have gone. His voice echoed in your head. Before you could regain your grip, you heard the blast whiz past your staff and scorch the poncho you had on. You felt yourself drop and roll to the ground, reaching for your blaster and shooting the raider square in the head before they had another chance to fire.

That was all you could do for today. Any more and there could be grounds for an ambush on the outpost. You rolled over onto your back, removing your hat and looking up at the sky. It had been forever since you let your memories get the best of you like that. His voice felt louder than it had been in the past, it was like you could feel him close to you again. And you had let it get the better of you. Which was stupid, because you got shot. And if you weren’t careful you’d get shot again. And next time you might not be so lucky.

Phenny stirred over in the brush, pulling you away from your self-reprimands. As you sat up, something in the sky caught your eye. You quickly put your hat back on and squinted up towards the clouds, just in time to see an all-too-familiar ship come flying down and landing on the other side of the tar pits.

“You gotta be shitting me.” You mumbled to yourself, scrambling to untie Phenny and ride back to Rambler’s Reach at break-neck speed.

You hated to say it, but it had to have been the Mantis. And given the shape it was in, it must’ve been in need of repairs. Which meant only one thing.

If you dodn’t hide fast enough, you were about to see Cal Kestis for the first time in years.

(a/n) and that’s all we have for now! I’ll try to write more as often as I can. But make sure you drink some water, eat a snack or something, and maybe get up and stretch if you can. Thanks for reading! Love yas<3

#thora's late night thoughts #thora’s trying her best #<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3 #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #jedi survivor #jedi fallen order

[archangeldyke-all]

chapter 3 of my big fic coming out on the 24th as a final little teaser for all my readers <3 :)

men and minors dni

Your first month at The Last Drop is spent healing. You spend a lot of time with Jinx, coloring and listening to her chatter. You spend a lot of time polishing glasses and watering down liquor bottles at the bar on off hours. You spend a lot of time alone, in the silent corners of the giant building that is Silco’s headquarters. 

You become fast friends with Lock, the giant tattooed man. He’s got a killer sense of humor, and most of his job consists of looking tough outside of Silco’s office. So when you’ve got nothing better to do, you’ll go visit him to chat. You get to know the names of the rest of the crew too. 

Theriam works behind the bar. He’s a cool guy so long as you don’t make a mess on the bar top. Ran-- or as you and Lock call them, Bangs-- is a savant with numbers, geometry, and angles. They’ve never lost a pool game, they’ve never made an incorrect mental calculation, they’ve never missed a target, and they have a photographic memory. They also love karaoke, a fact you and Lock were delighted to find out one late night after the three of you split a bottle of bourbon. Singed is Silco’s doctor and shimmer guy, always tinkering away in his lab, playing with his various creatures. Deckard spends most of his time with Singed acting as a human guinea pig, trying out variants of the drug. And Sevika. 

You don’t know anything about Sevika. From time to time you see her walking out of Silco’s office, but you’ve never spoken. She’s quiet and gruff, and she avoids you like the plague. You think maybe she was really emotionally attached to the boots you barfed on or something. 

You’re often put on what’s referred to amongst the crew as ‘Jinx duty.’ You seem to be the only one who can tolerate her besides Ran and Lock. She’s a cute kid-- if a little disturbed. You haven’t figured out the full story about how she ended up in Silco’s care, but you get the gist. Orphaned children aren’t as rare as they should be in Zaun. You take her quirks in stride, or at least you try to. She seems to like you, though, so that’s all that matters. 

Silco’s headquarters are big enough to house the whole crew. Singed and Deckard stay in the basement where the lab is. Lock, Ran and Theriam have rooms on the ground floor, behind the bar. Silco and Jinx have their quarters on the second floor in the east wing, and you’ve been staying in the west. Your room is sparse. A mattress on the ground, a dresser and bookshelf opposite it. You’ve managed to buy yourself new clothes and a few books but besides that, the room is empty. The green stained glass that lines the far wall is your favorite feature. You love watching people wander in and out of the bar all night, love watching the citizens of Zaun live their lives from your perch. You’ve started pinning up some of Jinx’s drawings on your walls to liven up the space. 

You don’t know where Sevika stays. You think maybe she has her own place. 

Once you get the all clear from Singed that your ribs won’t puncture your lungs if you move too vigorously, you start getting daily assignments. You get to join the rest of the crew in Silco’s office each morning as he gives out commands. Most of your assignments are Jinx related. You’re starting to suspect you’ve been hired as a nanny. You aren’t complaining. 

Today, you and Jinx spent the day practicing self defense skills. Silco was adamant that she practice once a week, much to her dismay. “I just don’t get why I have to learn fighting with my hands when I can fight with guns and stuff.” She’d said. 

“Tell you what… You do all your practice without complaining and I’ll teach you how to properly hold a knife.” You said. She agreed eagerly. After her hand to hand practice, an oath that she wouldn’t snitch to Silco on you for giving her a knife, and some basic grip practice, Jinx got bored and decided she wanted to color in your room. You agreed with a shrug. 

“Do you ever talk to dead people?” Jinx asks you suddenly. You look up from your drawing of a dinosaur. 

“Not anymore.” You say with a shrug. She looks up at you. 

“You used to?” 

“When I was about your age, yeah.” You say. She hums. 

“Who’d you talk to?” She asks. You gulp. 

“Uh, my parents mostly. My baby brothers, sometimes.” 

“You had brothers?” 

“Yeah. They were twins.”

“Cool!” She says. “Twins are super freaky!” You laugh. “I wish I had a twin. You know they have telepathy?”

“I think that’s just a myth.”

“No way.” Jinx says. “They totally do.” She returns to her drawing, humming. 

“Who do you talk to?” 

“My brothers. Sometimes Vander.” 

“‘S that your dad?”

“No, I don’t remember my parents.” Jinx says. Your heart breaks for the poor kid. She’s clearly been through a lot. “Look!” She says, holding her paper up for you to examine. Two stick figures are framed by a rainbow of squiggles. 

“You and Silco?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Nice. I like your hair in this one.” You say, pointing to the blue spikes sprouting from picture-Jinx’s head. “Where’s the rest of the crew?” You ask. Jinx pulls her page back and scribbles away to squeeze in some more figures. You watch in amusement as she draws. Ten minutes later, she finishes, turning her drawing around for your inspection. You laugh at the additional figures she’s added.

You can identify Singed and Deckard by the purple squiggles on their skin. Ran’s bangs make them easy to spot. The figure holding a bottle is obviously Theriam, the one with a red splotch on her neck is you. You particularly admire Jinx’s choice to color Lock’s tattoos green. You point to a figure with horns. “Who’s that one?” You ask. 

“Sevika, duh.” She says. You laugh. 

“What’s with the horns?” 

“She’s evil.” Jinx whispers to you. You chuckle. 

“What makes you say that? Silco likes her.” 

“She hates me. She’s mean. She calls me ‘booger brains.’” You snort. “It’s not funny!” Jinx screeches. 

“Sorry, sorry.” You say. “You should show that one to Silco. He’s gonna wanna hang it up.” You say. 

“You think!?” Jinx asks, excited. You nod. She launches to her feet and takes off. You laugh as her little footsteps fade away as she runs to the other side of the building. 

You slowly push yourself off the ground to follow after Jinx, your sides aching. You shuffle out of your room and start down the hall. When you finally catch up to her, she’s already standing beside where Silco sits at his desk, shoving her drawing in his face. He’s enamored, pointing to various figures on the page and listening to Jinx’s explanation of who they were meant to be. You smile from outside the office at the sweet family scene. Behind you, someone scoffs. 

You whip around. Sevika’s looming behind you, watching the pair with a grimace. 

“Hi.” You say. Sevika’s eyes flick to you, then back to Silco and Jinx. 

“We’ve got a meeting.” She gruffs out, not looking at you. 

“Oh. Cool.” You say. She scoffs again. 

“You stupid or something?” She asks. You freeze. 

“Sorry?” 

“Go do your job and get the brat to scram so we can get to our meeting!” Sevika says. You blink in shock. 

“My--wha--you--” You start, trying to figure out where to even begin with a reply to her demand. “You do it!” You spit out. Sevika finally looks at you. “You’re his personal assistant, you’re the one who’s gotta keep him on schedule.” You say. 

“I’m not his fucking personal assistant.” Sevika growls, taking a step toward you. “You’re fucking lucky you’re--”

“Sevika!” Silco calls out from his office. Sevika freezes, two inches from your face, her face in a scowl. “Come in, we have to go over these numbers before our meeting.” She growls, then turns, hip checking Jinx when she passes her. Jinx grunts and stumbles, then turns around to stick her tongue out at Sevika. Sevika flips her off. 

“Did you see that?!” Jinx asks you, scandalized. Sevika rolls her eyes. 

“Jinx, Sevika, please. Some civility.” Silco grumbles, massaging his temples. 

“She pushed me!” Jinx exclaims. 

“If I pushed you, you’d be flat on your tiny ass.” Sevika snaps. Silco rubs his temples.

“Come on Jinx. Let’s go see what kinda juice Theriam’s got on tap.” You say. Jinx slinks out of the room, and Sevika’s eyes flick to yours. She scowls at you. 

“Is she always like that?” You ask Jinx as you lead her down the hall toward the stairs. Jinx lets out a long suffering sigh. 

“Always.”

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@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you

[goosewriting]

⭐ Masterlist: Star Wars

→ please check the request status & rules in my pinned post before requesting!

this list will contain 18+ fics. i don’t write anything sexually explicit but i’ll write about more mature themes. read at your own discretion.

• last updated: apr 27, 2024

🌸 : fluff 🍑 : steam and fluff ⚡️ : angst 🥀 : angst & comfort

💙 Rex (# rex x reader)

⚡ one too many: set right after the bad batch s2 finale, reader feels like they’ve lost too much

5️⃣ Fives (# fives x reader)

🌸 what our future could look like: a lazy morning waking up in Fives’ arms

🥀 "have we met?": what if Fives had been stopped before removing his inhibitor chip on Kamino and was instead sent back after reconditioning, thereby forgetting the reader?  ↳ Navigation: Part 1 | Part 2

💫 Cal Kestis (# cal kestis x reader)

🌸 of bunk beds and confessions: when there’s a new crew member on the Mantis, reader feels discouraged to confess to Cal

🌸 thaw: reader comforts Cal when he has self-doubts

🌸🥀 wherever you go, i go: after reader and Cal are rescued from Bracca, reader questions whether they know him at all ↳ Navigation: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

🍑 underneath (inq!cal): after getting stationed at the fortress inquisitorius, it seems a certain inquisitor takes an interest in reader

🍑🥀 warmth (inq!cal): now that reader got to look underneath the surface, they discover the not so pretty parts about being an inquisitor

🌸🥀 across the galaxy and beyond: some time after the Mantis crew split apart, Cal has an unexpected reunion with reader on Koboh

🐱 Zeb Orrelios (# zeb x reader)

🥀 why? because.: reader gets trapped with an injured Zeb in a cave, and they come clean about their feelings

🍎 Armitage Hux (# hux x reader)

🍑 make me a caf: Hux seemingly wants to keep reader around after they fix his caf machine

🥀 purpose: after being shot by Pryde, Hux wakes up in an unfamiliar place

🥇 Commander Pyre (# commander pyre x reader)

🌸 running: just when reader thinks to be on the last maker-forsaken corner of the galaxy, they meet Pyre again

🌸 dating headcanons

#masterlist #star wars masterlist #star wars x reader #the clone wars x reader #clone trooper x reader #fives x reader #arc trooper fives x reader #zeb x reader #zeb orellios x reader #hux x reader #general hux x reader #cal kestis x reader

[thegreatcaptainusopp]

The Seer

Ao3 Link

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Chapter 5: The Children With the Second Sight

The morning sun rises cold and misty, and Franky is ready to fight.

It’s been a difficult few weeks, some of the most since he’s joined the crew. Thriller Bark had been difficult in its own right, draining the way that all big and complicated battles were draining. This, though. This is challenging in a completely different way.

Franky hadn’t realized until he’d properly joined how…young everybody was on the crew. It wasn’t until they were a few days at sea that it had properly sunk in that he had pledged himself to the safety and well being of a group of teenagers, which is a responsibility he takes seriously. He isn’t a leader anymore, but he’s still called upon to help shoulder some pretty heavy emotional burdens, and he’s completely okay with that.

When the kids need him, he’s there. He’s happy to do it, happy to give this extraordinary group of young people all the love and support they deserve, the love and support they clearly hadn’t had before now.

And now, they need him more than ever. Chopper is constantly anxious, Sanji on the verge of a breakdown, Nami unable to be alone, Zoro hunched over like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and Luffy clearly trying his best to keep them all together. He’s there, through all of it, all of the fear and anxiety and worry.

And then, of course, there’s Usopp. Franky worries about him constantly, and hopes against hope they’re not too late for him. Whatever that could mean, at this stage.

Now, though? Now, Franky can do more than offer his support, his shoulder to cry on. Now, he can actually do something, kick ass and take names and put the crew back together with his own hands. He’s always been good at fixing things.

He knows they’ve given him the most important job, of actually finding Usopp, for a reason. He’s honored to think that they find him dependable enough to do that job, and he’s willing to forgo some ass kicking if it means justifying his crew’s faith in him.

And it’s this thought that echoes in his mind as he spots, finally, the harsh lines of the ship that they had seen so many weeks ago come up on the horizon. It glides almost silently over the relatively calm waves drawing nearer and nearer to the Flying Fish Raiders base. Franky has to admire the rather…unusual design. It’s almost built more like a house than a ship: narrow and tall, and slightly ominous.

It’s gonna be nice to take them by surprise for a change: they’ve parked the Sunny behind a section of the base that’ll keep them hidden, and the plan is to jump out just as the Vance’s ship passes by. Easy peasey.

Luffy’s face is split open by a huge smile, as it almost always is, but today’s has an air of promise to it: of determination, of violence. Franky hopes he can wait for long enough to follow the plan as is. For this plan, timing is everything.

Robin meets his eye: she clearly has the same concern, continuing to dart glances back at Luffy, and at Zoro and Sanji as well. Franky is grateful for her, and for their newest addition of Brook as well. Between the three of them, they can corral the teenagers around them with more relative ease.

The Vance ship draws closer, so close that Franky can hear the noise of activity on the ship, can smell the salt kicked up by the waves within. As one, the group turns to Luffy, waiting for his signal.

They don’t have to wait long. The second Luffy sees them all turn to him, he takes it as permission. He unfurls, drawing himself up as high as he can go. His smile deepens, gets more determined. “Now!” He roars, extending his arms towards them all. Chopper ducks under them, running towards his quarters, while the rest of them gather in grim anticipation.

Luffy draws back, then shoots them all into the air, headed straight towards the Vance ship. Franky’s chest drops right down to his stomach at the flight (it never gets any easier) and then next thing he knows, they’ve crash landed right into the middle of the deck, stunning the once active ship into complete silence.

The silence only takes hold for a moment before they spring into action: Luffy attacks almost as soon as he’s upright again, tossing Gum-Gum pistols at the unsuspecting group, catapulting a large number of them into the water. “Go!” He roars, and Franky instantly sets off from the rest of the group, setting off the canons in his hands to clear the path ahead.

He hears someone roar “we’re being boarded” before sending the air around him grow heavy, and feeling a clang of weapons meeting in his bones. He turns to see Zoro, sword crossed with the red-haired man’s invisible weapon, a grim smile on his face. “You’re not getting me this time,” Zoro says, swinging his other sword.

“How the fuck are you here?” The man says in frustration, raising his invisible weapon.

Franky swears as a sea of identical bodies quickly pops up in front of him. He lets off a quick shot, dispatching a group of them into a puff of smoke. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, but he can’t let the clones stand in his way…

He sees the clones start to pop out of existence in front of him, one by one. Surprised, he turns to see Robin, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Move!” She tells him, as another group of clones is slapped by multiple arms, disappearing all at once.

He nods at her and keeps going, seeing Brook with his sword drawn at the corner of his eye. They’re probably keeping Usopp below somewhere, he tells himself, dashing towards the interior of the ship. Just grab him and get out.

He screeches to a halt as another man materializes in front of him, arm up. This man is new, and Franky doesn’t know how to react to him. “Where do you think you’re going?” The man asks him, expressionless.

Franky’s about to mow through him before Sanji runs in front of him, throwing out a kick. “Go!” He yells as his leg makes contact with the man’s arm, and Franky ducks around the two and goes forward. As he passes, he sees Sanji’s leg bounce off, and the man’s arm ripples, turning black and shiny.

He hears Sanji swear, and he picks up the pace, hoping to find Usopp before any other obstacle gets in his way…

Out of nowhere, a familiar feeling hits at him and he gasps, knees buckling and he’s halted in his tracks. Oh no, he thinks frantically. Not now…

He looks up and, as expected, Vance himself is striding out onto the deck, expression thunderous. “How did you get here?” He asks, voice echoing strangely in the space.

Luffy steps out in front of him, fists clenched. Franky can see the lines of his back shaking minutely, but he doesn’t waver. “You’re Captain Vance?” Luffy asks, stone faced.

Vance pins him with a look. “Straw Hat Luffy,” He says, voice distorting further. “I can guess why you’re here. And you should turn back. You will find you have no more use for your former crew member.”

Luffy’s back straightens, lines smoothing out. Franky sees the shaking cease completely. “Shut up,” He says, deadly, before revving back for a punch.

Franky is suddenly released from the strange hold, and gasps back into movement. He shakes himself back to his goal and barrels forward into the ship.

-

Usopp knew the second he heard the sounds of battle outside that his crew had found him.

It hadn’t been difficult to figure out, not at all. He’d known already that they were on their way. He doesn’t know if it was because he’d…seen it, before, or because he had always known, like he knew his mother’s voice, that his crew would find him eventually. But still, the sounds send a jolt of joy and adrenaline that goes right to his spine.

He hops off his cot, wobbling slightly. He’s going to find them, no matter what it takes…

He feels a palm push in his chest. “Sit back down,” Cantor says, deadly serious. With a jolt, he realizes that Vance is no longer in the room: he must’ve slipped out amidst the chaos, and is probably fighting out there right now.

The joy in his stomach ices over into fear. If any of them got hurt trying to protect him…

No. He has to make sure they find him, so they can get out as soon as possible.

Usopp stumbles up again, pushing back against Cantor’s hand. “No,” He says, wobbling forward. “I need to-”

Before he can finish his sentence, he hears the door burst open. He scrambles back, going until he hits wall, and hears a grunt and a loud crash on the other side of the room.

He stands stock-still, arms trembling. He doesn’t know what just happened, but he hopes that whoever it was that came in, that they won’t hurt him.

He hears a sound like a wounded animal, almost a low keen. “Usopp?”

The familiar voice makes him gasp. Franky. Oh my god. Franky.

Franky’s voice spurs him into action, and he pushes back from the wall, stumbling forward, arms reaching out. “Franky,” Usopp sobs out, needing to hear him again. “Franky!”

