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pastshadows · 4 months

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Shadows of the Past

Chapter 5: Soaked in Desire

Summary: Astarion remained a spawn after ending the reign of Cazador with your help. After defeating the Netherbrain, you and Astarion stay together, moving forward with your lives. You reside in a small house in the city. One night, after an awkward and concerning interaction with him, he disappears without a trace.

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.6K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [not in currently posted chapters; possibly upcoming - I haven't decided] Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.

Please be warned - this chapter gets a little more graphic than previous chapters. Read at your own risk.

Aldous gives you another unconcealed, odious ogle. It makes your stomach churn. He looks at you like you’re nothing, but a piece of meat and he’s famished. He glowers are you threateningly, and you draw on the Weave almost unconsciously. You shift your position, straightening your spine until you’re standing as tall as you can, and squaring your shoulders.

The grand blazing inferno of your magic implores to be used. With a sneer, you stifle the compulsion to incinerate this miserable creep where he stands. Despite your restraint, the churning repugnance for this man causes your skin to alight ablaze under his provocative lour.

I should wipe him from this realm.

“My lady,” he tries to bow but stumbles forward, snorting to himself immersed in his insobriety.

“Go home, Aldous. You’re not thinking clearly.”

His words slur together as they roll off his alcohol-soaked, lax tongue, “Who could think clearly with such an enchanting woman near.”

Good Gods. I want to be sick.

“Go home.”

You say it in a low warning with a dangerous scowl adorning the usually delicate features of your face, having had quite enough of his dopey eyes stripping you bare.

“Your scales reflect the firelight ravishingly,” he takes a couple of lumbering, unsteady steps toward you, making you reflexively back away, “I do wonder, Saer, where else is your body embellished with such silky splendour.”

Your skin crawls as Aldous’s goggling, bulging eyes skim covetously over your frame. Your jaw clenches, and you grit your teeth as your stomach turbulently heaves.

“Is it true your ancestor fucked a dragon, or perhaps a dragon fucked your ancestor? The texts are not quite clear on the subject.”

Your palms heat so blisteringly hot they begin to glow in the murky darkness, and you ball them into fists at your side. You would usually never allow someone to speak to you in such a grotesque fashion, but retaliation was out of the question. If you hurt him, it could be traced back to you and, by extension, Gale, and you couldn’t risk it.

“I do not believe my ancestors or my origins are any of your concern. Leave me be.”

“Saer,” the way he says it sounds almost like a slanderous statement now, “I have not met many with a dragon in their ancestry, even in a city as big as this. Tell me, does that fiery temper extend to the bedroom? Do you erupt in a blazing glory when you spasm with your crescendo?”

Your stomach wretches so violently that you dry-heave. The burning disgust in your blood sparks in a berserk, ruthless surge, and your body suddenly feels like it’s fabricated of flame alone. Your skin crawls with the licking sensation of fire.

You cringe and shudder as you curb your instinctual desire to show him exactly what your blazing glory is capable of.

Aldous shambles forward as he reaches for you, and you jump backwards, “Do not touch me.”

“Sorceress, don’t play coy. I know somewhere we could go, somewhere private .”

He tries to wink, but his muscles can’t discern what exactly he’s asking them to do, and his face contorts awkwardly.

“No,” you growl through clenched teeth.

He takes another step toward you. Your body shakes with ever-increasing adrenaline and fury as this predator advances on you. You could end him here and now, and you would savour his burning demise, relish in it, but you suppress the urge of your twitching palm.

If I retaliate, it’s asking for trouble, and I can’t bring that to Gale’s doorstep.

“I believe the lady said no.” Astarion’s voice resounds from the murky darkness of the alley to your side, and your nerves rejoice in the sharp-edged, protective intonation.

You want to run to him, to be wrapped up in the safety he promises, but keep yourself firmly planted on the rigid ground with your fists balled up at your sides, leering at the soused noble threatening you.

Astarion stalks out of the alleyway with his scarlet eyes trained on Aldous. His jaw is clenched tightly, muscles vacillating the otherwise calm air.

With the sudden appearance, Aldous balks slightly, “Of course,” he laughs raucously, “the sorceress is a friend. We are just fooling around.”

Astarion stares at Aldous like an apex predator observing his next meal. Aldous sucks in a sharp breath and stumbles backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling to his arse on the hard stone pavement. You stifle a laugh.

Maybe I don’t scare him, but Astarion definitely does.

Astarion slips his hand into yours, once again interlocking your fingers together.

He winces slightly and leans close, “Cool down, darling. You’re burning me."

It takes you a moment to realize just how hot you’re burning. Your skin feels like a channel of molten flames. You try to pull away from him when you discern you’re hurting him, but Astarion holds your hand firmly and unwavering, not allowing you to retreat.

With a deep breath, you focus and take control of your innate ability and force your skin to cool.

“Do you want me to,” he pauses, “take care of this sod?”

Yes.

You yearn to see Astarion gut the wretched noble like a fish. You’re no stranger to death or murder. Some viewed you as the hero of Baldur’s Gate, but the undeniable truth is that you were never a hero. You have lived long enough to know that sometimes death and killing are necessary. It was an unspoken understanding and had drawn Astarion to you in the first place.

“No, he’s not worth the trouble. I would like to go home.”

“As you wish. One moment, my dear.”

Astarion lets go of your hand and strides confidently over to Aldous, who is still staring at you intensely with hate brimming in his eyes from the ground.

You hear the whistling trill of a blade being drawn. Astarion plays with his dagger dangerously, twirling it around skilfully in his hands while he crouches menacingly beside Aldous.

Should I stop him?

Nah.

He drags the tip of his dagger down over Aldous’s body, starting from the collar of his doublet to his stomach, before applying just enough pressure so that Aldous can feel the razor-sharp dagger tip well but not enough to tear fabric or flesh.

“If I see you joking with your friend like that again, I will be forced to spill your vile innards all over this lovely stone. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Aldous stares at the dagger digging into his stomach with widened eyes, tears brimming in them, and his mouth drops open in a silent scream.

“Nod you if you understand me,” Astarion growls ominously.

Aldous nods frantically, tears starting to slip down his cheeks.

Astarion smirks, pleased with the fear he’s instilling in the young man, “Good lad. Now, remind me, what does no mean?”

Aldous’s mouth opens and closes repeatedly, but fear constricts his throat, and no words spill out.

Astarion snarls, teeth bared, “Say it.”

“No.”

“I don’t think I heard you clearly - say it again.”

“It means no.”

Astarion stands, towering over Aldous, “You owe my friend your life.”

Astarion turns swiftly, his hand outstretched, and you take it, disappearing with him into the dark streets. When you glance back at Aldous, he sits on the ground, chest heaving, while he glowers at you with brimming hatred in his protruding eyes.

I doubt that’s the last of him.

Walking hand-in-hand down the darkened streets towards the manor with Astarion feels like a dream. The liquor still swimming around hot in your belly numbs your fears.

“Are you alright?”

You nod, “I’m fine. He’s hardly a threat, just another drunk noble who has a dismal concept of the meaning of no.”

“Who is he?”

“The son of the man who owns the bookstore Gale frequents, Aldous Blackwell.”

“I see… and he’s also your… friend?”

It’s official - I hate that word.

You recoil noticeably, “Absolutely not. He assisted me in the bookstore a couple of times, nothing more.”

“Have you told him that?”

You roll your eyes at him, “Gods.”