A hand catches his outstretched arm, curls around it gently. “Usopp,” Franky chokes out, and Usopp feels himself tugged into a hug. Franky arms go around him but squeeze gently, with barely any pressure, like he’s afraid he’s going to break him.

Usopp gently lays the side of his cheek onto Franky’s chest, hearing the lub-dub of his heart. It’s more comforting that anything he’s ever heard in his life.

Franky takes a deep shaky breath, and then another. He pulls back slowly, and Usopp feels a large hand gently touch at the edges of his bandages. “Usopp,” He says quietly, voice full of…some unidentifiable emotion. Usopp wishes he could see his face. “What is…”

Usopp pushes his hand away. “Not now,” He says, desperately wanting to forget it ever happened, needing to get to Chopper to fix this as soon as possible. “We need to get out of here, Franky.”

This seems to snap Franky back into action. “Yeah,” He says, tugging at Usopp’s arm. “Let’s go, bro, everyone’s waiting for us.”

Usopp stumbles forward after Franky, head whirring. “Okay,” He says, clutching onto Franky’s arm. He suddenly wants to hear Luffy’s voice so badly that it hurts.

“Wait,” Is all the warning he gets before he feels Franky tug at him more, then feels another arm curl under his lugs. Suddenly, he’s lifted off the ground, cradled in Franky’s large arm. “We’re gonna need to move quick, bro,” He hears, a little above his head. “So hang on, okay?”

Franky turns and starts running, and Usopp breathes in the fresh air as they quickly make their way outside. He’d missed the feeling of the breeze on his face, the smell of salt in the air. The sounds of battle fill the air, and Usopp has no idea who’s there, who’s fighting, who’s winning.

He feels Franky skid to a stop. “We’ve reached the edge,” He says, narrating for Usopp’s benefit. “I just need to build us a quick way back, okay bro? Won’t take a second.”

Usopp remembers the master feats of bridge engineering he’d witnessed in Thriller Bark, and nods his head. “I know,” He says, feeling Franky gently place him by a railing. He sits there, straining his ears and trying to figure out the sounds of the fighting, and before he knows it he’s hoisted back into Franky’s arms. “It’s ready,” He hears, and Franky starts running once again, steps sure and confident, before landing down and Usopp can smell that he’s back home.

The familiarity of the smell of the Sunny takes his breath away for a moment. He’d never realized how distinct the smell is, like tangerines and metal and love.

“We’re back,” Franky says, and Usopp feels him readjust as his arm comes up. “I’m just gonna send up a flare, to let everyone know they can come back, okay?”

Even though Franky had warned him, Usopp can’t help but flinch when the flare goes off. It sounds so loud next to him.

“Okay,” Franky says, and Usopp feels him take off again. “We’re going to Chopper now, alright?”

Usopp nods, clutching at Franky’s shirt. This is what he’s been waiting for. “Please,” He says, feeling Franky open a door and smelling the familiar smell of medicine and comfort.

“Usopp!” He hears, and Franky sets him down as an excited voice below him draws nearer. “Are you-”

The voice cuts off, as if swallowed, and Franky gently pushes him forward. “He needs you, Chopper,” He says. “I’m gonna go and help everyone else for a little, okay? Please let us know how he’s doing when you’re done.”

He hears a small “okay,” before Franky breezes out of the room, and Usopp is left with one of the people he trusts most in the entire world.

“Chopper,” Usopp says, feeling, finally, salt sting at what were once his eyes. “I really, really missed you.”

“Usopp,” He hears, choked off, a gentle hoof coming at his knee. “I-I missed you too. Just…come here, okay? Let me…let me look at this.”

Usopp nods, and places his trust in Chopper’s small hands.

-

Franky’s been running on autopilot.

He doesn’t remember much after bursting into the Vance’s medical quarters, after seeing Usopp curled at the wall, white bandages covering his eyes. It’s just a blur of getting Usopp to the Sunny and sending up the flare.

He knows he needs to pull it together. The crew is relying on him to get them out. After that, he can lose it.

He runs back to the deck, hoping against hope that Luffy managed to get them all out, before he hears a series of screams and sees the entire crew crash land right at his feet, piling together in a heap.

“It never gets easier,” Zoro grumbles, struggling out from the bottom of the pile. It’s clear his injuries are still getting to him.

Franky quickly counts them, nods in approval. “We’re out,” He says, then runs to the canons. “Okay! Taking out the Vance ship now!”

He runs through the image of the ship in his head, identifying its weaknesses, thinking of how to stall it in the water. “Right!” He says, making sure the canon is loaded. “I’ll take care of this in a second…”

He quickly aims, the fires the canons at the ship. It take him a couple tries but he manages it, breaking the ship quickly and easily.

He thinks vaguely for a second how Usopp could’ve taken out the spots in one shot, then shakes the thought away. “Sanji!” He bellows, seeing the cook pop up next to him in a second. “Take over, okay? Just in case they come after us. I’m gonna get us out of here.”

“Did you see that?” He hears Luffy say enthusiastically, but there’s no time. He has to run down to prepare a Coup de Burst. They need to get out of here.

He quickly checks soda storage (there’s enough), then sets up the process, one he feels like he’s done hundreds of times by now. “Okay!” He says, “Let’s get out of here!”

He hears a cheer go around the ship as the burst of energy rockets it forward. A scream sounds in the distance, from the direction of the Vance ship, and Franky smiles grimly. Good, he thinks. I hope whatever that was, that it hurt. Asshole.

He makes his way back to the others, dread pooling in his gut. One job done, and now comes the other, and it’s one he desperately wishes he didn’t have to do.

He knows the implications of what he saw on the Vance ship, of the bandages around Usopp’s eyes, of the way he can barely move coordinated, of the way he wobbles weakly in place. He knows what it all implies, but he doesn’t, can’t know for sure. Not until Chopper confirms it.

Still. The crew probably need some sort of warning. Just in case the worst is true. They need to prepare for the news. And Franky is the only one who can break it to them.

As he approaches, Zoro turns to him, gaze piercing. “How’s Usopp?” He asks, direct. “Got him out okay?”

Franky, faced with the question he hadn’t prepared for, hesitates. What does he say to that?

Zoro’s eyes narrow. “Franky?” He asks, slow and deliberate. “What is it?”

Everyone’s silent now, everyone listening intently. Even Sanji has wandered back from his post at the canons, clearly now far enough that his presence there is no longer necessary.

And they’re all staring at Franky with slowly growing worry and fear in their eyes. He’s always been good at fixing things, but how can he ever even start to fix this?

“He’s fine,” Franky says, trying to regain control of the situation. “I got him out, he’s with Chopper now,” He hesitates. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” Nami asks, voice rising. “What is it, Franky?”

They need to know. They just do. “When I found him,” Franky says. “He had…bandages, around his eyes. That’s all I know. Chopper’s with him now, he’ll be able to give us a better idea of what’s going on.”

There’s a brief, horrified, silence, then…

“What does that mean?” Luffy looks at him, teeth gritted. “What do you mean, Franky?”

“Just what I said,” Franky says. “Usopp’s eyes were covered with bandages. That could mean anything, or it could mean nothing. He didn’t tell me anything, and I didn’t get a chance to ask. But, just in case…we need to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” Luffy asks.

“For if Usopp…”

“Shut up,” Sanji says, teeth gritted. “Don’t say it.”

“Sanji,” Franky begins, helpless. “We don’t know anything at this stage. We can’t really make a decision on if…”

“I don’t care,” Sanji says, nostrils flaring. “Don’t speak anything into existence. If we don’t know anything, we don’t know.”

“He’s right,” Zoro says, to the shock of everyone in attendance. “We don’t know anything. Only Chopper does. We’ll wait for him.”

Luffy suddenly bursts forward, towards Chopper’s office. “I’ll check,” He says, a little desperately. “I’ll see if…”

“Whoa,” Franky intercepts Luffy, holding onto him tight. “Let’s not bother Chopper, okay? I told him to give us the news as soon as possible. He’ll have some for us very shortly, I’m sure.”

There’s another short silence. There’s a numbness now, the celebratory air long gone.

“We have him now,” Franky feels compelled to add. “That’s the most important thing. We can work with everything else.”

This seems to work, as ever, on Luffy. “Yeah,” Luffy says. “We got him back, like we promised. We’ll just work on whatever comes next.”

Luffy says it like a promise. Franky knows that he’ll keep it.

Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

#one piece #op #usopp #one piece fic #op fic #speaks

[blitzturtles]

Title: Your Light In The Windowpane Said Come On In (Ao3) Rating: Teen and Up Fandom: OFMD, Our Flag Means Death Pairing(s): Steddyhands, Stizzy Summary: For a prompt on the kink meme: Izzy is sick. Everyone assumes that he'll either attempt to power through until he keels over or that he'll hide himself away in some dark corner of the ship until it passes. Neither occurs. Instead, Izzy bundles himself up in Stede's bed, surrounded by Stede's scent, and decides to take a much-deserved nap. Stede thinks it's the cutest thing in the entire world.

Notes: Set a bit into the future wherein Steddyhands is an established throuple.

I was about halfway through writing this when I realized it had already been filled.

Title from "Victory" by Trampled By Turtles.

CW: light emetophobia.

-

Izzy hears the whispers. The crew isn’t exactly subtle about their speculations. He’s certain Lucius doesn’t actually know how to lower his voice, and the rest of them aren’t doing much better. They’ve noticed that something is off, and it’s apparently more interesting to talk about what’s wrong with Izzy than it is for any of them to do their goddamn chores.

He ignores the lot of them, choosing to focus on the task at hand. If he can just get through until lunch, then he can make himself scarce. He’s already done the most vital of the day’s tasks. The ship will survive even if the entire crew were to sit on their asses for the remainder of the day (as he strongly suspects that they will. Ed and Stede have been caught up in one another all morning long, so Izzy doubts there will be many orders given in his absence.)

The problem with focusing is, well, the focusing. His eyes tend to cross every time he looks at the knot in his hands, a consequence of both the dizziness and the bone-deep exhaustion that settled over him no more than an hour ago. The heat from the day’s sun doesn’t help. It bears down on him, making him sincerely reconsider his wardrobe for the first time in years.

His skin is sticky with sweat, and his hair is slick with it. To say he’s overheated would be an understatement, and that’s to say nothing of the rest of his symptoms, the most concerning of which is the nausea. The last thing he wants to do is run for the railing in front of the entire fucking crew. He’ll never hear the end of it, but the heat isn’t helping that either. It’s cooking him in his leathers, making his stomach churn more violently the longer the hour drags out.

By the time Roach calls for lunch, Izzy’s at his limit. He knows he could push through, if he really had to. He’s worked through worse; gunshot wounds, stabbings, storms the likes of which The Revenge has yet to see (and thank God for small favors), the sort of headaches that threaten to split his skull apart, food poisonings, regular poisonings… certain amputations. Ed had once joked that Izzy was a bit like a cockroach—damn near indestructible and always lurking.

“Thank fuck,” Izzy grumbles, more to himself than anyone else. It’s a near fatal mistake as his guts violently twist, and he almost loses the contents of his stomach (nothing more than a bit of water and a bite of hardtack) all over the deck. He clamps a hand over his mouth and twists around, away from the crew, and waits for the nausea to pass before he risks dropping his hand again. If anyone notices, they don’t say anything, but, then, they’re probably all more concerned with food than whatever Izzy is up to. He’s not yelling at them, and they’re more likely to take advantage of that than question it.

He waits a bit longer. Both so his stomach will settle further, and so that the rest of the crew files down to try to stake their claim at the front of the line. Truly, the whole bunch turns into children when it comes to food. As if the last of whatever’s in Roach’s pot isn’t better than the best Izzy ever got on The Queen Anne.

The only stragglers are the Swede and Frenchie, and Izzy only just manages to catch the words Frenchie says, “Y’know, like a cat,” and, for some godforsaken reason, the two look directly at him. The Swede nods after a moment, and they both go on their way as if the whole thing weren’t weird. Izzy shrugs. He expects more bizarre shit out of the crew at any given moment. He can’t get hung up over every little eccentricity.

His stomach rolls painfully, and he’s reminded of his plan to escape. He makes his way toward his own quarters, pauses, reroutes himself. His room is small, stuffy. The single cot inside is far from comfortable. Worse, the only clothes he has are different versions of his everyday getup, and, frankly, he wants something more than that. Something light and airy and soft against his chafed skin.

He pushes open the door to the Captains’ quarters. It’s brighter than he expects, thanks to the light coming in through the windows. Whoever rolled out of bed last (Ed) hadn't bothered to close either set of curtains. Izzy can’t help being drawn inward. He barely remembers to kick the door shut behind him as he makes his way to the bed nook, only stopping short when he remembers the heat beneath his skin and the nausea in his belly. As tempting as it is to crawl into bed like this, he knows he’ll regret it the next time he manages to peel his eyes open. He’d be lucky if he managed to avoid sun sickness, and that would be on top of whatever he’s already dealing with.

With a heaved sigh, Izzy makes his way to Stede's wardrobe, fingers fumbling with his vest all the way. It feels like a monumental task, certainly far more difficult than it ought to be, but he’s dead tired and his bones ache, deep and constant. Without much to distract himself with, his head is going much the same way, starting at the crown of his skull and spreading outward in all directions. It’s only a matter of time before it’s all encompassing, and he would very much like to be asleep before that happens.

He sheds the rest of his clothes in a slow, clumsy process that takes entirely too long and leaves him stark naked. It’s almost instantaneous the way his skin ripples with goose flesh and chills grip him. He hadn’t expected to swing so abruptly from overheated to freezing. The cabin isn’t exactly cool by any means, yet his body protests being exposed. The sweat drying on his skin only worsens the shivering that racks his body, and the nausea crawls up his throat dangerously. Rather than acknowledge it, he focuses his attention on the wardrobe.

The robe he chooses is deceptively simple. The pattern on it is only a shade or two darker than the rest of it, making it appear solid when it, in fact, isn’t. It’s what drew his attention to it the first time he saw it, and it’s what draws him to it now.

It’s too big on him, easily swallowing his frame. It’s tailored specifically to Stede’s body, which means its shoulders are wider, and the length of it reaches well past Izzy’s knees. He pulls it tight against him, uncaring that he’s dirtying the expensive fabric. He’ll wash it later, when no one’s paying attention. For now, all he cares about is its warmth and familiarity.

What Izzy won’t readily admit to is that he sought to raid Stede’s wardrobe for more than the texture and weight of the fabrics inside. Every square centimeter of every piece of clothing smells like Stede, like lavender soap and expensive hair products and sea salt. It’s familiar, comforting. For a moment, he forgets about his nausea and the pain in his joints.

The reprieve only lasts for so long before reality slams back into him in the form of a stabbing pain just above his right eye. It feels like a pick being driven into his skull. His foot chooses that moment to make itself known, and it’s all the convincing he needs to crawl into bed and curl up lest they get much worse.

The bed is a mess, with pillows and blankets strewn about. Izzy can’t sort out which direction Ed must have been lying in, but he knows for sure that it had to be Edward. He’s the only one of the three of them that doesn’t bother making the bed upon waking up. That and Stede always closes the curtains.

Izzy crawls under the blankets and grabs for one of the pillows. He shoves his face into it, inhaling deeply and focusing on the scents that mix together. They’ve become so similar now that he can barely differentiate the two. Edward and Stede use the same shampoos, wash with the same soaps. They constantly share clothes between them (not unlike the decades long habit between Ed and Izzy.) It goes without saying that their scents are almost completely intertwined, but Izzy’s known Edward for decades, and he’s had plenty of time to grow intimately familiar with Stede’s distinct smell over the last several months.

It’s only a matter of minutes until Izzy’s eyelids grow too heavy to bother keeping them open anymore. He curls into the sheets, fingers gripping tightly. His face remains pressed into the pillow, and he puffs out a quiet sigh when his stomach finally settles and the ache in his body gives way to weightlessness.

The next time Izzy wakes, it’s to quiet whispers, one voice shushing the other, then silence. He squints against the light coming in through the windows, wishes he’d had the good since to pull the curtains. His head is pounding viciously, and the light is only making it worse. The uneasiness in his stomach is impossible to ignore with his guts roiling and his mouth watering. He has barely enough time to lean over the side of the bed.

Someone’s speaking. Whispered words of soft reassurances that mean nothing, and there’s a bucket shoved under his chin that he only notices when it’s being pulled away, replaced quickly with a cup of water.

There are also hands in his hair, brushing it back and away from his face in long, gentle strokes that are wholly unnecessary. His hair is stuck in place by drying sweat. It’s not at risk of being in the way should his stomach rebel again, but he can’t help leaning into the touch.

“Drink, Israel,” someone says in a voice that’s entirely too familiar.

Izzy considers telling Stede to fuck off, but he doesn’t have it in him. Instead, he does as told, taking several, large gulps of water. It’s only sheer willpower that keeps him from downing the rest of it. He knows what will inevitably happen if he does.

He moves to lie back down, grumbling all the way when calloused fingers move from his hair to his shoulders. They support his weight as he shifts, settling back into the absurdly soft mattress that’s admittedly grown on him over time.

Half a dozen questions run through his mind just as Ed takes up stroking through his hair once more. It’s enough to nearly fry whatever is left of his brain, but he has just enough wherewithal to ask, “Why?” He frowns at his own voice, at how brutalized it sounds, though he’s far more irritated by the half-formed question. It’s all he can muster up with the way his head continues to throb viciously.

“Overheard the crew, mate. Said you looked like shit,” Ed pauses, then adds, “They weren’t wrong.”

“Actually, I believe they are under the impression that you’re dying,” Stede adds before Izzy can tell Edward to go fuck himself.

“Yeah, like a cat,” Edward adds, and Izzy tries to parse that out, he really does, but he doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s the second time he’s heard those exact words, and he still doesn’t have a clue as to what the fuck they mean.

“Ah, what Ed means is that Frenchie informed us that cats often go off to die alone. Of course, he says that has something to do with their nine lives and something about transformations,” Stede’s brows draw together in obvious confusion. Good, at least Izzy isn’t alone. “But I believe the sentiment is the same.”

“‘m not dying,” Izzy says with a scowl that falls short of displaying any real ire.

“No, no, of course not. We just—” Stede flounders for the words, but Ed cuts him off.

“We wanted to check on you.” Ed shrugs in a way that’s almost dismissive. Almost. His eyes give him away, the same way they always have. He’s worried. Seeing Izzy hasn’t done much to soothe whatever anxiety he’s feeling, and it makes Izzy feel a guilty sort of uneasiness.

“‘m fine,” fucking fantastic, really. It’s not like someone’s driving a train through his skull, or his stomach isn’t attempting to turn itself inside out.

Ed snorts, “And I’m a fucking mermaid.” He pauses, “We’re just worried about you, Iz. Let us, yeah?”

Izzy waves at them weakly with his scarred hand. He can’t exactly stop them on his good days, never mind when he feels this poorly. What’s a man to do other than give up? He knows when to spare his dignity and admit defeat. Sometimes.

Stede grabs his hand gently and presses a kiss to the back of it. “Thank you, dear boy,” and Christ, if Izzy weren’t already flushed, he certainly would be now. He still doesn’t know how to handle their affection. It’s one thing seeing them with each other. Sickly sweet and obnoxious. It’s another when they turn it on him, back him into a corner that he can’t get out of, and right now he’s especially fucked.

“Whatever,” Izzy breathes out. “I’m going back to sleep, though.”

“That’s quite alright with us,” Stede says simply, and Ed echoes the sentiment.

Izzy bundles himself back into the blankets. His skin is still too cold, though he knows it’s from the fever he’s running. Logic doesn’t make him any more comfortable, but being surrounded by softness and familiar scents does.

His eyelids slide shut, and he begins to drift almost immediately.

“Rather cute, hm?” He hears Stede say just before consciousness swallows him completely. He doesn’t know what the man is on about now, but he’ll just have to ask about it later.

#steddyhands #blackhands #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #stizzy #ofmd #our flag means death #stede bonnet #edward teach #blackbeard #izzy hands #israel hands #blitzwrites #blitz

[onebatch2batch]

the gay pirate brainrot has me in a chokehold and i’m so not sorry

missing scene from somewhere in the middle xo [ao3]

--

It’d been a pretty successful day, by all accounts. The Revenge overtook a merchant vessel early in the morning and pillaged enough loot to fill the hold, including two barrels of oranges as well as a good amount of soap and (to Stede’s singular pleasure) numerous books of all different subjects. He’d even managed to make the vessel’s captain cry a little, although he suspected that had more to do with Ed hanging over his shoulder lazily twirling his dagger and less to do with Stede’s own intimidation skills. After getting the loot onto the Revenge, the crew was in incredibly high spirits; now that it’s creeping up on twilight and they’ve anchored the crew has resorted to games, drinking throughout the deck and congratulating themselves for a job well done. Stede leaves them to it, venturing down to his quarters to begin shelving the thick tomes he’d pilfered earlier, peeking inside each one as he goes. He can hear the raucous noise above from the celebrating crew and vows to join them later, but for now he lets them have their fun. They’ve earned it, certainly, and he’s never missed an opportunity to take a quiet moment with a good book.

It’s not until the sun has begun to set that he hears a knock.

“Come in!” he calls, fingering his place in the pages as he looks up. “Oh, Ed!”

Edward saunters in the room, except maybe it’s less than a saunter and maybe more of a limp, if Stede didn’t know any better. He glances around in bafflement, taking in the piles of books surrounding the couch in short stacks, hands resting on his weapons lazily. “What are you doin’ down here, man?”

“Oh, you know–just got a little distracted with the loot from today’s successful pillaging.” Stede waves his book and watches as Ed leans on his desk, absently rubbing the meat of his thigh. “Is…everything all right?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. ‘M fine. You should come up, there’s a real party goin’ on up there.”

As loath as he is to leave his book, he feels a jolt of excitement that Ed has come down here solely to seek him out and include him in the fun. It’s a nice feeling, rather unprecedented if he’s being honest, and it has him standing and tossing aside A History on Nautical Knots without much more of a thought. “If you insist–to party we go!”

Ed gives a vaguely amused little huff, pushing off the desk. The moment he does his expression twists for a split-second, there and gone, and then smooths over. If Stede hadn’t been so fixed upon his face and the lovely way his forehead smooths and his eyes crinkle when smiling, he would have missed it. “Ed?”

Edward sees his concern and waves it off. “Told you I’m fine. Just landed wrong on the ol’ knee here earlier. Nothing a little rum can’t fix, eh, mate?”

“Now, hang on–just wait a second, Edward–”

Ed stills, watching him warily. Stede moves away from the couch and points to his vacated spot sternly. “Sit.”

Just as he’d done on that horrible faux-French ship, Edward’s (dare he say) pout forms. His brow furrows, lower lip pushing out slightly. It’s clear that he’s uncomfortable not knowing what Stede has planned: he hesitates for a long, bated second, then ultimately picks his way towards where Stede is pointing and sits, tense. Stede smiles briefly, waiting until the other man is fully settled. Then he comes closer and drops to his knees, reaching for him.

“Hey, wait–what are you–” Edward stutters, eyes widening.

“Just relax. Let me have a look.”

Stede would be completely lying if he said this wasn’t both an attempt to make Edward more comfortable and a chance to be closer, to lay his hands on the other man’s body, feel the strength of him under his hands, but he tries to stay professional. His friend is hurting, and he can do something about it. He begins working at the brace around Edward’s knee, humming as he goes, willing Edward to relax. He can feel Ed’s stare on the top of his head, see the way his fingers flex at his sides as if he’s not sure what to do with his hands. After a bit of a struggle, Stede manages to get the sea salt-roughened brace off and gently lifts Ed’s leg, rotating it carefully at the knee. Ed makes a soft hissing noise between his teeth.

“You ought to be more careful with this, you know,” Stede tells him lightly.

“Not really my style,” Edward mumbles, hitching a breath when Stede’s hands lift to cup his knee, one underneath and one atop it. He carefully presses his fingers into the skin there, searching gently for the sore spots and cursing the layer of leather between them–but then Edward suddenly makes a soft, pleased noise that sends a thrill down his spine and he can’t be too upset. It’s a groaning little sigh of relief, stirring the hairs on top of Stede’s head with the force of his exhale.

“Aha, see? It just needs a little attention. Smarting a little, isn’t it?”

Stede turns his eyes up and goes still upon realizing that Edward is already watching him, eyes wide. He looks struck, as if Stede wound up and punched him rather than kneeled to delicately rub away the pain from his joint. At Stede’s raised brows, Ed nods slowly and drops his gaze to watch the hands on his leg. He looks almost bashful at the attention; Stede turns his eyes back to task in an attempt to make him more at ease.

They pass a few moments like this, rocking gently with the ship on the waves, listening to the partying above. The leather is warm under Stede’s hands and the floor is hard on his own knees, but that’s nothing when Ed is making soft noises with every press of Stede’s fingers on a sensitive spot. Stede glances up and smiles without stopping the massage, watching Ed’s shoulders slump as his head falls back against the couch. He looks almost boneless, so–so relaxed. So comfortable.  

Stede wants to make him feel like this every day, maybe even use some of the lavender oil he’s got lying around, slather up Ed’s bare skin and rub away the pain…and the thought stills his hands–because where did that come from?--long enough for Edward to open his eyes and look at him.

They make eye contact for a long, swollen second.

“How does that feel?” Stede asks finally, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. Because the way Ed is looking at him is so reverent, so wonderfully focused, and he’s not sure anyone has ever looked at him that way. It’s making him rather lightheaded.

“Feels–yeah, man, it feels great. Uh, really great.” Edward’s skin is awash in the orange light of the setting sun as it comes through the windows, but even then Stede thinks he can see a hint of a flush on his cheeks. It’s utterly bewitching. “You, uh, didn’t have to.”

“I know. I wanted to.” He gives another gentle squeeze and sits back on his heels. “You deserve a little tenderness, don’t you think?”

Edward is saved from answering when someone pounds on the door. “Cap’ns! Cap’ns, we’re needin’ a judge for the talent show!” Wee John calls through the wood, slurring slightly.

“Yeah, alright!” Ed calls back, but makes no move to get up. He’s still watching Stede carefully when he lowers his voice again. “You uh, you still wanna go up?”

Is he imagining it, or does Stede hear something like reluctance in his co-captain’s voice? Is he projecting, or does Edward have a slight, breathless quality to his voice? Is it just the warm, romantic lighting or are Ed’s eyes dark and shining and–eager?

Stede is suddenly struck with the intense need to kiss him, and it makes his mouth go dry at the thought of what would follow–that Ed could shove him away with a look of complete bemusement and a sorry, mate you got the wrong idea here or..he could reciprocate gladly, yanking him up to fit better into the vee of his legs, strong palms on his face as–

“Uh, Stede?”

Stede snaps back into his body with a tumbling sort of grace. He flashes Ed a fixed, completely unsuspicious smile and jerks to his feet, clearing his throat. “Ah, yes! We can’t shirk our duties all evening, after all! Duty calls!”

He’s out the door before Ed can even strap back on his brace, and without looking back he never sees the look of disappointment that crosses Ed’s face in the wake of his absence.

#my writing #blackbonnet #ofmd #gentlebeard #blackbonnet fic #gentlebeard fic #ofmd fic #blackstede

[youreyeslookliketheocean]

youreyeslookliketheocean’s DSMP Fic Recs!!

Figured it was about time for one of these... :)

Mostly SBI-centric because they’re my favorite dynamic. I’ll probably add to this list as time goes on, and I also want to go back through my ao3 history and find some lesser-known fics I really enjoyed to rec them all. But for now...

* oneshot  ** unfinished work

** the lights go out (my heart goes still) by curseworm

With his old home unwelcoming and his new one gone, Tommy is alone. After hours of staggering through the freezing snow, he finds a cabin.

Technoblade’s cabin.

He hides himself away in the deepest corner he can find, taking only what he needs to survive, wasting away in the cold and the dark. He’s petrified at the thought of being found out, terrified of what he thinks Techno would do to him.

When Techno finds his injured teenage brother huddled in a filthy little cave beneath his basement, the rage he feels is immeasurable. The voices demand blood, and blood he will give them. Dream won’t be getting away with this one.

(On the other side of the world, in a country that floats on a man-made lake, Philza gets himself in a bit of a pickle.) 

** The hearth down under by Crystalquill

A tiny change gives Tommy the courage to flee to the Nether instead of the cold tundra, finding an unlikely ally in the midst of a fiery hellscape.

But tiny changes can alter the course of history. The SMP will never be the same.

(Lots of cool Nether worldbuilding in this one!!)

to be a wanderer, wandering by hydrangeasheart

Tommy's feet drag in the snow.

It's so, so cold. He's so cold. His toes are freezing. His exposed shins feel like they’ve been cut open-- even the one that’s bandaged. His wings have gone numb, which is almost, almost good, because now he can’t feel the shifting, broken bones inside of the left one, just under feathers and muscle.

He doesn’t know why he’s still walking.

-

Or, Tommy leaves the exploded ruins of Logstedshire behind, and walks until he finds somewhere safe.

And things keep going from there.

(A canon-divergent AU, splitting off somewhere around when Tommy started hiding out below Techno's house.)

that’s, like, a hundred miles by No_one_you_know (and then “as long as i’m here”, and “he’s my brother, i just raise him”)

Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream /was/ taking care of him.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar.

The words Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him.

Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade?

in short: the one where dream sucks as a parental figure, tommy runs away, and visits his least favorite family member technoblade.

passerine by thcscus(blujamas)

Do I really need to put the summary here? Pretty much everyone knows this fic. Also, though, if you enjoy this one you should totally read thcscus’ connected fic, “shrike”!! It’s only at 2 chapters right now but it’s already really good and has this dark, foresty aesthetic I love...

not with a bang but with a whimper by dip_dyed_ghost

He knows Tubbo doesn’t care about him anymore. He knows that. He’s been shown that. But it doesn’t stop Tommy from caring about him. He brushes the pads of his fingers over the compass’s glass and wonders how he’s doing, if he’s tired of it all yet, if he needs help. He watches the way it points strongly in the direction over the ocean. He hopes he’s alright.

Even after everything, he hopes he’s alright.

During his exile, Tommy finds a drugged and hurt Tubbo on his doorstep. He can’t not help him.  

(This one has a neat take on potions, in my opinion. Also it’s only 4 chapters so it’s a quick read!)

take this compass, follow it home by lightning_anon

Tommy's a fuck up, he can't pay attention, and never sits still. He taps his hands, pushes people away, and has never had a best friend. He's a screwed up, forgotten kid lost in the foster system. He's also just been placed with a new family. Tommy knows how this goes, he never ends up staying long. After all, no one wants a fuck up like him.

Why would this house be any different?

Or: the obligatory sleepy bois foster fic, but with a focus on the neurodivergent kids that inevitably get lost in the system.

(Genuinely want to see more books like this in original fiction. It’s part of what inspired my newest og wip, “To Build a Home.” So sweet and I feel like I had my eyes opened to some neurodivergent tendencies I never knew existed. I read this in a day and can’t rec it enough.)

bloodlines by youreyeslookliketheocean

Tommy’s an orphan on the run from his previous guardian. Philza’s a king who prides himself on keeping his kingdom in an era of peace. Wilbur’s the crown prince, and Techno’s right beside him as his adopted brother. When Phil’s kingdom of Pogtopia is threatened by the bloodvines—a strange, brainwashing plant infecting many of the surrounding kingdoms—the four must work together to keep the kingdom, and their family, safe. --- A royal au sbi fic... + the bloodvines, for spice.

(Yes I’m self-promoting. But, in my defense, I’m very proud of it. If you checked it out it would mean the world to me :’))

Heat Waves by tbhyourelame

Dream has always held a gentle admiration for George, but when their nuanced friendship trickles into his sleeping mind, he awakens to a new world of conflicting emotions and longing. Lost in the midst of a heat wave, he continuously listens to a song that works itself in to the very core of his heartache. Floridian nights, unsent messages, spiraling infatuation, and terrible, terrible weather.

Another fic I think pretty much everyone knows about. Listen, listen... I was once an idiot who said “Oh no, I’ll never read Heat Waves. It’s irl, not characters, and it’s probably cringe”... No. I was so wrong. This fic is wonderfully written, with a pretty quick moving plot and great characterizations. You do need an ao3 account to access it, though. Just to let you know. (Also read “Helium”, unfinished and hasn’t updated in awhile, but it’s the continuation). 

Guitar Strings and Keyrings are What it Takes to Build a Home by Anonymous

Techno was adopted by Phil when he was 12 years old.

He'd been enjoying his morning before Phil came to him asking if he would mind them taking in another kid. Against his better judgement, Techno agrees and ends up with two new foster brothers who he was determined to not get attached to, no matter what.

Tommyinnit’s unbeatable method of avoiding sudden death by eneliii

“I uh,” Tommy starts, not knowing how to break this to the hero lightly. He hates to be the bearer of bad news. “I think your powers are broken? It’s not a bad thing of course, but like, I swear you tried to mind control me and it like, totally failed. Which is fine, honestly, don’t feel insecure. Everyone’s power stop working sometimes… I think.”

Sheesh, this is very awkward. Why is no one else talking? Why is Philza looking at him like he grew three heads? Why is the Blade staring at him so intensely? Why is Willow still frozen?

“Did I, did I hit a nerve? Yikes,” Tommy hisses, “Well um,” He steps back, bracing his legs and bending his knees, “This was like super fun, but I’m - I’mma head out.”

or,

in which Tommy manages to annoy the hell out of Phil, Techno and Wilbur by being both impossible to catch and irritatingly endearing.

or or,

a crack fic where Tommy is a vigilante and Phil, Techno and Wilbur are the heroes hunting him down.

(Feel like I am obligated to say how incredibly funny this fic is. Seriously. I have a distinct memory of sitting on my neighborhood park’s swing, giggling hysterically, while reading this. Well...until the end... but we won’t get into that...)

** bones in the ocean by bunflower

“Your reputation precedes you, y’know.”

“Does it, now?” Philza watches him coyly from where he’s now leaning against the wall, arms folded around his chains and gaze half-lidded, his lips curled in an arrogant, cat-like smirk.

“The Angel of Death, the ferryman of the Styx, the terror of the western seas. One of the most feared captains ever to sail, and yet, I have to wonder… how did a man like you end up all on his own? We searched the area where you were found—not another soul in sight. So,” He fixes him with a long look, allowing the silence to hover like a dark cloud, the words rolling off of his tongue with all the venom and smugness he can muster, “—tell me, Philza. Where is your crew?”

OR: Technoblade is a naval captain, and Phil his unwilling prisoner. Somehow, they manage to come out of it as friends in the end.

(Is this fic considered popular like passerine/Heat Waves now? Cause I feel like it’s reputation precedes itself, at this point... Pirate au.)

****

Okay! That’s it for now. Like I said, though, I want to add to this over time and also dig back for some older things I’ve read. Also, if you have any recs feel free to send them in! I’m about to go back to school and therefore might not have time for reading fun stuff, but whenever I get the chance I’d love to check them out!!!

Happy Reading!!

#dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp fanfic #dsmp #dream smp fic rec #dsmp fic rec #fic recs #the lights go out my heart goes still #the hearth down under #to be a wanderer wandering #that's like a hundred miles #passerine #shrike #not with a bang but with a whimper #take this compass follow it home #bloodlines #heat waves #guitar strings and keyrings are what it takes to build a home #tommyinnit's unbeatable method of avoiding sudden death #tumoasd #bones in the ocean #sbi fic rec #sleepy boys inc #sleepy boys fanfic #dream team fanfic #dream team #ao3 #fanfiction

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

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

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.  

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting. 

Harry still hates clubs. 

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them. 

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now. 

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M. 

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry. 

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics. 

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement. 

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective. 

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love. 

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp. 

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall? 

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left. 

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.  

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them. 

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations. 

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke. 

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant. 

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought. 

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun. 

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend? 

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen. 

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis. 

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes. 

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air. 

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread. 

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone. 

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds. 

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation. 

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum. 

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since. 

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis. 

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox. 

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights. 

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter. 

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on. 

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday. 

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch. 

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills. 

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it. 

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy. 

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart. 

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back. 

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind. 

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points. 

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends. 

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed. 

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable. 

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.  

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you. 

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all. 

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes? 

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call. 

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget. 

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds. 

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently. 

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…? 

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater. 

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle. 

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand. 

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black. 

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”  

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.” 

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.” 

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.” 

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.” 

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.” 

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all. 

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break. 

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive. 

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”  

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.” 

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.” 

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.” 

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line. 

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving. 

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!” 

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.” 

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.” 

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.” 

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.” 

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams. 

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit. 

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence. 

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home. 

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on. 

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals. 

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger. 

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school. 

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed. 

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all. 

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy. 

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating. 

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly. 

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia. 

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him. 

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals. 

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this. 

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat. 

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point. 

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N. 

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge. 

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint. 

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met. 

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.  

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink. 

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly. 

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water. 

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle. 

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly. 

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it. 

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.  

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.” 

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.” 

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.” 

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories. 

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck. 

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?” 

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.” 

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. 

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers. 

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.” 

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch. 

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter. 

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts. 

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage. 

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.” 

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.” 

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle. 

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.” 

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way. 

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.  

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.” 

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.” 

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic. 

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once. 

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!” 

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”  

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement. 

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place. 

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.” 

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk. 

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes. 

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for. 

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.” 

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.” 

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs. 

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick? 

“It felt really nice.” 

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.” 

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later. 

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.” 

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man. 

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire. 

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it. 

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position. 

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm. 

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.” 

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.” 

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.” 

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue. 

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.” 

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.” 

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last. 

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives. 

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity. 

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.” 

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.” 

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs. 

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest. 

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak. 

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be. 

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days. 

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle? 

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke. 

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request. 

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear. 

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials. 

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.  

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time. 

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist. 

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather. 

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits. 