“A jest, my dear. Your distaste for him was obvious. I’ve never felt your skin burn quite so stiflingly, and I’ve felt just how hot you can get,” he winks, “Have you been holding out on me?”

You recall Astarion wincing when he touched you, “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No, darling. I’m fine, but you likely would have scorched the skin off of that man.”

“One can only hope.”

He laughs, “You will tell me if that lout troubles you again, won’t you? I would enjoy killing him.”

“So would I.”

Astarion stops quickly and tugs your arm so that you fall into him. The back of his fingers caress your cheek delicately. His scarlet eyes ripple with concern as they search your face.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

A soft smile tugs at your lips, “I’m okay, Astarion. Really.”

He nods and places a chaste, short kiss on your lips, “Okay. Let’s go home.”

When you arrive at the manor, Astarion walks you to your room.

“What about your prize? You won tonight, and we never discussed it. What did you win?”

“My prize, darling, was spending the night in your delightful company. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Astarion.”

You bathe, change and climb into your bed but lay awake. A part of you sulks that Astarion hadn’t chosen you as his prize.

Well, not in the sense I want anyway.

Probably for the best.

The anesthetizing effects of the liquor are starting to wane, and your resolve is tottering. All your heartache and fears cascade in a downpour once again.

Friends.

Astarion’s words hang in your mind, “my wife.”

Friends.

The word echoing in your thoughts makes you wince. Your face twists into a cringe as if the very idea of being his friend leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

I don’t want to be simply his friend.

Fear bubbles and curdles up in you like a boiling cauldron at the realization. Fear that chains you, binding you to this broken-hearted, jaded person you’ve become.

This has to stop. This scared, unhappy person is not who I am.

You have let your fear consume you whole. You let it drag you down into this bog you have been calling existence. It has stolen all the joy and colour from your life, turning it into shades of grey. Your past self would be ashamed of the person you’ve become.

No more.

No more running.

Your meditative trance creeps in as your body finally starts to settle, and with a deep, calming breath, you let it take you away without a fight.

Gale sits at the table while you prepare lunch for the both of you. You can barely recall the last time you even bothered making food.

“You seem rather chipper this afternoon. Are you feeling alright?”

Setting the food down, you draw in a deep breath, “I owe you an apology, Gale.”

“Whatever for?”

“I’ve been an all-together terrible guest. I haven’t been myself for quite some time, and I’m sorry for how I’ve acted since I’ve been here.”

“Are you ill? Should I write Shadowheart?”

You laugh, “Perhaps. It would be nice to see her.”

“She misses you. She said you haven’t been answering her letters.”

Another friend I’ve pushed away.

“I will write her, but first, I need to make things right with you.”

“As much as I do appreciate the apology, there’s truly no need. I am no stranger to sinking into the darkness of one’s own desolation,” he smiles, “I’m just glad you’re crawling your way back out again.”

“Thank you, Gale.”

Gale grins widely, “Anytime, my friend. Anytime. So, what brought this on? Do I have our fanged friend to thank for this?”

You laugh, “Not entirely. You actually have yourself to thank. I have been shackled to my fear for too long. You pointed that out.”

“I am rather wise from time to time, aren’t I?”

“From time to time.”

“And have you decided what you’re going to do about…” Gale trails off, looking unsure.

“Astarion?”

He nods.

Yes. No. Maybe?

“Not exactly. I still need to speak with him. Only time will tell if there can be any future for us.”

“If anyone can make it work with that immortal bastard, it’s you.”

You and Gale laugh, but a harsh, loud knock at the door interrupts your mirth.

Gale eyes the door, “Are you expecting someone?”

“No. You aren’t?”

He shakes his head, “No.”

Another booming knock echos through the entryway.

“I best go see who that is. Thank you for the lunch. You actually prepare food quite well. Who would have known?”

You smirk and roll your eyes, “I’m going to pretend I don’t hear surprise tinging your voice.”

Gale disappears down the hall in a hurry to answer the ceaseless, booming knocking shaking the door. Raised voices drift from the bright foyer, catching your attention. Walking down the corridor, Mr. Blackwell’s angry face comes into view, and your heart pounds in your chest.

That little worm.

Gale runs his fingers through his hair, “I think there must be a misunderstanding.”

“My son said someone in the company of your sorceress assaulted him and threatened his life!”

“Mr. Blackwell, I’m sure there’s another explanation.”

Movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention, and Astarion is standing on the stairs, well away from the sunlight streaming from the open door.

If Mr. Blackwell goes to the authorities, they will take him to prison…

“It was me!” You blurt out.

Astarion shakes his head, narrowing his eyes, warning you not to take the blame. You scramble out the door into the sunlight before he can pull you away.

“It was me. I assaulted Aldous.”

Gale bulks at you wide-eyed, confusion pulling his brow down in the furrow.

Mr. Blackwell narrows his eyes at you, “No. Aldous specifically said it was a man, a tall Elf with red eyes.”

You seethe, “Aldous was quite drunk. He could barely stand. His memory can’t be trusted.”

“My boy does not lie!”

“But he does drink, no? Heavily, might I add, and then speak salaciously to people? He spoke his filth to the wrong woman last night, and I taught him a lesson you have failed to teach him.”

“You dare accuse my son of this heinous behaviour?!” Mr. Blackwell spits out harshly, “I’m sorry, Gale. I will be reporting this to the authorities. We are friends, but I cannot let this slight on my family go.”

“Surely, we can work this out without involving the authorities. I’m sure it was a simple misunderstanding.”

Gale nudges you, trying to get you to play along.

You swallow the hatred rising in your throat and force a smile, mustering every ounce of charisma available to you, “Yes, of course. Perhaps I overreacted. I do have a fiery temper, after all.”

I need to smooth this over.

Gritting your teeth, you coat your voice in your most persuasive tone, putting your silver tongue to use once again, “I will come to apologize to Aldous. If you will allow it, of course.”

At the reassuring cadence of your voice, Mr. Blackwell’s scowl eases up, and he thinks, “Yes, an apology might just suffice. I will speak to my son. If he agrees, perhaps we can deal with this incident civilly between friends.”

Friends. Ugh. That word is everywhere.

Mr. Blackwell departs with a huff, his nose held up in a snobby, holier-than-though expression that makes you want to throw a fireball at him.

Gale closes the door, and Astarion races down the stairs as soon as the sun is blocked.

“What in the Hells do you think you’re doing?!”

His brows are pulled down in a frightful scowl, his teeth bared.

“I’m dealing with it.”

“I will not let you apologize to that wretch.”

Gale interrupts, “Would one of you care to explain to me what has happened?”

Astarion looks at him, “I threatened the boy last night.”

“Yes, I surmised that much, but why?”

You run your hand over your face, “Aldous was drunk and getting rather… belligerent. You know I’ve rebuffed him enough times. I think he took offence.”

“For the love of…” Gale’s hand pinches the bridge of his nose, “You did quite well persuading Mr. Blackwell. Not that I am surprised, of course. I have seen you talk yourself out of far worse situations.”

“And I will talk my way out of this one.”

“No!” Astarion shouts, “You should not have to atone for my conduct.”

“Do you trust me, Astarion?”

He blinks, “Of course.”

“Then trust me to take care of this as I would trust you to pick a lock, pick a pocket or disarm a trap. Charming people is my talent.”

“Ugh,” he sighs, “I do not like this.”

Gale pipes up, “If what you say is true, nor do I.”

They would gang up on me, but at least they agreed on something. Small miracles, right?

“Both of you forget who you’re speaking to sometimes, I swear. I’ve made my choice, and your objections are noted.”