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.” 

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal. 

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know. 

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet. 

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”  

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.” 

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.” 

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around. 

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days. 

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever. 

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.” 

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can. 

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls. 

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.” 

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her. 

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour. 

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion. 

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans. 

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight. 

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.” 

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress. 

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.” 

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber. 

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot. 

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.” 

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?” 

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder. 

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings. 

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.  

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response. 

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn. 

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her. 

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck. 

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex. 

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.” 

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly. 

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?” 

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?” 

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”  

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.” 

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind. 

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.” 

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked. 

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts. 

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged. 

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then. 

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level. 

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that. 

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold. 

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him. 

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane. 

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him. 

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device. 

I need interior design advice. 

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time. 

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh. 

Genuinely? 

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot. 

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it. 

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall. 

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry? 

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide. 

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback. 

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits. 

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall. 

Immature? 

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry. 

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs. 

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries. 

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up. 

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her. 

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours. 

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play. 

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex. 

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective. 

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures. 

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet. 

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.  

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.  

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue. 

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

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

[palettesofrenaissance]

Maria and Carol 1880s timeline " are you sure this is allowed?"

For the reincarnation/soulmate au: The Physical World and Our Place In It [ tumblr] + [ao3]

warnings: this takes place in the 1880s so there is slight and brief mentions of lesbophobia and period-specific misogyny; suggestions about adultery; a happy ending involving self-acceptance

A lifetime ago, Carol sets eyes on Mariam—or Maria—for the first time.

In this life, they’re Carol Browning and Mariam Bennett. In another life, they will be born as Carol Danvers and Maria Rambeau, respectively.

Back then, she’d been the least bit prepared, not at all put together, smelling of mud, sweat, and tree sap; her clothes are dirtied with brown smudges and swipes of green staining her cargo pants. But, her chest erupts into a flutter watching the woman struggle to tiptoe through the brush in her broad skirt dress. She’s currently being led by the head of this expedition, a large man with a handlebar mustache and an overflow of confident, flanked by his assistant, and beside an equally extravagantly dressed dark-skinned man.

They’re from England, Carol remembers—the newest additions to this expedition, she pieces together.

As the quartet bunch nears, most questions and conversation are appointed to the dark-skinned man; Carol is nearly startled into losing her grip on the small venomless snake she’s captured when the headman points her way.

“And over there is Mr. Browning,” he goes, proud of his crew, addressing Carol by her fake last name in her first life. “He’s our top zoologist—er, or zoogeographer? Any who, he can answer any questions you may have about the local beasts. He’s been with us from the start of this; him and Dr. Malcolm know this terrain inside and out, almost as well as the natives, dare I might say!”

Carol locks eyes with Maria completely by accident—the elegant woman had been removing a collection of burrs from her stockings—and it feels like the entire world has stopped for Carol, for a split moment, for a single breath. Both sets of brown gazes meet and Carol sees stars and galaxies and the rest of her life in this woman’s eyes.

“Morning, Browning,” the headman greets. “How’s that research going?”

Maria smiles.

Carol’s returning one is lopsided. “Swell. It’s going absolutely beautifully.”

The dark-skinned man beside Maria looks between both women with a skeptical squint.

-----------

Carol has a problem—Carol has a secret.

From the early age of six, she’s loved and wanted to work with animals and was regarded as having a special touch with them. However, when she hits puberty and is forced into corsets and stockings and too-wide rimmed, restricting dresses, she’s told to find a husband instead. She’s forced to learn to cook and clean and cater to and find more feminine and quiet hobbies than running after animals.

The time is the late 1880s and a woman will have a world of hell in difficulty becoming a zoologist, much less an unwed one. So, in clear social defiance and a fueled by a tad bit of pint-up rebellion, Carol steadily steals some of her father’s money little bit by little bit over time and forges letters of wooing from a man far away.

When she’s of age, she’s sent off under the assumption she’s to meet her soon-to-be husband, her parents still confused why they’ve never met him. Once alone in a city where no one knows her name, she exchanges her wardrobe for men’s attire, cuts her hair, and changes her name on post cards and address to being Charles.

Carol has to live in a world that’s filled with problems because it’s society is unjust. She has to falsify who she is to escape and live the dream she desires.

“I’m a goddamned new-aged Joan of Arc,” she inaccurately compares, standing in front of the mirror one day auditing her masculine appearance. Fitting, almost, she thinks; she’s never been overly feminine.

Carol has to live a lie because of this world.

----------

Her second secret comes to light—it nearly betraying her when she’s met Mrs. Maria Bennett.

Sure, Carol’s hooked up with women before, has flirted with them, have gotten hot and heavy in the beds of carriages. And, once in her travels, gets under the sheets with one. But, with Maria—

Carol’s other secret is that she’s never been attracted to men.

So, during the next few months the Bennetts learn their ways around the camp and the African topography. As Charles, Carol lifts heavier items around Mrs. Maria Bennett. She rolls her sleeves to display her muscular arms, and fixes the other woman with a smoulder the day after catching Maria staring in longing before burying her nose back in her textbook.

And, Carol knows it’s wrong, knows a lot of what she is is considered wrong by fragile ego’ed and vile men, but still, she can’t help gliding her fingers up Maria’s arm one night beside a small fire. Her pale hand gently dances along Maria’s irresistible dark complexion and her face is aglow and godlike in the moonlight.

Carol’s flaunting and flirting for the past two months seemed to have finally paid off, she thinks, getting lost in Maria’s lovely eyes. Maria’s own gaze is unfocused, alternating between Carol’s intense stare and her soft mouth.

Carol’s fingers rise to Maria’s sleeve, to her skin at her collar, finger pads gliding through the sweat created from the African humidity, and she shivers once the knuckles of Carol’s fingers slowly slide down to the dip of her collarbone.

“Charles,” Maria whispers, heartbeat racing in fear that it’s found out she’s been fantasizing about someone other than her husband.

But Carol has never hated hearing that fake name more than she does now. It doesn’t sound right. It isn’t her.

“Do you love him?” she asks, meaning Maria’s husband.

Her palm descends further, her gaze flickering to watch Maria’s bosom rise and fall in shallow, rapid breaths. Oh, how she’d love to see it bare, its gloriously brown color and perked nipples and lushness and all. Her hooded gaze rises just in time to see Maria shrug, trying to act as if her pulse isn’t speeding as fast as Carol’s.

“He’s nice enough. Has money and property. And through him I’m able to do study the biodiversity—”

“But do you love him?” Carol’s hand glides up to cradle the back of Maria’s neck, and their stares are so intense it could rival the fire’s crackling heat.

Maria doesn’t formulate an answer beyond breathlessly repeating Carol’s fake name.

Taking one last look around the sleeping camp through the sides of her eyes, Carol leans in and kisses the married woman with passion that’s never been felt by either. It leaves them both breathless.

After inviting Maria to her quarters, Carol douses the fire and leads the beautiful woman to her caravan.

Once the wooden door closes and her mouth is against hers once again, Maria whispers, worriment lining her tone, “Are you sure this is allowed?”

The blonde draws back enough to see her face, it shrouded in shadow. “Do you want it to be?”

There’s an expectant pause, the noises of the jungle the only around them besides their own heavy breathing, the ambience suddenly too loud to their ears other and rivaling their own heartbeats. And then—

And then Maria kisses Carol back.

In the dead of the night, both women fall onto Carol’s cot, touching each other like they’ve never been touched before, like it’s love imprinted on both sets of hands, lighting each other’s bodies on fire.

Carol’s hesitant to fully undress, but as she does, undoing the wrapping on her breasts and then presenting herself fully, her memorized lie about being in an automobile “accident”* is why her body is female doesn’t even get halfway out because Maria tells she’s always known she is in disguise, and is good with it.

For so long, Carol has been heard that only lying with men is allowed. To do so with the same sex is unholy. But Carol is certain she’s reached a realm beyond holy, untouched by many, under the loving of another like her.

They make love as women, openly. And, sometime through it all when they’re sweaty and starry-eyed and enamored, skin pressed to heated skin, it’s felt that their heartbeats completely match.

------------

“What is your real name,” Maria asks, eyes heavy and still blissed out.

“Carol.” She feels vulnerable but in a way that feels good.

“Carol,” Maria tries the name on her tongue. It fits, she shares, Carol’s existence like a loud melody which Maria loves listening to.

.

.

*(there was a story I remember reading where a crossdressing woman did give the excuse that she's dickless is because it "fell off after a critical accident." it was waaaay in the past and people were dumb and believed it)

#danbeau #maria x carol #carol x maria #maria rambeau x carol danvers #carol danvers x maria rambeau #marvel femslash #marvel fic #marvel fangirl #captain marvel fanfic #captain marvel #carol danvers #maria rambeau #reincarnation au #reincarnated au #soulmate au #soulmates au #the physical world and our place in it #short fic #short fiction #femslash fanfic #femslash fic #women loving women #victorian au #carol danvers fanfiction #maria rambeau fanfiction #carol danvers fic #danbeau fic #danbeau fanfiction #palettewrites

[pirate-au]

A Pirate's Life for a Prince (Part 1)

Summary: Roman was a dashing Captain, content with his exciting life out at sea, diving head first into adventure both on and off land. He wouldn't give up his life for anything, and yet he found himself...lacking something. He was never sure what.

When he meets Virgil, a seemingly common traveler in an old tavern, that lacking feeling in his chest goes away for the first time in a long while. So surely there's no harm in offering the stranger and his friend a ride, right?

Notes: @cheshirevalentine is the reason this au exists, they've done so much to help me create this story and so many others. I owe them so much, thank you for being my muse and letting me ramble constantly <3

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

The Captain swiveled around as soon as the first punch was thrown, watching from his seat at the bar as one of his crew and a drunk local quarreled on the other side of the tavern.

Roman glanced at Logan seated beside him, chuckling quietly at the look on his first mate’s face as the pair watched the drunken fight.

“I could break it up, you know,” Roman boasted, making a face as he took a swig of the drink he would never admit he loathed the taste of. It fit his image- the image of the daring pirate Captain that Roman had read stories of long before he’d gotten his own ship- so Roman kept the drink in his hand and forced down another mouthful. “It’d be easy. Easier than walking.”

“You will do no such thing,” Logan said, and Roman knew his friend would much rather be back aboard the ship, safe and warm with a good book. “Sit still and at least try to pretend you enjoy the taste of alcohol.”

Sit still? Roman had never sat still in his life, Logan should know better than to feed him such blasphemy. He let go of the retort on the tip of his tongue in favor of taking another uncomfortable sip of his drink, trying and failing to hide the way his face screwed up in disgust at the abhorrent taste.

Logan watched him, amused, before draining the rest of his glass with ease. Roman resisted the urge to gag. The price of having a reputation as a fearsome captain was, apparently, drinking incredibly shitty alcohol to look cool and tough. The life was exciting, and the bounty was worth the price. But by God, the drink was foul.

Logan rolled his eyes, swapping their glasses. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s for the image, Logan. You wouldn’t understand.” Roman retorted, though he didn’t protest the swap. He wasn’t going to finish it anyways.

Logan didn’t respond, just flashed his captain another deadpan look to which Roman responded with a bright grin before turning his attention back to the fight at the other side of the bar.

They were both clearly very drunk, swaying on their feet, their punches wide and sloppy, so Roman wasn’t particularly worried about anyone causing any serious damage.

Roman didn’t even particularly like taverns, and he knew for a fact Logan only came along to make sure he didn’t get himself into trouble, but bars like this were the best place to sit back and observe the most interesting people.

After weeks at sea in cramped quarters with the same faces, Roman couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night before they left again the next morning.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love his ship. He did! He wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world. He was the dashing and daring Captain Roman, fearlessly exploring the seas with a wonderful crew and his best friend right at his side.

And yet it never felt… complete. Something was wrong. Missing. It was never quite right, as perfect as it was, but for the life of him he could never voice exactly what was wrong.

A bell rang, barely audible above the commotion, and Roman tore his attention away from the fight to watch the newcomers open the door

Two strangers stepped inside, wrapped in dark cloaks that looked like they cost as much as Roman’s whole ship. They both looked a good two heads shorter than him or Logan, and judging by their clothes, a tavern like this was not the kind of place they frequented.

One of them had their hood draped over their head to conceal their face, the other holding the tavern door open and ushering their friend inside.

A disgruntled yell from the other side of the bar turned Roman’s attention back to the drunken fight, and he saw Logan give the newcomers a brief once-over himself.

Roman watched as the fight gradually slowed down, his crewman clearly a little less adept at handling his alcohol, eventually ending up sprawled out on the floor with a broken nose and split lip. Pity, he thought he taught his men how to hold their own in a fight.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Roman’s attention, and he watched curiously as a man from the other end of the bar got up from his stool and sauntered over to the table where the two cloaked strangers had settled down.

He was tall, about Roman’s height, smirking dangerously with a drink in one hand, the sword tucked into its sheath just barely visible underneath his coat.

He finished his drink as he made it to the table, his eyes on the hooded stranger. Roman could just barely make out what was being said from the bar.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he purred, leaning forward with his free hand resting on the table. “You new here or something?”

The stranger didn’t respond, and while Roman couldn’t see their face from where he was seated, he could see his companion visibly tense, reaching over to touch his arm.

“Yes, I’m talkin’ to you,” the man continued, his smirk growing as he looked the stranger over. “Prettiest thing in town, why wouldn’t I be talkin’ to ya?”

The stranger lifted his head, just enough for Roman to catch a glimpse of a pale face and dark hair, before looking back down at their lap. “I...uh. Thank you?”

“So you’re new here, then?” the man asked again. “You seem so nervous. Let me buy you a drink, it’ll mellow ya out.”

Both cloaked strangers tensed, and Roman’s wariness grew along with theirs. He knew that look, knew that tone of voice, knew exactly the intentions a man like that had.

“No thank you,” the hooded one said, barely audible, his friend’s hand still on his arm. “Sorry, I’m… not interested.”

“You don’t have to be so shy.” The man tilted his head as he leaned in closer, and Roman found himself already getting up from his stool. “Come on, handsome. Let me buy you a drink, it’ll loosen you up. I promise.”

Roman started forward, ready to remind this asshole that no meant no, only to stop with a hand grabbed his wrist, pulling him to a stop.

“Roman.” Logan already looked exhausted, and Roman hadn’t even done anything yet. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Roman grinned, pulling his arm away with a wink he knew would only annoy his first mate further. “Saving a damsel in distress, of course.”

“But we agreed to avoid any confrontation—”

Roman waved him off and made his way across the bar, all his attention back to the man who still hadn’t left the table alone.

“I said no thank you,” the stranger said, and his voice made it clear he was trembling. “I don’t want a drink.”

“Oh, come on. I—”

“Pardon me,” Roman interjected, sweeping the man’s hand out from under him on the table. “I believe he said no. If you would be so kind as to leave now, that would be wonderful.”

The man gave him a disgruntled look, to which Roman responded with an even smile. “Piss off, prissy. No one asked you, he’s just being coy.”

“He said no.”

The man shoved Roman’s shoulder, scowling when he refused to stumble back. “And I said piss off.”

Roman could almost picture Logan’s eye roll as he squared his shoulders and shoved back, admittedly with a bit more force than necessary. He thought briefly back to what Logan always said, about how his Captain never backed down. And about how it was going to get them all killed one day.

And yet here his first mate was, standing at his elbow, stiff and unmoving as Roman stared his opponent down.

He was a bit bigger than Roman, the alcohol in his system clearly making him a bit unpredictable, scowling at Logan before narrowing his eyes at Roman, who simply smiled again, a cold warning.

“You need to learn the difference between coy and not interested, scoundrel. Leave him alone or I’ll be forced to remove you from the area.”

It was all a show, hopefully enough to get this drunk asshole to see reason and back off before someone got hurt.

But if a fight was what he wanted, then a fight was what he would get. Roman wasn’t one to chicken out of a confrontation, as much as Logan would like him to, from something silly like a little fear. Fear was a secondary emotion! It didn’t rule him.

Besides, he had someone to protect this time. And with Logan at his side, he was unstoppable.

Logan was going to kill him, of course, but that was a problem for later.

The man scoffed and set his empty glass on the table, looking back at the hooded stranger with another smirk. “Give me a second to handle this, alright? We’ll talk after.”

He winked, before winding back and swinging, his fist connecting right with Roman’s jaw. The Captain jerked backwards, stumbling slightly before he threw himself forward, tackling the man to the floor.

The tavern erupted into chaos, drunk bystanders cheering and shouting as the fight became the center of attention. Roman thought he saw someone start towards them, probably one of this asshole’s friends, only to smile when Logan immediately intercepted.

No matter how tired Logan pretended to be of Roman jumping head first into danger, he knew his friend would always be right there with him.

He wrestled with his assailant, blocking a punch to the face and grabbing the man’s arm, pinning it firmly to the ground. The surrounding bystanders continued to cheer as Roman got the upperhand, suspecting that his opponent being a little drunk helped the Captain overpower him.

Roman managed his way on top of the man, straddling him and pulling his gun from his belt. He cocked the weapon and put it to the forehead of the assailant, watching with a satisfied smile as he froze.

“If you dare come near this young man again, I’ll make sure I have a bullet saved just for you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

The man glared, scowling as he looked away from Roman’s cold stare. “Crystal.”

“Good.” Roman stood, wiping the blood from his nose and rubbing his jaw, his pistol trained on the man as he struggled to sit up. “Up now, I’d like to see you and your wounded pride leave my tavern.”

He struggled to his feet and spat blood at the floor, glaring daggers at Roman as he limped towards the exit, the crowd parting.

As soon as the tavern door slammed shut, Roman turned to Logan and the young man he’d saved with a smug smile, twirling the pistol on his finger.

“It’s not even loaded,” he stage-whispered, turning back to Logan with a playful pout when the stranger’s eyes widened. “What? Not even a ‘good job?’ Anything?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, ever unamused. “You were reckless.”

“You have no appreciation for your Captain, Logan,” Roman said. “Truly. My splendor would be a waste if I had not been saving a pretty man.”

The resident “damsel in distress” was watching Roman with wide eyes, turning only when his friend took his arm again, leaning in close to whisper, “Can we go now?”

Roman realized he hadn’t even bothered to check in, too busy flaunting his victory to his first mate. He turned back to the table and forcibly relaxed his shoulders, hoping to come across as non-threatening as possible.

“I’m sorry about all that,” he said, cocky smiling softening to something more gentle. “Are you two alright? No bumps or anything?”

Roman had meant to address both of them, it was the polite thing to do after all, but he found himself meeting the wary eyes of the stranger with the hood. His chest felt light, his smile easy and a little excited, ignoring the way Logan was probably motioning for them to leave as quickly as possible.

“I’m fine,” the stranger said, still visibly nervous. He was much smaller than Roman, and definitely the most cleaned up person in the bar. “We’re… both fine. We’re ok. Uh, thank you for… that. Thank you.”

The Captain pressed his sleeve to his still slowly trickling nose bleed, quickly wiping away what he could. “I loathe to say it, but that sort of thing happens in bars like this all the time. Are you two not from around here? Travelers, maybe?”

“I… uh, yes. I’m- we’re travelers. We’re just passing through. You’re… uh, you’re bleeding. A little bit.”

Roman broke his now probably uncomfortable eye contact to glance down at his sleeve, blood splattered on his wrist and knuckles. “It appears I am. A small price to pay, I suppose.”

Logan was suddenly beside him again, and he beamed when his first mate handed him a neatly folded handkerchief. He always seemed to have something on him to clean up cuts and scrapes since his Captain always seemed to get into fights.

He took the cloth and pressed it to the blood flow, turning back to the table with another sweet smile. He should politely excuse himself instead of making conversation but… well, he wanted to keep talking to the cute stranger he’d saved.

“Where are you two heading, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The stranger blinked, glancing briefly at his friend before answering. “Uh, we’re not… really sure yet. We just wanted to see the city, you know?”

“Sightseeing?” Roman echoed, brightening. “Oh, this city is so beautiful, especially at night! Perhaps Logan and I could accompany you before we set off for Deigh in the morning?”

“That’s… really nice of you to offer,” the stranger said, eyes bright. “But I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh, of course! Where are my manners?” Roman smiled warmly, extending a hand to shake. “Roman. It’s a pleasure to meet you…?”

The stranger accepted the offered hand, his touch a little cold and timid. “Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Roman repeated, smiling brightening as he took Virgil’s hand and gently raised it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. “A beautiful name. How about that trip around the city, Virgil?”

Virgil’s face went red, much to Roman’s delight, and he gave a small nod. “I’d like that, Roman. If you have the time.”

He was sure his own face was flushed similarly, even as he unfortunately had to let go of Virgil’s hand. “For you, darling? I have all the time in the world.”

He led Virgil outside, watching as he sent his friend a reassuring smile before exiting the tavern, Logan following close behind.

“Any requests before we head off?”

“Wherever you want to go,” Virgil said, hesitating outside the tavern doors. “You’re the expert, right?”

Roman offered Virgil his elbow, like a gentleman should, his smile widening and Virgil accepted the gesture. "Well lucky for you two, you're partying with the best."

He’s full of shit. He doesn’t know this city, he’s not from here. He’s only been here a day and a half.

It was fine, he’d figure it out despite having absolutely no idea where he was going. It didn’t matter anyway, because Virgil smiled at him as the Captain led the small group down the street, and Roman’s heart had never felt so full.

“I’m not exactly the best navigator,” Roman admitted. “But I’m sure the city can’t be that difficult to walk around.”

All he could do was hope Logan would know the layout of the city and jump in to help. Roman didn’t know where they were or how to get anywhere.

His first mate never did offer any assistance, and Roman suspected it was some kind of petty revenge for starting a bar fight. Logan and Virgil’s friend (whose name Roman soon learned was Patton) fell a few paces behind to talk, leaving Roman to guide Virgil around the city, improvising a lavish tour.

He was fairly certain Virgil could tell everything Roman was saying about the city was absolute bullshit, and that he had absolutely no idea where they were, but he seemed to enjoy the show the Captain was putting on.

Virgil was laughing and smiling, genuinely lighting up with each joke and story Roman told, eyes widening whenever Roman would mention his adventures out at sea.

By far, this was the best time Roman had had on land in a long while. Virgil was a little jittery, sure, but he was slowly relaxing, his smile never faltering. Roman adored being able to make someone smile like this.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end. Eventually, the moon high in the late night sky, Roman led the group right back to where they’d started, his heart aching as he slowed them to a stop outside the tavern.

“It really was wonderful to meet you, Virgil,” Roman said, his playful smile softening. “Thank you for allowing Logan and I to accompany you around the city.”

Virgil hesitated, fiddling with the cloak around his shoulders. He glanced at Patton- who had been giving Roman a harsh side glare nearly the entire tour- before turning back to the Captain, visibly nervous.

“Where did you say you were heading?”

Roman smiled again, ridiculously relieved Virgil wasn’t jumping at the opportunity to get away from the Captain. Roman knew he was charming, sure, but people often found him a bit...obnoxious. It had been a while since someone besides Logan had really enjoyed his company.

“My crew and I set off for Deigh first thing tomorrow morning,” Roman said. “It’s a ways away, so I thought it was best to give them a day to rest before we head off.” It was starting to feel more like polite small talk now, but he’d take whatever would let him talk to Virgil for just a little longer. “And you? Any idea where you plan to go after this?”

Virgil met his eyes, and Roman left breathless at the beautiful brown and gray. He seemed to steel himself before answering. “I was…actually thinking of visiting Deigh. Is there any way you could give us a ride? I’d pay you, of course. I have the money.”

Roman brightened, his face splitting into a grin, but Patton spoke up before the Captain could answer.

“Well, hold on now kiddo. I thought—”

“It’s a far journey, you know,” Roman interrupted, too excited to let him finish. “And we aren’t exactly a passenger ship. But I’m sure we could work something out for you!”

He glanced over his shoulder at Logan, his first mate staring with a displeased frown. This was a terrible idea, of course. Pirates don’t take passengers. They’re pirates!

But not only was he offering to pay, he was also incredibly cute and sweet and funny and he made Roman’s heart do somersaults. And he made that quiet, sick sort of feeling of missing something go away. So really, it was an all-around win.

“That's really kind of you,” Virgil said, soft and just as excited as Roman. “Are you sure it’s okay? I know it’s last second and everything.”

“It’ll be fine,” Roman assured. Oh, Logan was going to murder him. Logan was going to smother him in his sleep tonight. Which would be easy, considering they’d be rooming together. Not that Logan knew that yet. “I assume you’ve been on a ship before. You’re not going to freak out two days in because you can’t see land, are you?”

“Of course I have!” Virgil matched Roman’s excited grin as he rushed to his own defense. “I’ll be fine.”

“Perfect!” Roman stepped back, sending the small group a dazzling smile. “We’ll get you to Deigh, traveler. I’m sure the crew will love you.” He turned towards the direction he and Logan had come from, the docks just a short walk from the tavern. “Shall we be off, then?”

He glanced between the two travelers, determined to avoid Logan’s stare. Virgil glanced at Patton, his friend shifting on his feet a bit, fiddling with the sleeves of the sweater he wore under his cloak, just barely visible through the dark cloth.

“Patton?” Virgil asked, turning away from Roman for a moment. “You’re… good with this?”

Patton startled, quickly plastering on a bright smile. “I’m good to go kiddo, don’t look at me. Where you go, I go. I’m just… a little worried, is all. I know how you get… seasick.”

They seemed to be having a silent conversation in their stares, entirely separate from what Roman and Logan were hearing, and the Captain quickly averted his gaze, watching his boots as he waited.

“Right,” Virgil said, quiet and hesitant. “I’ll be fine, but I- I know you don’t love… boats. And you really like this city.”

Patton laughed, the sound weak and full of deflated cheer. “I like you more than I like the city, Virgil. And it’s another adventure! Where you go, I’m going too. Always.”

Roman remembered having a similar conversation with Logan more than once, and his smile had turned soft and almost wistful by the time Virgil turned back to him, his own excitement rapidly returning.

“Okay,” he said. “I think we’re ready, if you’re sure there’s room for us.”

“There’s plenty of room! Come on, I’ll lead the way.”

Roman started down the street, fairly certain he knew where he was going, forcing himself to slow his excited pace when he realized no one else was able to keep up with it.

Apparently, he did not know the way as well as he thought he did. It became clear he’d gotten them lost when they passed the same building twice, and Logan took the lead with a quiet sigh, bringing the group to the docks.

Roman’s excitement only grew the closer they got, practically jogging by the time the water came into view, the temptation to bound up the gangplank and reunite with his beloved ship nearly overtaking him.

Flooded with adoration as they approached, Roman turned to face the group with his arms swept out, motioning towards his ship.

“There she is!” he announced. “The Calypso, in all of her splendor! Isn’t she gorgeous?”

She was, of course, but he felt a swell of pride in his chest when he took in Virgil’s wide eyed, almost starstruck stare.

“She is,” Virgil said, sounding a bit breathless. “Wow.”

The Calypso had been his home for many years, sanctuary from the wind and rain, from the waves and the land, every moment on her deck an adventure waiting to happen. Roman occasionally felt the pang of homesickness in his gut, but he’d been content for a long time.

He beamed at Virgil and Patton, still carefully avoiding looking at Logan, who was being oddly quiet. “I’ll show you two to your room and let you get settled.”

He offered Virgil a hand, and the other young man didn’t hesitate this time before taking it. Roman felt like Virgil’s hand belonged here, entangled in his own.

He led the four of them onto the ship, careful to make sure Virgil kept his balance when he first stepped on board, easily falling into stories of his adventures, eagerly telling his guests about the exciting life of a pirate- and probably overselling it. Just a bit.

Roman brought them below deck, stopping in front of the door to the Captain’s quarters, realizing he really should have at least mentioned this part of his last minute plan to his first mate.

“And, uh… this is your room,” Roman told their guests, motioning at his own door. “Logan and I will be right across the hall.”

He could practically feel Logan staring at him, just inches away where he stood quietly. His first mate was going to flay him alive for this.

Well, they’d talk about it later. In detail, seeing as how they’d be sharing a room for the foreseeable future.

Virgil reluctantly let go of Roman’s hand, seeming to pick up on the unspoken tension. “Thank you, but Patton and I can really stay anywhere if this is inconvenient. I know this is all spur of the moment.”

“Not at all,” Logan spoke up, to Roman’s surprise. “It makes more sense for you to be comfortable than staying with the rest of the crew.”

“A room change won’t kill us,” Roman added, grateful Logan was at least pretending not to be furious in front of Virgil. “And spur of the moment is my specialty, I can assure you.”

Virgil still hesitated, clearly worried and a little overwhelmed, but he relaxed just a bit when Patton reached over to squeeze his hand.

“Thank you,” Virgil said again, and Roman knew even Logan couldn’t resist someone so genuinely grateful. “I… I really, really appreciate this.”

“It’s no problem,” Roman said, placing a reassuring hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “But it’s getting late, we should all turn in.”

Virgil relaxed under his touch, tension seeping out of his shoulders as he nodded. “Goodnight, then. And… thank you again. I mean it.”

“Goodnight, you two,” Roman said, lifting his hand from Virgil’s shoulder. “Sleep well.”

He turned, swiftly making his way across the hall and letting himself into Logan’s room without another word, leaving the door open for his first mate to follow.

Roman heard Virgil and Patton step inside their room and close the door behind them, followed by Logan moving to stand in the open doorway, hesitating a moment before stepping inside.

His friend sighed, and he sounded exhausted. “What the hell are you doing, Roman?”

“I’m just helping!” Roman turned around to face him, hands wrung in front of him. “He said he wanted to get to Deigh! It’s not like it’s even out of our way, I’m not changing course. We'll still be on schedule and on par for where we should be."

Logan sighed again, pushing up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, and Roman started to pace the length of the cabin. “Roman, we do not take passengers. You just met this man in a bar.”

"And he needed to get to Deigh! He's paying us to take him, Lo!” As he walked, he fidgeted with the (still unloaded) gun on his hip, starting the process of taking it apart. “This isn't the end of the world."

He watched as Logan closed the door behind him, moving to sit on the edge of his bed and watch Roman move. “I don’t understand. We never take passengers, and you insisted on giving these two your room.”

After years of practice, Roman could dismantle his gun with ease by now. His hands were constantly moving, taking things apart and putting them back together, especially when he was nervous. As he walked, he disassembled it, turning every few paces to walk in the other direction, his eyes downcast towards the weapon.

“I just… they needed a ride, Logan. I wanted to help them.” Roman started, his voice making a valiant attempt to catch in his throat. “I know I… should have talked to you first. I can sleep on the deck, it’s not an issue.”

“You’re not sleeping on the deck,” Logan said. “You're sleeping in here. I'm not angry with you about the rooms, I just want to know why you were so willing to change your plans for a stranger.”

Roman didn’t respond for a moment, steadily reassembling his gun and tucking it back into his waistband. “I didn’t change my plans, the plan is exactly the same as it was. The passengers were simply an added surprise.”

“An added surprise you usually would never allow,” Logan pointed out, and Roman resorted to fidgeting with his collar as he paced. “And giving up your room? Logically, you would put them with the rest of the crew. Why do Virgil and Patton get special treatment?”

Roman paused for a moment, his back to Logan, but he was back to moving almost instantly. “They… seemed like they wouldn’t do well with the crew. And I’d rather not cause a disrupt right before we leave. Too much trouble.”

Roman was quickly running out of excuses, but Logan didn’t seem inclined to drop it. “They seem polite enough. I’m sure the crew wouldn’t have had any issues.”

The Captain just shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Roman,” Logan said. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m pacing, Logan,” Roman retorted, quickly buttoning and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. “Come on, four-eyes, you aren’t that blind.”

He heard Logan sigh, his first mate clearly biting back his own rising frustration. “The Captain of my ship just gave two complete strangers his room, and I cannot understand why.”

Roman finally stopped pacing and turned to face Logan, eyes on the floor as his hands dropped to his sides, shoulders falling. “I just… I want to take care of him. I don’t want him to be uncomfortable, Logan. I don’t want him to have to stay with the crew, he should have a space.”

A beat of silence, and he glanced up as Logan blinked at him. “Why?”

“We do this every time I have a crush,” Roman said, going right back to pacing, his hands running through his hair. “You’re so smart and you really can’t see that I… he… you saw him! Did you see him, Logan? Christ!”

“I… saw him,” Logan said slowly. “And he is here, in your room, because you… have romantic feelings for someone you just met in a bar tonight?”

“Yes!” Roman stopped again, face buried in his hands. “Thank you, Captain Obvious! I'll pass you the reins- you're the captain now! You got it! It only took you forever—”

“Roman you know nothing about Virgil. His name might not even be Virgil. Besides, you’ve just given up your room. If you decide to pursue him—”

“Pursue him?” Roman whirled around, eyes wide and face burning. “Logan I’m- that’s not… I’m not pursuing him! I just think he’s cute!” He glanced towards the door, lowering his voice to a whisper. “And keep your voice down, I don’t want them hearing us.”

Logan tilted his head, studying his Captain’s face. “Why? If you have romantic feelings for someone, isn't the best case scenario for them to be made aware?”

Roman groaned and lowered himself to the floor, covering his reddened face in his hands once again. “No, it’s not.”

“I don’t understand,” Logan said again. “He’ll be staying on your ship for an extended period of time and you… don't even plan on mentioning your feelings? That doesn’t seem logical.”

Feelings were never logical, especially love. Roman just didn’t know how to explain that out loud. “I don’t know, Lo. We aren’t even one night in, just… give it time, ok? I just let him on my ship and I don’t… I don’t want him to feel like he owes me something for it.”

The room was plunged into heavy silence, everything achingly quiet, but at least Roman knew Logan understood now.

“Ah.” he said after a moment, clearing his throat. “Apologies, I’m not… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Take your time, Roman.”

“I know, it’s ok.” The room was silent for another moment before Roman pushed himself to his feet, brushing himself off. “It’s late, you should get to sleep. Long day tomorrow.”

“You’re the one always talking about your beauty sleep,” Logan said, watching as Roman made his way to the door. “Where are you going?”

“I just need some air, that’s all. I’m always beautiful, a little lost sleep won't change that, I promise.”

“Roman—”

“Get some sleep,” Roman said, aware he was being uncharacteristically closed off. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He turned the handle and slipped outside, quietly closing the door behind him, the quiet deck and crisp night air waiting with open arms as he left the rooms behind.

Taglist: @i-really-like-dragons @stitches-system @poettheythem @remy-the-lemon-berry @shrubs-and-bushes @i-sexually-identify-as-a-mistake @wordsmithandworm @the-dead-and-the-decaying @hope340 @winterwynd @thomas-sanders-tothe-standers

Masterpost

#pirate au #ts roman #roman sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #ts logan #logan sanders #ts patton #patton sanders #prinxiety #logicality #fanfiction #writing #alcohol tw #chapter one

[rafael-silva]

steady me with your touch: a tarlos fic

A call brings the 126 crew, APD and the Texas Rangers together. When Carlos gets hurt on said scene, Gabriel bears witness to TK working through his worry as he takes care of Carlos, the love and deep connection between them evident as clear as the sun shines. In the aftermath, TK is there for his boyfriend, in more ways than one.

for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + arm in a sling 

hurt carlos reyes, worried tk strand, paramedic tk, hurt/comfort, emotional/hurt comfort, kisses, whump, comfort, angst with a happy ending, soft boyfriends 

5.7k | rated T | on ao3

*****

Walking into the precinct that morning, the air heavy with tension and stress, Carlos had an inkling about the day that lied ahead. And in retrospect, Carlos’s gut was proven right.

*****

Switching off the siren and hopping out of the patrol car, Carlos and Mitchell quickly stride towards their captain, who is wearing a grim look as he speaks to a couple of other officers. Carlos looks around, noticing a perimeter already being set by his colleagues as bystanders start to gather across the street.

Captain Kendricks turns in their direction as they approach him.

“Reyes, Mitchell, good that you got here so quick,” he says.

“Captain,” Carlos nods as he slips on his vest. “We were a few blocks over when the call came in.”

Before the captain can reply, the echo of more sirens grab their attentions. Turning in the direction of the incoming sounds, Carlos immediately finds the bold 126 numbers painted on the side of the firetruck, followed by the ambulance.

His eyes remain fixed on the vehicles as the firefighters disembark, watching as Owen searches the crowd for the person in command of the scene before even his boots hit the ground.

The fire captain’s eyes quickly find Carlos and Captain Kendricks and he says something to Judd before hurrying over to the police officers.

“Captain Kendricks,” Owen greets, extending his hand.

“Captain Strand,” Kendricks replies, shaking Owen’s extended hand.

“Officer Reyes, Officer Mitchell.”

“Captain Strand,” Carlos responds next.

“What’s the situation?”

“I was just about to brief Officers Reyes and Mitchell. We have a hostage situation, it was called in about ten minutes ago. The daughter made the call, she and her parents had come home and according to her, she had gone to her bedroom straight away, and a few moments later she heard arguing and strange voices coming from the living room. She discovered three men in black ski masks, armed, and yelling at her parents. She ran back to her room and called 911. And it appears to have started out as a robbery.”

Owen nods. “So, at least three robbers.”

Captain Kendricks nods. “We’re still trying to establish communication with the intruders, and in the meantime, the daughter is still on the line with 911,” the captain continues. “Where is she hiding?”

“Her bedroom, north-east side of the building.”

“Any updates, Captain Kendricks?” Another voice pops up, approaching the group.

At hearing the familiar voice, Carlos turns to see his father making his way towards them and gets a nod from Gabriel when their eyes meet.

“No new updates yet, Major.”

“Sir,” Carlos greets his father.

“Captain Strand,” Gabriel extends his hand.

“Major Reyes,” Owen reciprocates, shaking the offered palm.