Gale and Astarion’s mouths open to argue with you further, but you put up your hand and stop them, “I will hear no more on the subject.”

They both glower at you. Gale and Astarion both huff exasperatedly and shake their heads.

Did I just shut Gale and Astarion up simultaneously?

With you putting a halt to any further discussion, Gale excuses himself to visit with his mother on the upper floors of the tower. Astarion snickers, and you frown a warning at him. He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes at you.

If he had it his way, he would be mocking Gale right this minute.

You can see Astarion listening to Gale’s footsteps as they scuff across the top floors of the manor, his eyes following the sound before darting back to you with a frown.

“You’re a bloody fool, you know that?”

“I said no more discussion. My mind is made up, and it’s not going to change.”

Astarion smirks, “We could simply kill him and his father now, I suppose."

You give him a shove, and he smiles at you slyly. Your moral compass is not exactly pointing straight. You’re not averse to killing, and you never have been. You kill mercilessly and without guilt when the situation calls for it, but you do attempt not to spill blood unless necessary.

Well… most of the time.

“No, I don’t believe this situation calls for killing. At least, not yet.”

He pouts, “Pity.”

Returning to the kitchen, you try to enjoy the rest of your lunch that was so rudely interrupted. Astarion sits at the table with a brooding glower on his face.

“I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”

“You did no such thing,” you smile playfully, “I rather enjoyed seeing him terrified, crying and whimpering like the child he is.”

“I’m glad I was able to provide you some fine entertainment during our little outing.”

He’s going to try and talk me out of it.

Astarion takes your hand across the table, “Darling, don’t do this, please.”

There it is.

“I’ve made my mind up. This is the best way to handle it, and I think you know that. If Mr. Blackwell goes to the authorities, they will take you to prison.”

“My dear, I’ve never met a cell I can’t escape.”

“It’s not worth the risk, Astarion. I need you to trust me on this.”

“I trust you implicitly,” he scowls, “It’s the boy I don’t trust.”

“Astarion.”

“Ugh, yes, “my objections are noted,” he mocks you, “Stubborn little thing.”

You flash him your most angelic smile. He groans, leaning back in his chair, defeated.

“I’m going back to bed. The knocking woke me, and I need my beauty sleep.”

“Sleep like the dead, darling!” You imitate him.

He smirks, “Hilarious.”

Returning to your room, you light the fire and a candle by your bedside. Pulling out a stack of letters, you slip onto your bed and stare at them. Your fingers caress the rough parchment. Shadowheart has been writing you, but you’d left them piling up for months unopened and unread. It wasn’t something you did intentionally. Every time a letter came in, you intended to read it, but somehow, it ended up on the stack with all the others you had planned to read.

Some friend I am.

It takes hours to read through every letter, and by the time you’re ready to write her back, your hand hesitates over the blank paper. You aren’t entirely sure what you would like to say.

You and Shadowheart had been close. She had been one of your best friends, but you had pushed her away just like you had pushed everyone else away in your self-imposed stockade of misery.

A knock on your doorframe escorts you out of your thoughts in a hurry. Astarion stands at the precise of your open door.

“When you have a moment, I would like to speak with you.”

You’re face flushes, and you feel like your heart skips several beats before settling into a vicious rhythm. Your chest constricts against your raging heart, and your throat feels tight. Every nerve in your body hums, and you shake all over.

He’s leaving.

“I have a moment now. Where do you want to talk?”

“My room. Come.”

Following Astarion down the hall to his room feels very much like walking to your death. The hallway feels far too small, and the ceiling too low. Everything feels like it’s closing in on you. Your thoughts spiral out of your control as the anxiety coils in your stomach.

We need to talk?

He’s going to run, isn’t he?

What did I do now?

What did I say?

Tears are already threatening to spill out of your eyes, but you try to blink them away. You’re lower lip quivers uncontrollably.

Astarion closes the door behind you, and you stand with your arms wrapped around you, trying to calm your urge to run.

Astarion’s scarlet eyes meet yours, “What’s wrong?”

“Are you running again?”

Astarion eyebrows rise in shock, and he crosses the room in long strides, wrapping you up in his arms, and you bury your face into him, “Hells, you’re trembling all over.”

“Are you leaving me again, Astarion?”

You can’t keep your tears back, and they start gliding down your reddened cheeks.

“Darling, look at me.”

Fear paralyzes your mind and body. His words seem far away, and you don’t comprehend them.

“Look at me, my love,” his cool hand cradles your face, and he gently directs your eyes to his, “I’m never going to leave you again. I promise.”

Promise?

Astarion doesn’t make promises unless he knows he can keep them.

Astarion fingers brush away your tears, “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

“If it’s not that, what did you want to speak about? If this is about Aldous-”

“No, my dear. I know you well. Trying to change your mind would be nigh on impossible. No, I wanted to talk about the other night.”

You’re eyebrow cocks, “What night?”

“Your nightmare.”

Run, your mind chants.

“I… I don’t want to talk about my nightmares yet.”

“I understand, and I will wait until you do, but that’s not the part I wanted to speak about.”

“Okay, what is?”

Astarion takes a deep breath, odd for him, “You touched me, and I jumped away from you.”

Oh….

“It’s fine, Astarion,” you smile, “You don’t have to explain this to me.”

“I know. I want to. I haven’t been touched in,” he pauses, “a while. The sensation caught me off guard.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have do-”

Astarion’s fingers come to your lips, “Stop,” he smiles, “Darling, I wanted you to, really wanted you to, but when you did, it brought up those old feelings.”

Fuck.

“I won’t do it again.”

“Fool woman,” he clicks his tongue in disapproval, “I want you, all of you. Gods, you have no idea how difficult it’s been to keep my hands off of you. Well, for the most part,” he winks.

“But?”

Astarion takes a seat on the bed, and you climb up and sit next to him. He looks ruminative, and you wonder what is going on in his mind.

“I think I would like to try some things. If you’re willing, of course.”

Try some things?

“What would you like to try?”

“I’d like you to touch my back, my scars specifically.”

He’s figuring out what triggers him and trying to work on it.

You balk a little at the request. His scars have always been somewhere you generally avoided touching.

“That is difficult for you.”

He sighs, “Which is precisely why I need to do it, and I need your help.”

“Always.”

“Thank you. We… we could start now if you’re not busy, of course.”

“Shirt on or off?”

He smiles, “Trying to get my shirt off already?”

“I'll admit, I do enjoy the view, but this isn’t about me. It’s whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Astarion removes his shirt, “I wouldn’t want to deny you the view, as you say.”

“Astarion…”

“Relax, my dear. This is the way it must be.”

“You will tell me when to stop, right? Before it gets too much for you?”

Astarion kisses the pads of your fingers softly, “I will tell you.”

“Tell me when you’re ready.”

“I’m as ready as I will ever be, darling.”

Your fingers hesitate, hovering above the scars, and he giggles, “I can feel the warmth from your skin, but not your actual skin, my dear. Don’t be afraid. This is what I want, what I need.”

Taking a deep breath, you allow your fingers to gently caress the raised scars as lightly as you possibly can. You’ve seen these countless times, of course, but you’ve never spent time touching them, not like this.

Astarion’s jaw clenches, and he tremors slightly. You lift your hand promptly away from him. You hate seeing him in discomfort and feel even worse that you are putting him through it, even at his request.

“Keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, if you can get past all the other emotions, it feels kind of nice.”