“Captain Strand, I’ll need you and your crew close and on stand by,” Kendricks states, then turning to Carlos and Mitchell, “Reyes, Mitchell, I want you to cover the back door, along with Banks and Carter. Keep your eyes open and watch each other’s backs, report any movement.”

“Yes, sir,” Carlos responds.

Looking back in the direction of the firetruck, Carlos sees the 126 crew standing near, talking together and looking at the building. He quickly finds TK, and unlike everyone else, the paramedic is looking straight at him, also having sought out his boyfriend amid the crowd.

They start a wordless conversation, declarations spoken through brown and green gates as they connect on a deeper level, the world around them momentarily fading away. A wave of understanding sways between them, an invisible string extending and bridging them together; they both know what the other is expressing, speaking through their hearts, the words echoing in their eyes, seeing into each other’s souls. Carlos gives TK a nod, which the paramedic replies to with a small smile.

Turning back, Carlos shares a look with his father.

Gabriel’s hand moves to Carlos’s face, gently patting his cheek then his shoulder.

“Be careful, son,” Gabriel pleads.

“Will do, sir,” Carlos replies, giving his dad a smile.

Gabriel watches as his son glances over his shoulder one more time before walking into the opposite direction and towards the back of the building, his partner on his heels.

Gabriel turns to glimpse in the direction Carlos had just looked in and easily finds TK, the younger man’s eyes trailed on Carlos. The Ranger’s movement then catches TK’s eyes and they share a look. Gabriel gives him a smile and nod, which TK swiftly return.

*****

They found the daughter, TK had overheard Captain Kendricks telling Owen and Gabriel.

The atmosphere is tense and the air thick as PD and the Rangers work to establish communication with the assailants, which still hasn’t proven manageable. And now without the daughter on the line with dispatch anymore, they are blind to what is happening inside the apartment.

A couple of other officers were assigned to the back of the building along with Carlos and the others, but it’s also been radio silence on their end.

TK is pacing back and forth in front of the truck and ambulance, his shoulders squared and face tight, rubbing his hands together, busying himself.

He can hear his father, Gabriel and Captain Kendricks nearby, discussing what the best course of action would be if it remains radio silence for another few minutes.

He stops moving when the radio comes to life with Carlos’s voice.

“This is 363-H-20,” Carlos’s voice is low and hushed. “Possible movement in the back.”

TK holds his breath, waiting, and then his heart promptly plummets into his stomach at the next transmission, his eyes going wide with fear at the words.

“Shots fired, I repeat, shots fired,” Carlos yells, his voice loud now. “Requesting back up!”

TK swallows against his dry throat when his ears catch the harsh sound of bullets hitting steel and brick in the background of Carlos’s message.

The sun watching over them and the heat engulfing them is suddenly too much for TK, his entire body sizzling from the inside out as his heart beats fiercely against his rib cage.

“Four suspects fleeing north, in pursuit on foot,” Carlos continues a few moments later.

“Hey, hang on, brother,” a close voice pierces TK’s ears. He turns to find Judd’s hand on his shoulder. “They’ll radio if they need EMS. He’s okay.”

He’s okay? TK wants to scoff. He just got rained on by a shower of bullets, he thinks.

TK then looks down and realizes he’d taken a few steps forward, unconsciously trying to get to Carlos. All possibilities of what could go wrong start to rush through his mind; what if Carlos got hit but the adrenaline is masking the pain? What if he collapses while he’s chasing the criminals?

And as if Judd had spoken it into the universe, the radio chirps to life, an unfamiliar voice to TK calling for medical assistance.

The foreign voice alone gets TK’s heart racing some more, his mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that Carlos is the one hurt now that he’s not on the radio. It’s not a given, of course, TK knows, but his mind can’t be convinced otherwise in the moment, his fear of losing Carlos bigger than logic.

TK lifts his head towards the group of officers just in time to see a bunch of them joined by a few Rangers, including Gabriel, rush to their vehicles.

A few other officers make their way towards the paramedics, and lead them to where they’re needed, towards the fallen officer. TK’s legs move on their own accord, he needs to know.

TK feels the sweat roll down his neck and back as they get closer to the officers, he tightens his hold on the medkit, repeating please be okay, Carlos, please be okay, over and over in his head.

He gets a proper view of the officer on the ground and his shoulders sag a little, a sigh escaping him when he sees it’s not Carlos. He drops the medkid and kneels next to the cop, his partner speaking on his behalf.

“He took a round to his vest, it didn’t go through but he said it hurts to breathe a little.”

The paramedics work in unison to get the officer assessed and stable. TK had seen both of the cops at Carlos’s precinct a couple of times but he hasn’t spoken to them before.

A question over the radio grabs his attention then.

“What’s your location, Reyes?” Kendricks speaks into his radio.

“Just passed Brazos and East 4th,” comes Carlos’s quick reply around his pants.

“Copy, back up is in en route.”

TK takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, gathering his nerves. Carlos is going to be okay.

A few blocks away, Carlos watches as the four suspects break into two group, each going in opposite directions.

“They’ve split up,” Carlos relays. “Banks and Carter, go East, Mitchell and I will stay on them heading north.”

Sirens fill the air around Carlos as he pushes his muscles and wills his legs to keep running, the suspects just ahead of him as he sees them turn a corner.

“Suspects have turned a corner, heading West on 5th,” Carlos speaks into his radio, slowing to a jog and eventually stopping.

“Reyes?” Mitchell questions as she slows next to her partner.

“We can cut them off before they reach West Avenue,” Carlos tells Mitchell, gathering his breath. “There’s a shortcut to West 5th,” he explains, pointing to a nearby alley. “Through there.”

Mitchell nods and follows Carlos into the alley. They quickly make their way between the buildings, eventually reaching the main street. They slow down when they’re almost at West 5th street, staying close against the wall to conceal their movements. Carlos carefully peaks his head out, his heart hammering in his chest as he searches for any signs of the suspects.

“Anything?” Mitchell whispers.

“Yeah,” Carlos replies. “They’re heading this way, almost half a block behind.”

Thankfully, the street isn’t busy and there are no bystanders in close vicinity of the robbers. When Carlos gives the signal, he and Mitchell jump out from the alley and into the path of the men, their guns drawn.

The two men freeze, their own guns in their grip and Carlos can instantly read them like an open book.

“Don’t move and don’t even think about it. Lower your weapons and the duffel bags, slowly,” Carlos orders.

“Do it,” Mitchell adds with a stern tone.

The two men don’t move for a few moments before they follow the orders, lowering their guns to the asphalt along with the bags. With her gun still drawn, Mitchell carefully moves forward and kicks the guns away. Then she and Carlos return their own guns to their holsters and move to cuff the suspects.

In a quick move, the man Carlos is holding flicks his head back, and Carlos would have ended up with a broken nose if it weren’t for his quick reflexes, jerking his head backwards and out of the way of the oncoming assault. Carlos’s grip, however, loosens on the man, giving him just enough leverage to slip a little from his hold.

Carlos recovers quickly, locking the man’s wrists to keep him in place as he reaches for his cuffs, but the man continues at his attempt to break free from the officer’s hold.

Carlos is also aware that Mitchell is having her own go with the other suspect, trying to secure him in the same way, too.

The man in Carlos’s grasp sharply and suddenly leans forward, his arms still behind him as he wiggles some more, swaying his body to the side and tipping Carlos’s balance. The man, in another strong tug forward, manages to escape Carlos’s hold when the officer tries to regain his balance. He only reaches the end of the block before Carlos is tackling him to the ground, but not without injury, though. Carlos hears a sickening crack coming from his shoulder when he thuds harshly on his side, his arm and shoulder colliding with the asphalt, his other going around the man to keep him in place.

White, hot pain surges through his nerves and body, and he wants to scream out in agony. He manages to keep the man in place just long enough for Mitchell to run over, having cuffed the other guy and handed him to the back up that arrived moments ago, and takes over using Carlos’s cuffs on the man on the ground.

Carlos breathes out a throaty groan, his good arm free now to cradle his injured shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to regulate his breathing.

“Reyes?” He hears Mitchell call out but he doesn’t reply, the pain clouding his head and preventing him from doing anything except breathe through the continuous throbbing.

He’s vague aware of the sirens around them now, blaring and ear-piercing and he can see the red and blue lights dancing across beyond his closed eyelids.

Carlos’s focus leaves his surroundings and travel to the aching pain and shocks running up and down his arm. But soon, another voice filters through, getting closer. At first, the voice seems so far away, as if Carlos were underwater and the voice above. That voice is one he replies to.

“Carlos?”

“Dad…” Carlos mumbles through clenched teeth.

“What happened?” He hears Gabriel ask.

“Carlos tackled him to the ground, but I didn’t see it happen. I looked up after cuffing the other guy and Carlos was on the ground with him,” Mitchell explains.

“Can you open your eyes for me, son?”

Carlos takes a deep breath through his nose and wills his eyes to open. He finds his father’s concerned face through the momentary blur, and he shakes his head to clear his vision. It seems that wasn’t the best of choices because the action sends a sharp sting running through his head but it fades after a few moments.

“There you are,” Gabriel visibly relaxes a little at seeing Carlos awake. “What hurts?”

“Shoulder,” Carlos pants. “Fell on it.”

Gabriel’s eyes go to Carlos’s shoulder and he grimaces at the unnatural angle the joint is in.

“It’s dislocated,” Gabriel sighs.

Carlos groans again, moving his body to the side, as if he wanted to curl into himself and will the discomfort away. However, all he ends up doing is hissing in pain.

“Stay still, Carlos,” Gabriel warns and then turns to Mitchell. “Radio for EMS.”

She nods, getting to her feet and hauls the cuffed man away, pressing down on her radio to request medical and reports their location.

Gabriel then kneels next to his son and gently settles a hand behind his uninjured shoulder.

“Here, let me help you sit up,” Gabriel says, and receives a nod from Carlos.

Carlos lifts his good arm and wraps his fingers around his father’s wrist for leverage, and mostly using Gabriel’s strength and with the Ranger’s support on his back, they manage to get Carlos up and sitting in a swift but careful motion, but even the slight jostling sends sharp stabbing like pains through Carlos’s arm and shoulder that have him groaning again.

“You okay?” Gabriel asks, his voice coated with worry, hating to see his son in pain.

“Yeah,” Carlos replies a few moments after collecting his breath, his voice shakier than he intended.

His good arm goes back to holding his other, and Gabriel keeps his hand on Carlos’s back, supporting Carlos both literally and figuratively. A part of Gabriel knows that Carlos can very well tumble backwards if it weren’t for his support and it’s also to remind for Carlos that he isn’t alone.

Gabriel looks up when he senses quick movement approaching and sees the paramedics jogging towards them.

“Major Reyes,” TK is the first to speak, his grip on the medkit strap tightening.

Gabriel can pin point the moment TK realizes it’s Carlos who is injured, by the way the young paramedic’s breath hitches and eyes go wide. But he also quickly observes how TK is doing his best to keep himself composed, focused and professional, and to not let his emotions cloud him or cause him to freeze.

“He tackled the suspect and hit his shoulder and arm on the ground,” Gabriel tells them, his eyes moving back to Carlos.

“Hi babe,” TK meets Carlos’s eyes as he kneels next to him, his green irises radiating worry.

The officer gives him the best smile he could muster in hopes of easing the panic he can see drawn on TK’s face.

“How are you doing?”

Carlos swallows. “Okay.”

“How’s your pain?” Tommy asks next, her voice calm and motherly.

Gabriel notices how TK’s eyes keep moving  from unpacking the equipment they need to Carlos, emitting fear and worry. He can see how TK takes some comfort from the fact that Carlos is sitting up, awake and alert, but Gabriel can also tell it’s still not quite enough to completely relieve the young man’s anxiety at seeing Carlos injured, judging by the strain in his shoulders as he works.

“Uh…the pain is maybe a seven? Eight?”

TK’s eyes roam over Carlos’s face, studying him and finds sweat collecting on Carlos’s forehead. His eyes then move down to his middle, where Carlos is holding himself a little unnaturally and taking shallow breaths, TK creasing his eyebrows at the realization.

“Carlos, does anything else hurt?” TK asks, worry evident in his voice.

“My back and down my side,” Carlos winces around a breath. “Breathing hurts a little. It’s like…every breath echoes into my back and it’s like a stabbing pain.”

TK nods and with the help of Gabriel, they gently remove Carlos’s kevlar vest and then TK moves to lift Carlos’s uniform shirt.

He knew to expect a bruise there, Carlos’s momentum when he hit the ground enough to cause that, but he still can’t help the sharp breath he draws in when his eyes land on the dark red bruise already formed down his boyfriend’s back and side.

TK sees Gabriel have the same reaction from the corner of his eye. He gently starts examining the bruise, lightly pressing down on the skin around it and Carlos lets out a low groan.

“I’m sorry, babe.”

Carlos nods, it’s okay.

As he lowers the shirt, TK shares a look with the Ranger and sees the same concern surging through his own body mirrored back at him.

“Cap, back and side are heavily bruised.”

Tommy nods in acknowledgment and then turns to Nancy when she speaks.

“Vitals are holding, Cap, a little low, but they’re stable,” Nancy reports.

Tommy nods again. “Lets see what we can do about that pain now, yeah, Carlos?”

Tommy tells Nancy to administer pain medication through the IV line she just inserted and secured. Carlos lets out a steady breath a few moments later.

“Better?” TK asks.

Carlos nods.

“That’s good,” TK gives him a smile.

“Okay, Carlos, we have to slip your shoulder back into the joint. It won’t be pleasant, the pain will only last for a few seconds though and the meds we gave you will help,” Tommy says.

Carlos nods. “Had a dislocated shoulder before.”

“Alright, then, you know the drill.”

TK moves to Carlos’s uninjured side as Gabriel gets up and steps back, giving them space to work. Tommy now opposite TK, together they get ready, positioning Carlos and TK takes Carlos’s uninjured hand into his own, giving it a squeeze.

After a moment or two, Tommy starts counting and in between the second and third count, she expertly reduces the dislocation and Carlos’s shoulder pops back into the socket.

Carlos’s knuckles go white as his grip on TK’s hand tightens, the seconds of pain causing him to squeeze TK’s hand with everything he’s got. He feels TK run his thumb over his skin as the wave of pain begins to wash away.

“All done,” Tommy smiles at Carlos. “It’s going to be tender and sore for a few days, so take it easy,” she gives him a pointed look.

“Reminds me of an exact same conversation we had a few years ago, that time he sprained his ankle and wanted to walk around the ranch to fix some holes in the fence,” Gabriel says, his tone playful and a little teasing. “We told him to take it easy and yet I found him limping down the stairs less than ten minutes later.”

“I just…like to be helpful and I hate it when an injury gets in the way of that.”

“I hear you, Carlos. But don’t push yourself or you might end up doing more damage. And in this case, it means complete minimal movement of your shoulder, and it’s best if you don’t use it at all for a few days,” Tommy says.

Carlos drops his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t forget, I know your boy really well,” Tommy turns to look at TK. “I’ve learned how to deal with a certain version of the phrase taking it easy.”

Gabriel chuckles again at Tommy’s comment, getting the sense that the two young men have more in common than he initially thought.

TK doesn’t argue, instead he reaches for the arm sling and Gabriel watches as he carefully helps Carlos put it on, securing his arm against his chest and tightening the strap so his arm is properly supported.

“There,” TK says. “And take it easy,” he winks at Carlos.

Carlos chuckles and nods.

Gabriel himself relaxes a little more after watching the exchange, seeing how both Carlos and TK were a little more at ease now that the officer was a little better. He can still see concern at the edges of TK’s eyes and on his face, but he supposes it will be a few days until the remnants of worry are completely gone.

“Can you walk to the ambulance?” Tommy asks.

Carlos frowns, eyes going to his father and then TK. “I thought we were done.”

TK shakes his head. “We still need to take you to the hospital, get some x rays to make sure everything is okay and to check on your muscles and ligaments, too. It’s precautionary, just to make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be and nothing on the inside has been injured in the fall.”

Carlos sighs and nods.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Gabriel says once they get Carlos inside to rig and TK hops in after him.

“Dad, it’s okay,” Carlos starts from where he’s lying upright on the gurney.

Gabriel’s shake of his head stops the officer. “I’ll meet you at the hospital,” he repeats.

“Okay, sir,” Carlos gives him a grateful smile.

Carlos is pretty exhausted and sleeps during the ride to the hospital, TK keeping a steady hold on his hand the whole way, grounding him and giving him comfort.

Carlos is taken to an exam room upon arrival, the nurses allow TK to stay with him while Tommy and Nancy are told to stay in the waiting area, which is where Gabriel finds them ten minutes after their arrival.

“Major Reyes,” Tommy says once she spots him. “Carlos is being examined right now, TK is with him and he’ll come with updates.”

Gabriel nods and takes a seat in one of plastic chairs, fishing his phone from his pocket to call his wife.

After reassuring Andrea that Carlos is okay and he’s being checked over and promising Carlos will call her as soon as he can, he hangs up in time to see TK walk over to them.

“The doctor’s initial exam shows that everything is fine, but they’re taking him to get an x ray to make certain,” TK explains.

“That’s good to hear,” Gabriel smiles, patting TK on the shoulder.

TK nods, returning the smile.

Carlos is back in the exam room shortly after, TK and Gabriel with him. Carlos is speaking to his father after finishing his call with Andrea when TK’s radio comes to life.

“It’s okay,” Carlos says before TK can apologize. “I’m fine, and the x ray is going to show just that.”

“I’ll take him home,” Gabriel nods.

“Oh,” Carlos frowns a little at a realization. “My car is at the precinct.”

“I can have dad take me there after shift and I’ll get it home,” TK says.

“Okay,” Carlos nods. “The keys are in my locker.”

TK nods, moving closer to Carlos. “I’ll see you at home,” he takes Carlos’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

“I’ll see you at home, babe,” Carlos squeezes back. “Go save lives.”

“Bye, Mr. Reyes,” TK waves as he walks towards the door.

“Bye, TK. Stay safe,” Gabriel replies.

TK nods again and with one last look at Carlos, who is still smiling and gives him a nod himself, TK turns on his heels and walks through the hospital, meeting his team outside.

*****

“Babe, I’m home,” TK calls out as he walks through the door, dropping the keys into the bowl sitting on the table next to the door.

He immediately spots Carlos in the kitchen by the fridge, who smiles widely upon seeing TK.

“Hey, babe,” Carlos replies, closing the fridge door. “How was the rest of shift?”

“You should be resting,” TK raises his eyebrows as he walks over to Carlos. “It was fine, a little slow towards the end.”

“I am, resting that is, I was just getting some orange juice,” Carlos replies. “Welcome home,” he whispers before returning the soft kiss TK leans in for.

TK sighs into the kiss, a hand going to cup Carlos’s cheek. He pulls back slightly to plant another kiss to Carlos’s lips, both of them pouring their everything into it, feeling each other, reassuring each other.

“Hi,” TK whispers when they pull apart, resting his forehead against Carlos’s.

“Hi yourself,” Carlos whispers back, a small smile spreading on his face.