You lower your hand to his back and slowly trace the infernal script with your fingers. The scars are smooth like the rest of his silky skin, but there are jagged edges to some, and you wonder if that’s where Cazador made his revisions. You nearly shudder at the thought.

You lose yourself in those lines, in the softness of his skin and the intimacy and trust of this moment. There’s no way to know how much time passes.

“Stop.”

You drop your hand away from him instantly. Astarion turns, takes your hand in his, and kisses the back.

“Thank you.”

“Are you okay?”

Please be okay. Please don’t run.

He smiles genuinely, “I will be.”

“Do you need some time alone? I can leave…”

He chuckles, “Actually, there is one more thing I would like your help with.”

“What?”

“Have a bath with me.”

You sputter, “You want to have a bath?” Your eyes shift from side to side, “Together?”

“I would love nothing more if you’re willing.”

“But what about….” Your face flushes hot and red.

A devious half-smile quirks up his lips, “Finish the sentence, darling.”

“The sensations… you pulled away.”

Astarion giggles at your bumbling with a look of amusement at your sheepishness.

“You were not this shy before, but then again, I suppose we weren’t merely friends then.”

“I am not shy!”

“Oh? Then say what you mean, love.”

Why am I being shy? I was never shy with him.

Taking a deep breath, you bolster yourself and force the words out of your mouth, “When I touched your cock, you leapt away as if I burnt you. A bath… you can’t tell me that won’t happen.”

“Such vulgar language,” he tuts with a darkly mischievous smirk, “I do love it when you say cock, particularly when talking about mine.”

Heat rises to your face, and you flush bright red as he teases you.

Gods, what’s wrong with me?

“Would you like to bathe with me or not? We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Fuck this.

“It better be hot!”

He smiles smugly, “I remember the way you like it, my love.”

Does he?

Astarion fills the large tub. Steam floats off the water, fogging a wall-hanging mirror by the washbasin. You stare at the bath in trepidation. Is this a good idea? Is he pushing himself too far? Should you even be doing this with your friend ? You hear the faint click of the lock on his bedroom door.

I could never simply be his friend.

I need to speak to him. Soon.

Astarion’s hand comes to your lower back, “May I undress you?”

You nod, and his hands slip under your shirt, and he strips it slowly off of you. Your chest heaves with a mixture of anxiety, excitement and arousal. The cold air makes your nipples harden almost instantly into peaks. Feeling suddenly shy under his crimson gaze, you cover yourself.

Hells. He’s right. I am being shy.

Astarion moves your arms gently away, “You’re a vision. I never want you to feel you have to hide from me.”

His fingers trail over several new scars that mark your body, acquired while you were out looking for him, “So many of these are new."

You shift your eyes away from him.

“I won’t pry, but I do hope you will tell me what happened one day.”

“I need to trust you again first.”

“I understand.”

He trails his fingers around the waistband of your pants, “May I?”

You take a deep breath and nod. He hooks his fingers in the band and pulls them down your legs. Crouching, he helps you step out of them. You’re bared to him now, and his hooded red eyes take you in sensually.

Astarion’s cool hand glides up the counters of your body while he stands. His hands reach for the ties of his trousers, and he undoes them in a flash and slips out of them.

He’s definitely not shy.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him naked since he left, and your eyes devour that beautiful sight.

My memories didn’t do him justice.

“Enjoying yourself, darling?”

“Thoroughly.”

He laughs, “Good. Me too.”

Astarion steps into the tub and holds his hand out to you. Taking it, you step into the hot water with him.

He really does remember how hot I like my baths to be.

Astarion sits down, sinking into the hot water and sighs happily, closing his eyes. You sit towards the opposite side of the tub, being extra careful not to let your body touch his too much and keeping your knees hugged to your chest.

Thank Gods Gale has oversized tubs.

Astarion’s eyes open, and his brows furrow, “Why so far away?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Still excessively gentle with me, I see,” he tuts, “Come here, my love. I wish to sit together like we used to.”

Before he left me...

Slowly, you move toward him, turning around and putting your back against his chest. You keep your body rigid, careful not to touch his crotch, but it’s uncomfortable, contorting your body in an awkward position.

Nothing like before he left. I would sink into him.

Astarion trails soft kisses up your neck, his lips ghosting your ear, “I want this.”

Your skin flushes, and heat pools in between your thighs, accompanied by the all-too-familiar pulsing throb.

Ugh, not this again. I need to control myself.

Bit by bit, you allow your body to relax in increments, doing your best to watch for any signs he’s been pushed over a boundary, but he just giggles at you.

“Stop giggling at me, Astarion!”

“Sorry, darling. You’re just too cute.”

You huff and scowl at him before letting your body completely relax.

“Good girl,” he purrs.

His arms come around you, and he hugs you even closer, “May I wash you?”

“You have me naked and pressed up against you in a tub. Why do you keep asking permission?”

Astarion kisses your cheek, “We are friends, no? I do not know the proper etiquette for bathing with friends .”

Friends. Ugh.

You want to rip that word out of his vocabulary so he can never utter it again.

Well, two can play this game.

“You may wash me, friend.”

He chuckles and brings a washcloth up your arm, over your shoulder and down, grazing your nipple. You suck in a sharp breath, arching your back at the delicate sensation. Astarion repeats the same trail on the other side, and you whimper when the washcloth grazes your other nipple.

Your swollen clit aches with each movement of his hands over your body, and you squeeze your thighs together to relieve some of the intense pulsing.

Astarion kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. The cool embrace of his lips compared to the searing heat of your skin and the water make a chill run down your spine, and it takes everything you have not to writhe against him on the spot.

You’re desperate to feel closer to him, to be consumed by him. Your heart beats rapidly, your chest heaves and your voice comes out in a breathy, pleading whimper.

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

“Bite me.”

You feel his sharp fangs sink into your neck, and your core clenches and spasms. Your hands find his thighs and squeeze. He holds you steady, hard against him, and you can feel his growing erection at your back. He moans into your neck, and you swear that sound alone could be your undoing.

He eases his grip on you. Immediately, his finger comes to your chin to bring your gaze to his. He finds your lips with a growl that reverberates in his chest.

He knows I like to taste myself on him.

He parts his lips, and you skillfully explore his mouth, tasting yourself and him mixed, and you moan against him.

Astarion pushes his erection further into you with a breathy hiss. You want to feel it, taste it, be filled by it, but you keep your hands firmly planted on his thighs. You don’t want to take it too far, especially since he said he hasn’t been touched in a while. He needs to feel in control of when and how he is touched.

Astarion’s hand travels languidly down your stomach and your skin prickles at the sensation.

Keep going.

Wait.

Should I stop him?

No.

He splits your folds with his finger, and you buck your hips and groan into his chest. His tongue laps up some of the remaining blood from the fresh bite as his fingers find your swollen clit. You can’t help yourself, and you push harder up against him. His pulsing erection pressed firmly against you.

“Gods below,” he groans in your ear.

Your whole body quivers as he strokes, circles and teases the pulsing bundle of nerves.

“Do friends do this?” He growls.

You can hardly think with him expertly caressing your throbbing flesh, barely put together words between your whimpers, moans and frantic pants.

His fingers slow, and your body cries at the end of his delicious touch, “Astarion. Gods. Please.”

“Then answer me,” he taunts commandingly, “Do friends do this?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you manage to pant out a reply, “N-no.”

“That’s right, darling,” he coos, “They don’t.”