“How are you feeling?” TK asks, a thumb caressing Carlos’s cheek.

“Okay,” Carlos replies. “Me and dad ordered pizza. You know, one of the easier things to eat with…” he trails off, gesturing to his sling.

TK nods.

“Definitely easier than changing out of your uniform with a sore shoulder,” Carlos shakes his head. “And showering.”

TK frowns, eyes turning sad at the thought of Carlos in pain, but Carlos quickly goes to reassure TK.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle though,” Carlos says. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“I know, I just…I hate that you got hurt,” TK sighs, face falling and eyes going to Carlos’s injured arm.

It’s Carlos’s turn to gently cup TK’s face and guide him to look into his eyes.

“Hey,” Carlos soft calls. “I’ll be good as new in no time. A couple of weeks and I go for a check up and we take it from there.”

TK nods, eyes not leave Carlos’s, almost afraid that Carlos would somehow disappear if he looks away.

“Okay,” Carlos says as he closes the gap between them with another kiss.

Before either of them say anything else, TK’s stomach rumbles and reminds him that he’s very hungry. Carlos lifts an eyebrow, making TK chuckle.

“I ordered a pizza for you too, I put it in the oven to keep it warm,” Carlos adds.

“My savior,” TK brushes a kiss to Carlos’s cheek.

“Hm, if I recall correctly, you saved me today,” Carlos responds.

“Well, call it even,” TK smiles. “I’ll go take a quick shower then I can eat and we can carefully cuddle and watch a movie.”

“Exactly what I need.”

TK, however, doesn’t move and keeps watching Carlos.

“TK?” Carlos questions, his face turning into one of confusion.

“I’m not going until I’m sure you’re sitting safely on the couch,” TK shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Taking it easy, remember? I don’t want you hurting your shoulder again, and your parents hearing about it…I do not want to receive that phone call.”

Carlos playfully rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Okay, I’m going.”

He grabs the full glass of orange juice off the counter and walks over the couch, setting the cup down on the table and then lowering himself down on the fluffy cushion.

“Safe and sound. Now go shower,” Carlos gestures towards the bathroom. “I miss you and your cuddles.”

“Give me ten minutes,” TK smiles as he walks over to Carlos, dropping a kiss to the top of his head and then to his injured shoulder.

As promised, they’re cuddling thirty minutes later. TK had finished eating and went to grab a couple of water bottles before gently sitting on Carlos’s unhurt side. He lifts his arm for Carlos to come closer and TK carefully places his hand over Carlos’s injured shoulder, mindful not to add any pressure there.

Carlos snuggles against his boyfriend, pressing a light kiss to TK’s neck and then resting his head there. He closes his eyes as he breaths TK in, his mint scented body wash fresh and captivating. That’s what home smells like to Carlos now.

Carlos hums happily when TK starts carding his fingers through his loose soft curls, and TK smiles, knowing very well how that gesture calms the officer and relaxes him.

“How’s your back, baby? I know the doctor said the bruising isn’t as bad as we thought but are you in pain?”

“It’s okay, as long as I don’t move too much, I’m not in a lot of pain. And the doctor prescribed a gel that should make it better.”

TK sighs.

“Baby, it’s just cause it’s only been a few hours since…and sleep is going to help. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll ice it for you and apply the gel before we sleep. Is there anything you need right now?”

Carlos looks up at TK from his position. “I’ve got everything I need right here. You’re all I need, Ty, anytime, anywhere.”

“You’ve got me, ‘Los, always.”

TK plants a kiss to Carlos’s forehead, his lips lingering there for a few extra moments. He needs to know that Carlos is really, truly okay, he needs to feel Carlos, and Carlos understands. So he tries to move even closer to TK without pain flaring up across his body.

“My dad was impressed by you, you know,” Carlos says after a few minutes of them watching the movie in silence.

“Me?”

Carlos nods. “With how you handled everything and stayed calm.”

“Oh, no, I was freaking out,” TK replies.

“I mean, he told me he could see how you were shaken up when you realized it was me, but you didn’t let that cloud you or get in the way. You stayed calm through the panic, stayed professional and held your ground even though you were freaking out on the inside. You controlled it, and he told me he’s rarely seen people be able to do that,” Carlos explains.

“Well, I had to make sure you come out of it okay.”

“And he’s also very grateful for that. My mom, too. I could hear it in her voice, she felt better when I told her you took care of me,” Carlos continues.

TK feels his heart warm at the knowledge of Gabriel and Andrea’s support and appreciation. It uplifts him and makes him incredibly happy, and he’s even happier knowing how much their approval of him means to Carlos.

“I was honestly just too focused on the pain so I wasn’t paying much attention to anything around, I hate that you had to see me hurt, but I’m also glad it was you at the scene. Because once I knew it was you next to me, I felt safe. I knew I was safe,” Carlos expresses.

“I’ll be here, always,” TK vows. “Through it all, I’ll always be right by your side.”

“And I will always be right by yours,” Carlos vows back.

“Just, let me take care of you, please. You’ve always taken great care of me, and of everyone really, it’s who you are and I know how important it is to you. But remember, baby, it’s okay to rely on others too, to get help when you need it,” TK says.

Carlos stays silent for a few moments, brushing his fingers over the material of his sweats. “It’s not…the easiest thing for me, doing that,” he eventually replies.

“I know and that’s okay, babe,” TK reassures him. “It starts with small steps. Besides, I always want to pamper my wonderful boyfriend.”

That makes Carlos smile and he nods. “Okay, I’ll work on it.”

They seal their promises with a passionate kiss, each of them giving as well as they’re receiving, immersed in each other in every possible way.

“That also wasn’t the first time I freaked out on that call,” TK admits when they separate.

Carlos sits up, facing TK and frowns a little.

“They called for medical after you reported shots were fired and it was another officer who requested EMS and…I freaked out. I was heard the call and I terrified you were hurt,” TK sighs.

“Oh, babe,” Carlos says softly. “That’s completely understandable. It all happened so quickly, the shots, Ryan getting hit in the vest…next thing I knew, I could hear Robert call for medical and I was already after the suspects. But hey, if I were hurt then, you would have taken great care of me, like you always do,” he strokes over TK’s hand with his thumb. “Like you did.”

TK nods, but his eyes glisten with unshed tears, making the green of his irises even brighter than normal.

“It just scares me,” TK sniffs.

“I know, and I’m scared for you, too. I can’t promise I won’t get hurt again, but what I can promise, is that I will always fight to come home to you,” Carlos replies.

“I promise the same,” TK reciprocates. “Always.”

Carlos leans in, touching his forehead to TK’s and closes his eyes, taking comfort in the way TK gravitates towards him and his touch. “I’m okay, you’re okay…we’re okay, baby.”

TK closes his eyes as well, and they breathe together, anchoring each other, hearts beating as one.

“So,” TK starts when they separate, intertwining his fingers with Carlos’s. “What’s that story about you trying to walk around to fix the ranch fence with a sprained ankle?”

Carlos chuckles and settles back against TK’s chest, resting his head against his shoulder.

“Well, I was eighteen and I had taken a bad tackle during a football game the day before…”

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tuserjamie #userjilly #userkimmy #reyesstrand #userjillian #tuserpaige #bellakitse #tuserems #tuserjenny #djdangerlove #useramyj #userthai #reyeslonestartag #uservalentina #bad things happen bingo #*fics #jamie! thank you so much for the prompt! #I hope you enjoy!

[hesgunnalovethis]

Greenhouse Planet

Prompt : ( ty @write-it-motherfuckers ) 

“How the hell are you still alive?”

“Honestly, I’m just as confused as you are”

Leonard x Reader

 Word count: 2755

 TW: OC death, blood mention, medbay

 A/N: you ever make up your own planet and species? me too apparently.

  Greenhouse Planet:

“Jim stand still will you.” You watched as Leonard McCoy struggled through the small gathering in the transporter room completing his pre-mission checks. Usually he liked to be more prepared but with Jim Kirk - the worst patient in the fleet - leading the Enterprise, he had to make exceptions. 

 “Bones, please, I had a check-up last month.” Kirk said punching co-ordinates into the control desk, much to Scotty’s dismay.

 “You had 6 broken bones that month, Jim.”  

 “Yeh and I’m sure they’ve healed.” 

You watched Lee’s face curl looking at the results of the little readings he’d gathered from Jim before admitting defeat and sliding his tricorder back into his pocket. 

You followed the others onto the transporter platform ready to face whatever was waiting planetside when you felt familiar hands wrap round your waist. Instinctively, you let yourself relax into the curves of your partner. Every inch of you belonged together, bodies fitting seamlessly.

“You don’t have to come, Y/N” Leonard rumbled softly into your ear, sending a shiver down your back. 

 You wrapped your hand around his, turning to look into his incomparable blue eyes and throwing a playful look over his lips “Good to know you still worry about me even after all these years.”

 “Worry? Me? Never.” Leonard scoffed, “It’s just, part of me just thinks you’re too pretty to be doing this kind of dirty work” 

 “Maybe you can make it up to me later?” You said running your hand up his arm to rest on his bicep. An intimate moment positively overlooked by the rush of the room. 

 “You know I hate talking about ‘later’ before this kind of thing.” Leonard sighed more to himself than to you. 

 You had often spoken about the increasing dangers on recent fieldwork. 

 “Ah, my Southern pessimist.” You said giving Leonard’s arm a comforting tap. 

 “One of these days I’m going to be right.” The infamous grumpy doctor persona had returned. 

 “You’ll never be right, Leonard. Not while I’m around.” You smirked and joined the others settling on the transporter platform. 

 Leonard followed. You could feel his eyes burning into you while Jim finished conferring with Scotty at the panel. His gaze didn’t budge. 

 “Okay, Scotty” Jim said taking his place at the front of the crew “Standby.” 

 ***

 Once your body had reconfigured itself you were in a jungle like landscape. Surrounded by tall plants you watched as your crewmates looked around equally confused, some picking unidentified green out of their hair and clothes. 

 Jim addressed the group. “This planet belongs to Bokencams. Bokencams are known for their botany but also for their lack of humanity. That means stay on task, stay out of sight. Starfleet had cultivated a healing plant which was promptly stolen. It’s our job to get it back. I’ll go in to reason with them while Andrews, Clarke and Y/L/N look for a point of entry. These creatures aren’t known for their intellect which means the plant should be easy to locate once inside. Got it?”

 Mumbles of assurance rippled through the group. 

 “Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura you’ll be here listening in for language and translation. The rest of you cover ground and cover each other. Eyes everywhere and comm anything unusual in.” 

 Everyone began to prepare for their own tasks: Jim shirt off and wiring himself, the red shirts activating phasers and Bones looking high strung. He pulled Jim aside, “Don’t you think I should be closer in on this action, Jim? I don’t recall anyone else having years of medical training to hand?” 

 “I need your brains here, Bones.” Jim said clapping his back pointing Leonard towards his portable control panel. 

 “Come on you three” Jim said pulling his top back over his head, “The sooner we get out of here the better. I hate greens.” 

 You, Jim and the 2 others began towards the seemingly empty green dome which sat perfectly isolated amongst the greenhouse planet. Getting closer Jim signalled for you all to split off, Clarke taking east, you taking west, Andrews taking south and Jim taking north towards the front door. 

 The tall plants made it easy to slip into your assigned station unseen and to your surprise the entire building seemed unguarded.

 You could see Jim beginning his strut towards the front door of the dome with no attempt to conceal himself. He wanted the attention on him. That was how his plans often went. Very Aries of him. 

 After all three of you had confirmed your position Jim stepped into the building without any trouble.

 The comms were silent.

 Getting to work you ran your eyes over the immense building. It stretched for miles each way. You began looking for any entrance. The distinct lack of windows was the first thing to jump out at you. The second was the space between the dome and the moss covered ground giving the building the appearance it was floating.

 You waited what seemed like hours with the anticipation but was likely a plethora of minutes before emerging from your cover bolting towards the underneath of the dome. 

 Drowned in darkness on your hands and knees you dragged your hands across the underneath of the building. The material was nothing like you had felt before. Somewhere between glass and beads. 

 You crawled through the damp ground for miles every inch of the underneath feeling eerily the same. You were beginning to lose hope when you felt a crack. You froze and ran your hand back over the beaded glass. Definitely a space. You crawled again searching for the same space parallel which could suggest a door.

 “Y/L/N come in.” rang from your comm. You ignored it. “McCoy to Y/L/N come in.”

 Your hand ran over another definite space. Rolling into the centre of the somewhat door you lifted your feet and hands to the beaded glass and began to push. With very little effort the hatch lifted enough for you to climb inside.

 You appeared to be in a lab. Green seemed to cover the entirety of the inside as well. You grabbed your comm, and rang to all ground comms “Y/L/N, stationed West, inside dome. Repeat. This is Y/L/N, stationed West, inside dome. Over.” Leonard’s voice came immediately “I love you. Be careful.” You switched off your comm.

 ***

 Bones knew you’d be the first in. You were good at your job. He just didn’t let himself admit it until he heard the message through the comm. Uhura reached out to squeeze his hand but Leonard pulled away. He would detach and get on with the job. Or try. They listened into Jim’s meeting with the Bokencams,

 “You have nothing to collect. It’s property of this planet. Here it can be stored at its optimum.”

 “And how have you been storing it exactly?” 

 Jim was stalling. Giving as much time as possible to those working around the dome. And it could’ve worked. 

 ***

 The dome was silent. You couldn’t tell if it was empty or sound proof. You weaved in and out of the green rows scrutinising every plant. One seemed to have stories written on the stems, another with the softest looking leaves you had ever seen. You ran your hand over the soft looking plant which sent a searing cut over your palm. ‘Should’ve seen that one coming’ you thought. 

 Behind the soft plant was a small glass cube. Inside was the purest green your eyes had ever met. The edges of the leaves appeared whitened as if touched by a December morning. That had to be what you were here for. 

 You slid the top off of the cube and carefully removed a cultivation of the plant. Unsure how else to test your theory you picked off a leaf and placed it on your tongue. Instantly you gashed hand sealed without a scar. You pressed the plant into your pocket and headed back for the hatch when you saw a green creature sliding through the space you had made. His eyes fixated on you before you had a chance to move. His thick fingers reached towards your arm extending way past where they should’ve. He bound your arms with a vine and marched you out of the lab door. 

 You couldn’t be sure where he was taking you but you knew it couldn’t be good. The creature had moved you round enough corners to be totally disoriented. Every green wall looked the same and there was no way to retrace your steps back to the hatch.

 From the corner of your eye you saw a familiar looking red through a window amongst the green. Your head shot backwards making eye contact with Clarke. So you were east. Good to know. 

 “Y/N?!” Clarke mouthed through the window.

 A segment of wall opened. A disguised door. And Clarke stood phaser pointed, face stern. All around him identical green creatures materialised from walls and ceilings crowding him. The Bokencam guarding you extended his arm into the crowd and released a phaser shot. Several of the green creatures fell backwards. Dead. He shot again and Clarke’s body thudded to the ground. 

 Your chest tightened enough to double you over. You felt winded. You tried to call his name but nothing came out. Your feet could barely support your weight never mind fight against the direction you were pushed. The creature holding you continued to march not batting an eyelid. He had killed tens of his own for one of you. The lack of humanity brief truly was not a warning. You kept your eyes on Clarke willing the blood to spill back into his body until he was completely out of sight. 

 *** 

 Bones was barely listening to the conversation anymore. His thoughts were consumed by you. His mind immediately considering the worst possible outcome. Assuring himself he was overthinking he tuned back into the conversation. 

 “Guess I’ll pack it up then. Thank you for your time.” Jim began to close out the meeting. 

 “Now that you have wasted our time I think you should be offering some sort of penance. Would you not agree, Captain?” The green creature in front of him snarled back. 

 “I don’t think that’s necessary at all. I would actually argue that we’re now even.” 

 “Maybe we could change your mind.” 

 Bones sat up bracing himself for whatever mess Jim had talked himself into. 

 “No,” Jim said with no attempt to hide his own panic, “Y/N?” 

 Bones’ body went stiff. 

 “Y/N?!” Uhura asked, “Did he just say Y/N?” 

 Bones picked up his phaser and started towards to dome. 

 *** 

 “Y/N are you alright?” Jim asked as tears began to fall from your eyes, Clarke’s body falling to the ground replaying over and over in your mind. “Y/N what happened.” Jim took a few steps towards you as all of the creatures raised their phasers.

 “DON’T” you yelled to Jim, “They killed Clarke. They killed him right in front of me. They killed their own to do it.” 

 You watched as man who didn’t believe in no win scenarios calculated this in his head. 

 “So here’s what’s gonna happen.” Jim said to the creatures, a clear switch in his persona. “You’re going to hand over Lieutenant Y/L/N to me, right now. We’re going to walk out of that door and return to where our crew is stationed. We’re going to pack up and we’re going to leave.” 

 “No Captain I think that’s what you want to happen. But let me tell you how it goes here. First-“ The creature was cut off by the sound of doors clambering. 

 You looked up to see Leonard McCoy - hater of fieldwork - standing in the doorway accompanied by a plethora of red shirts, phasers charged. 

 “Hand her over. Now.” Bones said stalking towards you. 

 “Is this all about her?” The creature who had led you through the green corridors said kicking your back, sending your body forward and the leaf which had been resting on your tongue down your throat. Leonard’s face stiffened. “It is isn’t it?” The creature laughed “Well then let me make this very easy for you.” 

 The world went in slow motion.

 Your eyes focussed on Leonard, managing the weakest of smiles as the phaser behind you released and shattered into your side. 

 The rush of familiar coloured shirts flooded the room you were in. Phasers shot in all directions and your body seized. 

 You found yourself laying across Leonard’s lap, as if it had always been there. Together you lay as one. Fitting seamlessly.

 Leonard fussed over your side speaking words you couldn’t fully understand. You grabbed his working hands in yours. 

 “Hey,” he said brushing stray hair out of your face “You’re doing really well stay with me. Tell me something. Anything.” 

 “Maybe you were right.” you whispered looking up at him. 

 “I’ll never be right, Y/N, not while you’re around.” He placed a bloody hand behind your neck, thumb stroking your jawline. 

 “Bones!” Jim shouted through the fighting, “Help them!”

 But you could see on Leonard’s face, there was nothing he could do. 

 Leonard pulled you close releasing a gentle sob by your ear. 

 “I love you too.” You whispered into the darkness

 *** 

 Leonard McCoy stood in a private room in his medbay looking at his soulmates cold body. He half heartily picked up the chart which lay on the bedside as he had so many times before. He read over the details as he had so many times before. 

 ‘Lutenient Y/N Y/L/N 

 Time of death: 15:34

 Killed in Action’ 

 He checked his watch. 

 18:32. 

 Maybe it was time. 

 He brushed his hand over your forehead tucking your hair behind your ears. He had no more tears left to spill. He took your hand in his and placed a forceful kiss on your forehead.

 “I’m sorry.” He stated. Not remorseful. Not angrily. Just stated. 

 His pressed the buzzer by the bed letting the on duty nurses know you were ready to be collected. 