Astarion’s fingers start massaging and stroking the aching bundle of nerves, setting a merciless rhythm. Your legs quake and twitch, tilting your pelvis further into his touch. You feel the familiar tightening start to curl up in your stomach. Your body quivers with his precise movements, and your chest heaves.

So close.

“A-Astarion…”

“Yes, my love,” he growls, “Cum for me.”

You start to spasm and tremor, shockwaves gripping your body as if he gave the command, and your body obeyed. You convulse so strongly and violently that you scream out in sheer ecstasy, and Astarion uses a hand to muffle your incoherent, wanton cries. Water sputters up and splashes on the floor from your frantic movement.

“Darling, if you keep screaming like that, you’re going to make the wizard jealous.”

“Astarion,” you pant.

“Yes?”

“For the love of the Gods, don’t talk about “the wizard” right now.”

He nuzzles your neck and kisses your temple, “Gladly.”

With one last shudder, you sag back into him, and your back presses up against his throbbing cock.

“What about you?”

He smiles devilishly, “I have an idea for that too.”

“You’re full of great ideas today. Care to share?”

“I want your hand to do it, but I want to control it.”

You nod your understanding. He’s not ready to take it further just yet, but you had to start somewhere, and this was as good a place to start as any.

“Dry off and go to the bed.”

You and Astarion dry off and move to the bed. You stare at his cock, precum glistens at the tip, and you fight the urge to take him in your mouth, missing his taste.

“As much as I am happy to let you sit there and gawk for as long as you would like, I would much rather feel your hand around my cock, darling.”

You don’t need to be asked twice. You wrap your hand around him. He pulsates under your grip. His hips jerk at the contact, and he hisses in a sharp inhale and groans. His hand wraps over yours, making you grip him tighter.

“Hells, I’ve missed your hands on me.”

You let him set the pace. It starts slow and controlled. His eyes flutter closed, and his face twists in pleasure handsomely. Thick strands of precum dribble out the swollen tip.

His eyes open and meet yours, gliding over your naked body, relishing in it, and he picks up the pace. His fangs peek out as his lips part in a moan. He squeezes your hand around his cock tighter. He rolls his hips and increases the tempo. You’ve seen him reach his peak countless times, and you know he’s close.

Seeing him like this, you can already feel your arousal rising again. Your skin flushes, your core clenches, and you want to squirm on the bed, but with considerable effort, you manage to keep yourself still.

With a groan, he throws his head back, and his mouth drops open. He whimpers your name through muddled, breathless hisses and pants. He stills, and with one final stroke, thick spurts of cum shoot onto his abdomen and dribble down your hands, gathering on his lower abdomen.

Beads of sweat roll down his temples and his body glistens.

Astarion releases his grip on your hand, and you release him in turn. He pulls you to him and kisses you. This kiss isn’t about lust, arousal or pleasure. This is pure love and intimacy physically manifested, and it reminds you of before he left.

I love you. You want to tell him; you want to scream it but swallow the urge.

Astarion grabs the towel he brought, “Hand, darling.”

You hold out your hand soaked with his release, and he wipes it for you with a smirk before cleaning himself up.

“Quite the eventful bath, friend.”

“Are you okay?”

He smiles, “Yes.”

“Good, friend.”

Astarion chuckles, but it's cut short as his head snaps toward the door, “Get dressed. Gale is summoning us.”

You dress in a hurry and go downstairs with Astarion. Gale is pacing up and down the corridor to the entryway. Brows furrowed, muttering to himself.

“Gale, what’s wrong?”

“Aldous has agreed to see you tomorrow. It says you must go alone.”

Lovely.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I hope you're enjoying reading this! Let me know what you think :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

AO3: Crossposted

Small Notes: - I'm not a smut writer, so hopefully, the smutty parts get better as I get more practice. I'm working on it. :)

#astarion ancunin #astarion x mc #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion romance #baldurs gate astarion #shadows of the past

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flyingraijin · 3 years

Text

Silver On Forest Green | I. Midoriya

Entry 01 | The Virginity Chronicles

Summary: After dating Izuku for a while, you and he both feel ready to take the next step in your relationship.

(Or, alternatively; Izuku fucks for the first time)

Pairing: Izuku x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, virginity loss, oral (m+f receiving), mentions of masturbation, creampie, multiple orgasms, soft Izuku, hella unrealistic (this is not what a first time is like at all), characters are aged up to 18

Note: Ayy we’re finally here.......please don’t eat me.

Series Masterlist + Series Taglist

The reflection of silver moonlight off viridian green eyes was probably the prettiest sight you’d ever seen.

Izuku Midoriya was hovering above you. His arms were bent on either side of your head, his weight resting on his elbows as he stared with wide eyes down at your face. His nose was close enough to yours that if you tilted your head upwards just slightly, they would touch, and you were sure that if you tried, you’d be able to count every single one of his freckles. His shirt had disappeared somewhere on the floor of his dark bedroom; tossed there just a few minutes previously when the decision on what exactly was about to happen was made. If it was any other occasion, you were sure you would have been ogling his abs with no shame, staring appreciatively at the way the shadows of the dark room dipped deliciously into the contours of his muscles, defining every curve and dip. However, tonight, things were different. Tonight, he was finally here, above you with the heat of his body on yours and his cool breath fanning across your flushed skin. And all you could focus on was the green of his eyes.

Izuku looked nervous, maybe even more nervous than you were. He was nibbling lightly at his bottom lip and his Adam’s apple bobbed repeatedly as he gulped. There was a slight flush to his freckled cheeks and he seemed to be trying desperately to look anywhere but your body that was caged beneath him.

“I-Is this okay?”

You bit your own lip and stared up at him, sucking in a deep breath. Your heart was pounding against your rib cage and your stomach was twisting almost painfully with nerves. And yet, you could feel an undeniable excitement in the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, forcing your voice not to tremble.

In truth, you were terrified. Despite the fact that you had always been the more forward one in the relationship, and flirted with Izuku near constantly. Despite the fact that you’d been imagining this very scenario for way too long. Despite the fact that it was always Izuku’s name that you bit back as your fingers slid into your panties late at night. Despite everything… now that he was really here, actually on top of you and looking at you with those mesmerising green eyes, you suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe.

You didn’t feel completely ready for what was coming. And yet you wanted to do it so, so badly.

As an anchor for yourself, you raised one of your hands slowly to thread your fingers through his thick, dark curls. Izuku’s eyes scanned your face nervously as you pulled him down towards you and then, without allowing yourself to second-guess what was happening, you brought his mouth to yours.

You’d kissed Izuku many times before. Since the start of your relationship with him, almost eighteen months previously, affection had never really been something either of you shied away from. Even without ever going further, you’d grown addicted to the feeling of Izuku’s soft lips against yours and you were sure he felt the same.

This kiss, however, was different. Before, neither of you had been seeking too much more from each other. After an agreement had been made at the start of your relationship to hold off on going all the way until you were both eighteen, the pair of you had settled into a comforting grey area where things could get as spicy as you wanted without pushing either of you too far out of your boundaries. Because of that, nothing but easy petting over the clothes had transpired yet, and both of you were fine with that.

Now though, as you lay together, both freshly eighteen and horny as hell, the taste of anticipation was beginning to seep like honey between your lips as a tension thickened in the air, making it obvious that this time, both of you wanted more.

You shifted beneath Izuku, pulling him further by the back of his head so your mouth would fit closer with his. His tongue traced yours in the gap between you two, hot and wet and needy. Your lips were coated in spit as the kiss grew more and more sloppy, going from an intricate dance to a desperate need to simply taste one another. Your hands slid from Izuku’s head down to his shoulders and then, as your fingers dug into the thick muscles of his back, Izuku moaned into the kiss. A shiver rushed down your spine at the sound and the pit of nerves in your stomach twisted tighter as something sparked alight in your core. Suddenly, you became very aware of the way Izuku’s hips were aligned perfectly with yours from where his body fitted snuggly between your thighs.

You broke the kiss for air and opened your eyes to stare at Izuku again. He stared right back at you, breathing heavily as his slightly glassy gaze flickered across the features of your face. Without thinking, his tongue poked out to run across his lips and suddenly you couldn’t look away from it, your breath hitching as you took in the way his lips glistened in the pale moonlight, coated with a mixture of your saliva and his own.

Tilting your chin upwards slightly, you gave him a sultry look from beneath your lashes. “Izu.”

Izuku groaned lowly at the needy tone in which you spoke his nickname and your own eyes widened as the sound sent a shock straight down your body. Warmth was pooling between your legs now and you almost wanted to snap your thighs closed as you felt a throb of need rush through you. You shifted nervously, not used to experiencing such a sensation in a situation where is was actually intended. A needy whine left your lips and, without thinking, one of your hands shot out to smooth across the skin of Izuku’s abdomen.

Izuku’s whole body jolted slightly at the feeling of your cool fingertips against his burning skin. However, he didn’t pull away. If anything, he sank closer to you, the lines of his back curving as his pelvis dropped to rub against yours. His head fell forward to rest against the curve of your shoulder.

“Izu,” you whispered again as your hand ran lower, fingers dipping into the contours of his v-line. This time, your voice did shake but you ignored it. instead looking up at your boyfriend with questioning eyes. “C-Can I…” Your hand had now travelled low enough for him to understand what you were asking, fingertips brushing beneath the thick band of his black sweatpants.

For a second Izuku was quiet and you were sure he was re-evaluating his decision in his head for a final time. Then he gave a single nod and turned his head slightly to mumble, “Yeah,” into your ear.

Your stomach twisted with nerves and your hand shook a little but you, determined to continue, ignored everything to slowly slide your fingers across the front of his sweats.

You felt his bulge immediately. A tent stood proud in his sweats, hidden by the darkness of the room, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise as you realised just how hard he was already. This wasn’t something you were totally new to, having had a few frisky make-out sessions with your boyfriend already. However the knowledge that this, something which had once seemed like such a huge step, was now only the beginning made for an entirely new experience.

Gingerly you rubbed your hand across his erection. Izuku hissed into your neck, one hand fisting at the bedsheets beside your head while his hips instinctively rolled down, forcing more contact with your palm. You could practically feel the warmth radiating from his blush against your neck as he did so, however you ignored it and focussed on the task at - or rather, in - hand.

You palmed him again, and then again, slowly reacquainting yourself with his cock. Izuku whimpered each time your hand brushed across him, his breath growing shaky against your neck as his hips continued to roll downwards in an attempt to increase the friction.

Finally, once you’d grown comfortable touching him like that, you pulled your hand away. “Izuku,” you murmured, hooking your thumb into the band of his sweatpants. “Can I… touch you properly now?”

“Please,” he practically moaned against you and you sucked in a sharp breath as another throb ran between your legs at the needy tone of his voice.

“Okay,” you murmured. “Do you wanna lie back? It might be easier.”

Izuku didn’t say anything but he did roll over onto his back beside you. You sat up immediately and turned to look at him, your eyes widening at the scene in front of you.

The moonlight was angled perfectly through the gap in your bedroom curtains and now shone in a single beam right across the bed and Izuku’s bare torso. His skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, his pecs heaving up and down as he breathed with one arm thrown across his face, showing off the definition of his bicep.

You bit down harshly on your lip, allowing yourself a few seconds to drink in the sight. Then you shifted, scooting forward so that you were kneeling between his bent legs.

“Izuku,” you murmured as you hooked your fingers in his waistband once again. “You need to tell me what feels good, okay?”

Izuku managed a shaky nod and pulled his arm from over his face. You could feel his eyes on you as you finally began to tug his sweatpants down.

Silence fell, broken only by the shuffling of clothes and Izuku’s laboured breathing as you managed to drag the thick material from his legs. His boxers were easier to take off, however you paused for a second as you noticed a patch of damp already forming at the front of them. You supposed you would probably have been grossed out in any other situation but seeing it now just added fuel to the first burning inside you and encouraged you to curl your fingers around the edges of the garment and shuffle them down too. And then suddenly, Izuku was wearing nothing at all and you stared, wide eyed, as his cock sprang up, no longer confined by the material of his pants.

You bit back a whine at the sight of it.

You had never been of the opinion that dicks were especially pretty things to look at. Despite being a virgin, you had witnessed your fair share of them in your short life and after doing so, your desire to get up close and personal with one had diminished greatly. However, even you weren’t able to deny the fact that Izuku’s cock was pretty (although you may have been biased, considering it was attached to Izuku himself).

His length was long and relatively thick with the slightest curve upwards and a vein running thick along the underside. Milky precum was already starting to leak from the tip, reflecting silver in the moonlight, and the longer you stared at it, the more you wanted it inside you right fucking now.

“Please.” Izuku’s needy whine snapped you from your trance. Your eyes flicked upwards to meet his from where he stared down at you, hair dishevelled and cheeks ablaze. “Stop looking and just… please touch me.”

“Fuck,” you murmured to yourself in a low voice, desperately trying to ignore your own arousal that was now growing between your thighs. “I’m sorry, Izu. You’re just so pretty.”

Izuku groaned and looked away, flushing even more with embarrassment. “Y/N,’” he mumbled. “Stop teasing me. I need-ah!” His head jerked backwards in shock as you reached out to run a hand down his cock before he could finish.

“Shit,” you mumbled as your hand slid up and down, thumb coming up to rub across the slit at his head and coating itself in his precum in the process. “You’re so turned on, Izu.”

All Izuku could do in reply was groan.

“Does that feel nice?” you asked as you twisted your grip a little bit and squeezed. “Tell me, baby.”

“Mmmm, feels good,” Izuku choked. One of his hands fisted the bed sheets beneath him and tugged hard, the fabric straining against the strength of his grip. “Really good, sh-shit, Y/N.”

“Oh?” You pumped him a few more times before giving in to temptation and ducking your head down to lick a long stripe up the underside of his cock. The texture felt off against your tongue, soft and uneven, and not completely enjoyable. However the way Izuku’s back arched immediately and his head fell back to let out a long moan made up for any previous distaste and encouraged you to eagerly take the head into your mouth.

He was way too big for you to swallow completely, so you kept your hand on the base of his cock as you slowly bobbed your head downwards. The taste of his precum was salty against your tongue as you circled it around the head of his cock, the sensation of which had Izuku writhing beneath you. One of his hands came up to grip your hair and for a second you thought he was going to force you all the way down until he was buried in your throat. However, despite the desperation drawn into the lines of his face, his fingers in your hair were gentle, merely acting as support for you as you continued to suck him off.

“Fuuuuuck,” Izuku moaned aloud. “Baby – god - fuck, you’re so good!”

In response, you ducked your head deeper and gagged as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. His length, that which you couldn’t fit in your mouth, was growing slick now as a combination of his pre and your drool seeped from your straining lips and slid down his skin to drip heavily off his balls. Taking a chance you moved your hand downwards to fondle them and Izuku let out another moan. Without warning, his hips rolled upwards, causing you to gag again.