 A small team arrived flashing sympathetic smiles towards Leonard.

 He instinctively started to help until Nurse Chapel put a hand to his chest. “You don’t have to do this bit Leonard.” He nodded his head and stood back as the rest of the nurses wheeled your bed out of the room. “Go home.” She said squeezing his hands and then she left closing the door behind her.  

 Leonard knew he would still be expected to work. They were too far into deep space to get extra crew. But for now Chapel was right Leonard needed to go home. To his empty quarters you both called home. 

 Leonard began to cry again. Because now it was over. 

 He could hear a situation in the corridor. Biobeds going wild. Nurses shouting. But his instincts didn’t kick in until he heard them call out his name. 

 “DOCTOR MCCOY!” They shouted for the second time as Leonard drew a hand down his face picking up his medical pack and moved into the corridor were you sat upright on the bed. 

 Leonard was frozen for a minute. Legs stuck to the ground. Then he heard your voice. 

 “Move! MOVE!” He shouted as he rushed to your side his eyes flickering all over your face and then to the monitors beside you. “How the hell are you still alive?!”

 “Honestly, I’m just as confused as you are.” You leaped forward from the bed towards Leonard but he pushed you backwards lifting your top to look at your wound, brows knitted. 

 “Really, Leonard? You’re really killing the moment here.” 

 “It’s gone? How the hell is it gone?” He ran his fingers over your side. 

 You reached your hand into your pocket revealing the greenest plant with the crystallised leaves. 

 “You FOUND IT?!” 

 “Believe it or not Leonard I’m not awful at my job.” 

 “How did that- but how did it work?” 

 You cast your mind back to Leonard appearing at the dome doors, “I swallowed it. I had one of its leaves in my mouth, I accidentally swallowed it when they pushed me.”

 “Sorry, you ATE an unidentified plant you’d JUST found?” Leonard said, disgust covering his face. 

 “...Yeh.” 

 “Again. How the HELL are you still alive.” Leonard wrapped his arms around your back lifting you from the bed. You wrapped your legs around his body. 

 An intimate moment that was positively seen by the room. Neither of you cared. It made sense. Every inch of you belonged together. There you stayed, fitting together seamlessly.

#star trek #star trek fic #Star Trek Fanfiction #star trek imagines #leonard mccoy imagines #leonard mccoy fanfiction #leonard mccoy x reader #bones star trek #bones x reader #doctor mccoy #dr mccoy #mccoy x reader #mccoy

[arcwhore]

Who Do You Belong To?

[jj maybank] x [reader]

content: nsfw (trigger warning!)

warnings: angst, fighting, sexual assault (groping), oral (male receiving), face-fucking, unprotected sex, marking kink, dirty talk, degradation, spanking, creampie

description: when Pope and JJ start taking too long just go pee, Kie and Reader come to the rescue, but when Rafe touches his girl... 

- this is my first time writing smut, please be patient - 

words: 3.6k

                                   ≿————-　❈　————-≾

After everything thats happened in the past few days, the kooks just had to host the OBX Movie Series. Kie dragged you to the outing, hoping for a little time to relax. The whole crew was there except for John B., cause well; he’s John B. He does what he wants, so you didn’t even question his absence. After setting our stuff down, Kie left to grab drinks for the boys, and you sat down between JJ’s legs. You had only been secretly dating for two months, but he meant more to you than anything else in the world. He was absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair, lulling you to sleep while talking to Pope. Surprisingly, the other Pogues hadn’t found out about your relationship, and you definitely haven’t been the most discreet. Kiara comes back looking distraught, handing them their drinks, looking down and you and raising her eyebrows at your position.

“Just saw Rafe, and he said, and I quote, ‘Tell your boy that we know what he did.’ What is that?” She shook her head, obviously not amused by the interaction she just experienced with that kook asshole. The Pope’s eyes widen as she sits down on the blanket, looking over at JJ. He hums and responds.

“Where is he?” Kie motions behind us where Rafe and Topper are standing, clearly satisfied with their scare tactic. Pope turns in his chair, staring at them as they smirk their damn signature privileged smirks.  “Great, the whole death squad.”

JJ pulled his head forward, telling him to stop staring, then starts rambling about how he’s ‘coming out swinging’ if they corner him. You looked at Kiara who had a confused look on her face. You tried to interrupt them. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“If that doesn’t work, I got this right here,” JJ said, reaching around you to grab his bag. Your eyes widened, looking at Kie.

“I’m sorry, JJ. Please tell me you did not bring a gun here. JJ, there are kids!” Kie questioned JJ, and he was quick to shoot it down, saying ‘everything’s fine’.

“Wow, JJ, real convincing,” you looked up at him, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, I love that JJ. Founding Principle, you guys. No secrets amongst pogues! What is JJ talking about?” Kie asked. You pulled away from JJ, turning your body around to look at the two boys. They looked between each other before Pope reluctantly leans over to Kie, mumbling, “It might go down tonight.”

“What does that mean?” Kie asked, looking over at you for help. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“JJ, what did you do?”

“It wasn’t me, it was Pope!” he snapped, his eyes going wide, realizing that he slipped up on their little secret. You scoffed, Pope, the scholar student, one of the most innocent teens you’ve ever met, did something? “Yeah, okay.”

Your sarcasm seeped through the air, the boys became quiet, and Kie continued to question them. Taking a look back at the kooks, seeing they were still staring directly into the back of Pope’s head. Maybe he did do something, but this boy was scared of even getting on the boat with the Pogues, there had to be a logical reason that he did something. Either that or there was some inside influence— JJ.

Your imagination wondered, the movie on the screen cutting on, catching your attention. You laid down on the blanket, getting comfortable on the grass, your hand holding up your head while laying on your side.

Halfway through the movie, the boys excuse themselves to take a leak. You were so immersed into the movie but as soon as JJ got up, you couldn’t focus anymore. You couldn’t relax until he was back with you, it was just this aura that he spread over to you. He wanted to protect you, and you wanted to protect him.

Minutes ticked by slowly, raising your awareness and anxiety. You sat up and looked at Kie, shaking her leg to get her attention. “There’s something wrong. They’ve been gone for like 5 minutes, and unless they had to take a shit behind a tree, it shouldn’t take them that long to pee.”

She nodded her head, grabbing JJ’s bag which he had left behind and the both of you snuck around behind the movie screen. Pope was fighting was Topper, JJ being held back and punched in the stomach and the face. Kie quickly ran and hit Topper with the bag, yelling at him and jumping on his back. You jumped into action as well, anger boiling inside of you as you ran up behind Rafe and kicking him in the balls. He stumbled, turning around and you rammed your fist into his nose, earning a groan from him.

“Thatta girl!” JJ yelled, fighting out of Kelce’s grip and side hooking him, knocking him back. Topper was able to throw Kie off of his back. “This isn’t about you, Kiara! Stay out of it!”

Your leg swiped out behind Rafe, wiping him out as you got on top of him, straddling his legs and spitting in his face. He smirked and laughed at you, only fueling you more, and you drove your elbow into his chest, knocking the air out of him. He somehow gains enough strength to flip you over, pinning you down on he ground as you squirmed. JJ yells your name, running to help but is caught again by Kelce and held back. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!” JJ snapped, pulling as hard as he could to try to get away from the boy holding him back. Rafe looks down at you and chuckles, hand going around your throat. You struggle for air and slap his forearm over and over. You hear Pope being choked by Topper beside you, and you try to turn your head to see him, trying to cry out his name. 

“Pope!” JJ yelled for his friend, then started yelling for you. “Get the hell off of her, Rafe! I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?”

“You’re a little spitfire aren’t you, hun?” he smirks down at you, amused at your struggling state. “He’s real protective of you...” he looked over at JJ, trying to get his footing, still trying to pull away. Tears started forming in your eyes as your airway was being cut off so harshly. “Wonder what he would do if...”

Rafe’s free hand wandered down your body, stopping at your breasts. He gave them a light squeeze, looking over to see JJ’s reaction. “You fucking kook! Get off of her! She doesn’t deserve this!”

“S-s-stop...” you grappled for words, not being able to get them out.

Behind you, the movie screen exploded in flames, Rafe quickly letting go of you as a hole burned through the screen, exposing the scene behind it. People started screaming, getting up and running back from the fire. 

“Get off of him! Kelce get off of JJ!” Kie yelled at them, watching them let go. Pope fell onto his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air. You toiled to regain oxygen in your lungs, JJ running up beside you, grabbing your face in his hands.

“Hey, hey baby, look at me. I’m right here,” he checked your neck to see the red marks that Rafe had left on it, knowing they would be bruised by the morning. Tears ran out of your eyes as you looked at him, lifting yourself up to hug him tightly. You held on to him with dear life, like he would slip through your fingers if you let go even in the slightest. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry- fuck, I’m gonna kill him.”

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” you assured him. You were trying to take some of the edge off of the situation, even though your neck was throbbing from being held so tightly. Blood that had been restricted rushed back into your brain, making you lightheaded. “Pope- is Pope okay?”

JJ helped you stand up, holding your waist until he knew you were steady. Your vision cleared and you saw Kie helping him up, putting his hat back on. You and JJ walked over to him, showing support. “You okay? We’re okay.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Pope chuckled lightly at Kiara. 

“She saved our asses though,” you spoke up, grinning at her. You mouthed a thank you as you all started walking away to go home. You turned your attention to JJ when the group split apart, you and JJ walking together. You looked up at him, and you could have sworn you felt a second heartbeat in your pussy. He looked so hot right then, his pupils dilated with anger and his face stern. You decided it was probably best to not leave him alone tonight, not angry, he might try to do something stupid. Not like your mom cares if you come home or not anyway. 

“Hmm, how about we go back to John B.’s and cool down?” you grabbed his bicep, trying to calm him down a little. He nodded and you made your way to the chateau.

The whole way there, JJ was fuming, his fists tight, knuckles turning white. You took hold of his hand, trying to get him to release some of the tension. “JJ, it’s not worth being mad over... It’s Rafe, I should have expected it.”

“That no good, dirty bastard. He touched you in a way that only I am allowed to touch you, because you are mine. You understand me? He doesn’t get to just do that to you and walk away feeling accomplished.” You felt the heat between your legs grow when he said that, his voice rough and hair disheveled, looking like a God. “I get to be mad at him, he touched my girl. He could have killed you!”

You stop in the middle of the street, tugging on his hand to halt him from his movements. “He could have, but he didn’t. I’m right here, and I’m all yours. Only yours. I would never let anyone else touch me the way you do, and you know damn well no one can make me feel the way that you do.” You gave him a sincere look, then reaching up to his ear to whisper, “Rafe especially can’t make me scream like you do.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, the anger in his eyes softening, immediately hardening again with lust. He smirked at you, now leaning down to your height as he gently traced over the shell of your ear with his tongue. “You’re gonna be doing more than screaming tonight, baby girl.”

He dragged you into the chateau, pushing you down onto the pull out sofa in John B.’s living room, moving to hover over you. One of his legs pushed in between yours to separate them and he pulled you in to a passionate kiss. The aching between your legs grew more noticeable as he pushed you deeper into the couch, his arms on either side of your head. 

“JJ, please,” you begged when he pulled away to kiss down your neck. He gave open mouth kisses to the side of it, then biting and sucking on your sweet spot. You knew the hickeys he gave you tonight were going to be severely noticeable in the morning, but in that moment, that’s all you wanted. You wanted him to mark you and prove to everyone that you were his and that no one could mess with you. 

Your hands went to the hem of his shirt, lifting it up a little so he would get the hint. He broke the kiss and sat back, peeling off his shirt and doing the same thing to yours. He attacked your chest with love bites, kissing your nipples over your bra. The warmth of his mouth excited you. “Get up and strip for me so I can see whats mine.”

He rolled over and plopped next to you as you stood up, unhooking your bra. You let it slowly slide down your arms before working on the zipper of your jean shorts. You pulled them down teasingly, turning around and bending over for your ass for be on display. “I said strip, not tease.” He groaned, palming his cock over his shorts. You stepped closer to him, pushing your panties down to the ground. Your legs swung over his lap, straddling him. You whimpered when you felt the rough fabric of his shorts rubbing against your clit. You tried to grind against him, desperately chasing that friction, but he grabbed your hips harshly.

“You don’t get to be in control. I’ve got to show you who you belong to,” he flipped you over, your legs going around his waist and heels digging into his back. You struggled to get his pants off with your feet, your hands going to the waistband to pull them down. He grabbed them in one hand, pinning them above your head. He pulled them down, his cock straining against his boxers. You moaned, your hips lifting up trying to meet his in the middle. His hand pushed your hips back down into the springy mattress. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Please, JJ, just do something,” you pleaded, your hips bucking up once again. He growled against your skin, kissing your breasts, tongue swirling around your hardened nipple. “Mark me up, fuck me, show me who I belong to. Please.”

“Good girl,” he groaned, kissing down your stomach, stopping when he got to your pussy. He released you hands and spread your legs, sucking on you inner thighs, kissing them after. He got closer and closer to your heat, but still wouldn’t give you the satisfaction you craved. You were tired of the teasing and you grabbed the back of his head, pushing him into you. He slapped your hands away, looking up devilishly. “Shouldn’t have done that baby girl.”

You groaned and he held your hands down by your sides, kneeling on the ground in front of you. He flattened his tongue and ran a long stripe up your pussy, not letting it touch your clit. He adjusted you and put your legs over his shoulders, letting go of your arms again. He reached down to your cunt, fingers slipping around in your arousal. Once he flicked over your sensitive clit, you jerked. “Jay, please. I need you so bad.”

“Not yet, baby. I told you that you don’t get control, and you forced it. This is punishment.”

His fingers toyed with your opening for a minute, finally slipping a finger into your tight cunt. You moaned in relief, feeling his tongue being placed on your clit. He licked you softly, eliciting a louder moan from you. “JJ...”

“Be quiet or I’ll stop,” he lifted his head, looking up at you. Your eyes were hooded, a blush was flush on your cheeks, and your mouth hung open. Your breathing became erratic as he continued his punishment on you, biting down on your fist to force yourself to stay quiet. You didn’t want him to tease you, but you also didn’t want him to stop.

His mouth finally closed around your clit, sucking it harshly, tongue poking out to lick it. He moved his finger inside you agonizingly slow and your hand reached down to pull his hair. He moaned, the vibrations sending a shock wave through you. Your mouth fell open when he pushed another finger into you, going faster this time. A whimper came from your throat, signaling you were close. JJ was the only one who ever made you feel so euphoric; you were like putty in his hands when it came to sex and you both loved it. He had total control over you, and you let him do anything he wanted to you. 

His tongue stopped it’s attack on your pussy, slowly pulling his fingers out making you whine at the sudden loss of contact. He put on into his mouth and moaned, relishing in the sweet taste. “You taste so good, baby. Here, taste yourself.”

You opened your mouth and he slipped the other finger in, your mouth closing and sucking around it harshly. Your cheeks hollowed around it, your tongue swirling around his fingertip. He groaned at the sight of you, his head rolling back. He pulled his finger out of your mouth, grabbing your face in his hand. He kissed you ruthlessly, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You moaned, the sound muffled by his lips. He moved away from you, pulling his pants down and kicking them to the side. 

 “Get on your knees baby.” You obliged, placing your hands on his chest and sliding down to sit on your heels. He pushed his boxers down to his ankles. “Suck.”

You looked up at him, grabbing the shaft of his dick with just enough pressure to make him groan. You licked the tip, your tongue flicking up and down on his slit. The salty taste of his precum made you moan around him, taking him into your mouth. A sigh fell from his lips and his hands went to your hair. He tugged, making you groan in pleasure, excited to give him more. You relaxed your throat and slid all the way down, your nose pressing against his pelvic bone. One hand came up to rest on his thigh while the other played with his balls. You pulled back for air, spitting out the drool that had collected in the back of your throat. You pumped your hand on his dick, trying to spread the spit, going back down to suck midway. Your hand twisted around him while your cheeks hollowed, the hand on the back of your head holding your hair tighter. 

His hips jolted forward, hitting the back of your throat making you gag. He continued to fuck your mouth, moaning when you gagged on his tip.

“Fuck baby, I love it when you gag on my cock.” The dirty talk caused you to moan, the warmth between your legs spreading. Your hands fell down into your lap as he pulled your hair into a ponytail, pushing your head to meet his thrusts. You focused on breathing and relaxing your throat, moaning around him. You reluctantly pushed his hips back for air, gasping as you stroked his cock. “Okay baby, you ready for me?”

You nodded in excitement, finally about to get the release you deserved. You stood up and JJ pushed you onto the bed, flipping you over. 

“All fours.” He ordered. You lifted yourself up onto your forearms and your knees, arching your back for him. His hands roamed your body before reaching your ass, squeezing it. He gave you a good spank, causing you to moan and grasp the sheets beneath you. “Such a pretty little slut for me, huh? Tell me who you belong to baby girl.”

“You, JJ, I belong to you,” you moaned out. You were desperate to be fucked and JJ could see that, so he let you have it. His cock slid up and down your slit, gathering your arousal to make it easier to slip in. He adjusted quickly and grabbed your hips, pushing his dick into you slowly. You whimpered when he bottomed out in you, pushing back into him to show him that you were ready. He slapped your ass one more time before pulling out, only leaving the tip inside you before slamming back in. 

He set a unrelenting pace, fucking you hard and fast. Your face pressed into the mattress, moans being muffled by the fabric. JJ grabbed your hands and pulled them behind you, using them as his momentum to fuck you harder. He pulled you back into him while he pounded into you, your moans soon turning into screams. “That’s right baby, come on. Scream for me. Show me who you belong to.”

“Fuck, JJ!” you screamed as he grabbed you hair, pulling you up so your back would be against his chest. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby? You gonna cum all over my dick?” he moaned into your ear, slamming up into you. You nodded harshly, chasing your release.

“Yes, daddy,” you moaned out. It was spur of the moment, and you hoped he hadn’t realized but he just continued to fuck you into oblivion. He didn’t say anything, so you assumed he hadn’t heard it. 

“Cum with me, baby,” he moaned, feeling your cunt clench around him. Your entire body started to shake as the knot in your stomach unravelled, leaving you a quivering and moaning mess. The pornographic sounds coming from you and sound of the skin slapping on skin made him go into overdrive. He pushed deep inside you, stilling as his seed spilled into you. “God, fuck, baby.”

You stayed like that for a little bit, both coming down from your intense highs. Your legs were still shaking beneath you, threatening to drop you on your stomach. As soon as JJ pulled out, you fell down onto the couch, trying hard to catch your breath. The pull out shook beside you as JJ laid down, pulling you into him. You cover both of you with the blanket hanging over the edge of the couch, nuzzling into him. He cleared his throat.

“So... daddy huh?” He asked you. You knew he was smirking behind you, and you rolled over, your cheeks heating up significantly. You knew he was never going to let you live that down, whether he liked it or not. 

“Don’t mention it.”

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#jj maybank #jj maybank smut #outer banks smut #outer banks #rafe cameron #john b rutledge #sarah cameron #kiara carrera #pope heyward #smut #fanfic