The pace had been set by now. Your head was bobbing continuously on his dick, tongue sliding up and down the vein on the underside as your hand alternated between playing with his balls and rubbing the base of his length. Izuku was moaning frequently, his hips occasionally thrusting forward, and his head was thrown back, exposing his pretty jawline to the night hair. Your eyes flicked upwards to look at him every now and again, and you made a mental note to mark up his neck once you were finished with your current job.

In what felt like no time at all, Izuku’s breath began to grow shallow and uneven, and his thighs startled to tremble on either side of your body. “Baby,” he whimpered desperately as you continued to choke yourself on his dick. “Baby, stop, I’m gonna… fuck, I think I’m gonna cum.”

You didn’t stop. You knew he, being the considerate bean he was, was worried about finishing in your mouth and forcing you to swallow his release. Hell, you’d been worried about that before you first started; at the time it hadn’t seemed too appealing. But now that you were here with his cock actually down your throat, you realised you wanted nothing more than for him to cum right in your mouth.

Reaching up, you grabbed Izuku’s free hand with your own. After interlocking your fingers, you pressed his knuckles into the mattress and squeezed, hoping to signal to him that you were, in fact, okay. It took a moment and then Izuku squeezed back, obviously having understood your reassurance. If possible, his moans became even more needy.

“Please, baby,” he whined through heaving breaths. “Please, I’m so close. So close, fuck, please, baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna-!” he cut himself off with a load moan and then his cock twitched in your mouth.

You stilled as he came, focussing on swallowing everything he had to give.

It was only once Izuku had relaxed again that you pulled away, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. Crawling upwards, you pulled yourself up Izuku’s body until you were hovering over him just as he had been with you not long before. The nerves had dulled in your stomach and now that your focus was no longer solely on Izuku’s pleasure, you became uncomfortably aware of the aching wetness between your legs. You were sure your panties had been completely soaked through at this point, so turned on as you were by the vision of your boyfriend hitting his climax.

Izuku stared up at you, eyes still a little hazy from the intensity of his orgasm. A slight sheen of sweat had formed on his skin and his hair was an absolute mess, mussed and tangled by the countless times he’d run his hand through it. Despite this, he still appeared so achingly attractive in your eyes that you couldn’t resist dropping down to fit your mouth against his in a soft kiss. Izuku didn’t protest, in fact he chased your lips and groaned into your mouth as he tasted the residue of his orgasm on your tongue.

Pulling back, you offered him a smile. ”So?”

Izuku blushed deeply. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious!” You grinned and kissed the tip of his nose. “I wanna know. Did it feel good?”

“So good,” Izuku murmured and then he pulled you into another kiss. “You’re so good at sucking dick, baby.”

You started at the boldness of the words he’d whispered against your lips and then moaned against him when you felt one of his legs come up to press between the both of yours. The attention to your heat, which had gone ignored for so long was practically overwhelming now and your body collapsed like a ragdoll against Izuku’s. Your boyfriend grinned into the kiss, as if this was what he’d had planned all along before eventually pulling back to gaze at you with half-lidded eyes.

“Now, let me return the favour?”

You had barely nodded before your positions were switched yet again and you found yourself on your back, Izuku above you, caging you in once again. He shot you a small smile before sliding his hands beneath your shirt. His palms were huge and warm against your skin and you shivered at the feeling as his calloused fingers splayed out across your ribs before he suddenly cupped your breasts. Izuku let out a whine of his own.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured. “Get this shirt off for me. I wanna see you.”

You did as he asked and tugged the fabric upwards. Cool air hit your skin as you discarded the shirt over your hair, and for a moment you shivered. However your attention was quickly pulled away from the goosebumps rising on your arms when Izuku moved his hands, needily grabbing at your tits. His hands were big enough to fist them whole, and you stared in fascination as he kneaded the supple flesh between his fingers. At the back of your mind, you heard a small voice thank the universe for choosing not to wear a bra when you snuck into Izuku’s room earlier that evening.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Izuku murmured, still staring at your tits. “This is what you’ve been hiding all this time?”

You flushed with heat and used your hands to hide your face. “Ohmigod, Izuku-!’

He laughed good-naturedly at your embarrassment. “I’m only telling the truth. Besides, I’ve been waiting to do this –“ he leaned forward to kitten-lick at your nipple, “-for so long.”

“You have?!” You stared at him. Izuku shrugged.

“Well, yeah.” He pressed a short kiss to your lips. “I may not be a perv like Mineta but even I get dirty thoughts.”

It made sense. He was a teenage boy after all, and yet the idea of the sweet, innocent Izuku in your head did not match up with this new version he was presenting you with now. Not that you had an issue with it.

Izuku lowered his head again to mouth at your breast. His tongue felt warm, wet and sticky against the sensitive skin, leaving a delicious sting in its wake as cold night air nipped at the trails of saliva left behind. Your back arched upwards as he nipped easily at your areola and then moved further down, kissing his way between your tits to your sternum and then lower to leave hickeys on your ribs. All the while his hands continued to work your body, rubbing at your breasts and then sliding to your hips, your thighs and then finally sneaking to the waistband of your own sweatpants.

He pulled back for a second to make eye contact with you and within that moment you realised what he was asking. With a single nod of your head, you gave confirmation for him to continue and Izuku took this as a sign to slide not only your sweatpants but your panties too down your legs.

You gasped as cold air hit your glistening cunt. At the same time, Izuku sucked in a shallow breath, and his grip on you tightened just slightly as his eyes came to rest on the prize between your legs for the first time in his life.

For a moment he stared and you could visibly see his cock hardening once again. Then, before you could think, he’d settled himself on his stomach and was prying your legs further apart.

“Baby,” Izuku murmured as he pressed kisses down your inner thigh. “Baby, fucking hell.”

“Izu,” you breathed in reply, head slipping back as you felt the warmth of his mouth drawing closer and closer to where your arousal was throbbing. Even with absolutely no stimulation, your pussy clenched, more of your honeyed slick sliding out to drip down onto the sheets below you.

Izuku licked his lips as his mouth finally came to hover above your clit. For a moment his gaze flickered upwards and you locked eyes. Then he lowered his head to press the first kiss to your clit and your chin tilted upwards as your eyes rolled back. One of your hands fisted in his hair.

“Izuku!”

Izuku groaned against you. His own eyes were practically crossed as he got his first taste of you. Your essence was like syrup against his lips and he lapped at it eagerly, already addicted. Then his tongue slid down, probing between your slick folds with ease to feel the tightness of your inner muscles beyond. His nose brushed up against your clit and a low moan fell from you.

“Fuck,” you murmured and gripped tighter at his curls. “Please, do that again.”

He did and your head fell back, a shiver running up the length of your body. “Ngh- Izu, fuck.”

Izuku took this as a hint to focus on your clit. Raising himself a little higher, he pulled his tongue from inside you for the time being to swipe it back and forth against the tiny bud of nerves. Immediately your thighs tensed and your hips rolled, forcing the pressure of his tongue to increase. You moaned aloud, a filthy mixture of his name and a sound of pure arousal that made Izuku instinctively rut his hips into the bed below him. The sound of his groan mixed with yours.

“Tell me what to do, baby,” Izuku breathed against your cunt. “Please. Wanna make you feel good.”

You gripped his hair again and bit your lip; merely the fact that he wanted to please you was enough to push your arousal to a new level.

“Keep doing that with your tongue,” you choked. “And, if you’re ready…use your fingers.”

Izuku nodded eagerly and went back to ravishing your clit. You let your head fall back and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to feel the sensations to the fullest. At the same moment, Izuku began to tease the tip of his middle finger across your labia. You shivered as it stroked your skin once, twice, before slipping between your folds to delve deep into your cunt.

“Ah!” you whimpered at the same time that Izuku let out a long moan.

“Fuck!” he groaned, pulling his mouth from your clit for a second to stare as he began to finger you. “You’re so tight.”

Your only response was a small squeak as he curled his finger upwards and sent a jolt running through your entire body.

Izuku noticed the way you seemed to clench around him and repeated the action. A whine fell from your lips and almost instinctively you used your grip on his hair to push his mouth back towards your cunt.

Izuku followed graciously and began to slurp on your clit again, his own eyes rolling back as he ingested the nectar that dripped from inside you.

There was a chord tightening in your lower belly now, the tell-tale pull of an impending orgasm. You were just shocked at how quickly Izuku had managed to push you towards the edge, considering this was the first time either of you had touched each other’s bodies in this way.

“Fuck,” you whimpered aloud as your toes curled and your thighs shook more. “Fucking hell, Izu…”

In response Izuku added another finger, pushing both of his digits deep inside your throbbing pussy. Your back arched upwards at the feeling and an unintelligible noise ripped itself from your throat. The burn of his thick fingers stretching you was like fire but Izuku helped to distract from it as his tongue flicked back and forth over your clit, causing your entire body to twitch every time it brushed over the one particularly sensitive spot.

Warmth began to creep from your feet up your legs and the muscles in your stomach tightened almost to the point of discomfort as you edged closer and closer towards the precipice of your orgasm. “Izuku,” you whined as your hips rolled continuously against his fingers and tongue. “Izu, I think I’m gonna..!”

“I know,” Izuku groaned against you and there was a waver in his own voice that told you he was just as desperate for you to reach your climax as you were. “It’s okay, baby, I’m here - ah, fuck – please cum for me, baby?”

His whimpering voice and a final thrust of his fingers into your sticky cunt was all you needed for your climax to crest and break through you. Heat surged through your body as your muscles tensed and your back arched upwards, a choked moan escaping you as your mind fogged up with pleasure because holy fucking shit, it felt so much better like this than when it was just you and your fingers.

Izuku continued to kitten lick your clit as you orgasmed, occasionally murmuring soft praise. His free hand rubbed reassuring circles along the outside of your thigh and then he lifted his head to offer you a soft, warm smile, his lips and chin glistening with your cum.

“You did so well, Pumpkin,” he said softly as he pulled his fingers from inside you. You stared at his hand for a moment, eyes trailing over the way his thick fingers glistened, coated in a thick layer of your juices. Without thinking you reached out to grab his wrist and sucked his digits into your mouth. Izuku let out a long groan as he felt your tongue lather across his skin, licking up every last drop of your cum.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbled, shuffling his body upwards so that he was hovering over you once again. His hips bumped against yours and both of you let out a long groan as his cock, hard and erect yet again, rubbed up across your labia.

Izuku’s head dropped into the crook of your neck and as your arms came up to circle around his shoulders, you could feel his entire body trembling.

“Pumpkin,” Izuku whispered. “Can we…can we keep going?”

You twisted your head to press a kiss and then a nip against the skin of his neck. The feeling of your lips against his warm skin had Izuku keening and his hips gave an instinctive thrust.

“Keep going,” you murmured into him. “Please don’t stop, Izu.” Your lips attached to his neck properly then and you sucked idly on his pulse point, fulfilling your earlier fantasy of marking up his pretty skin. Izuku let out a broken moan and almost immediately one of his hands slid between your bodies to take hold of the base of his cock.

“You sure we don’t need a c-condom?” he double-checked shakily.

You nodded against him and pulled back far enough to say, “I’m on the pill,” before continuing your assault on his neck.

Izuku pressed his nose further into your collarbone as the head of his cock brushed against your clit. Your entire body tensed at the feeling and you let out a low whine, suddenly realising how sensitive you still were after your earlier orgasm. “Izu…”

Izuku froze immediately, raising his head to look down at you with wide worried eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head, your grip on his shoulders tightening. “No, just… go slow.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “But if it hurts or… or you don’t like it, tell me and I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” you mumbled into his neck and bit down on his skin once again. Izuku took that as his cue to start and your breath hitched as you felt the head of his cock begin to press between your folds.

Your cunt was dripping, strings of your arousal leaking out to dampen the sheets below you. Despite this, you could feel the stretch as Izuku began to ease himself inside you. It was nothing like his two fingers from earlier; the girth of his cock was already so much greater, and your lower half burned like fire as your pussy was stretched past its limits for the first time. You let out a whimper and buried your face further into Izuku’s neck, fingers digging into his shoulders in a grip you were sure was painful for him.

Izuku halted his movements for a moment and tilted his head to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Does it hurt?”

Your eyes were screwed shut and your body tense as you tried to breathe through the pain. A single jerk of your head answered Izuku’s question and he exhaled slowly, his forehead dropping to lean against yours.

“Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head immediately, gripping his shoulders ever tighter. “No, no, don’t stop. It’s fine.”

“Pumpkin,“ Izuku gave you a sad look and dropped a soft kiss on your forehead. “If it hurts too badly, it’s okay to stop.”

You appreciated his support, you really did. But even as he spoke, you could feel the pain beginning to ease just slightly. “I promise I’m okay,” you whispered to him. “I want to keep going. Please, Izu…” you trailed off as your words dissolved into a light moan.

Izuku nodded, his hair falling across his face as he dropped his head to rest the bridge of his nose on your collarbone. “I’m gonna go in a little further, okay,” he mumbled as his hips began to move again, slowly pressing into yours more and more. You bit your lip and tried to relax your aching muscles as the burn increased again. However it wasn’t as bad as at the beginning and you could feel an underlying rush of both satisfaction and pleasure as your body became more accustomed to the intrusion.

Above you, Izuku was shaking. Little whimpers and groans of pleasure were falling almost constantly from his lips as his cock pressed even deeper into you. There was a flush blooming on his freckled cheeks and his eyebrows were furrowed deeply. When you saw this, you forgot about your own discomfort for a second and shifted just slightly under him, enough to change the angle of his entry just a little. The reaction was instantaneous; a long shiver passed down the boy’s spine and his teeth shank harshly into his bottom lip as he bit back a moan. “Oh fuck,” he choked out, one of his hands slid down your side to grip your hip. “Don’t do that.”

A spike of something unfamiliar, maybe pride, bloomed in your chest and you raised a hand up to curl your fingers into his thick hair. “Does it feel good, Izu?” you murmured against the shell of his ear, both to tease him and distract yourself from the pain.

Izuku moaned again, his fingers digging into your hip. “So good,” he whined into your neck, his voice high and wobbly. “Pumpkin… feels… better than anything…ah!”

You trailed your fingers down his back, feeling his spine arch beneath your touch.

“Describe it to me.” Your tone came out so sultry that even you were surprised. Izuku let out a muffled cry at the sound of it and suddenly his body tensed. For a moment you thought he was going to cum right then and there, however he seemed to fight it back, his fingers fisting at the bedsheets beside you.

“You’re so tight, Y/N.” His voice cracked as he spoke. “So tight, ‘n warmth. S-so much better than -oh shit- than my hand.” He pressed his lips to your neck for a second, muffling a moan. “You make me feel so good.”

Somehow his praise helped to ease the pain slightly and when you breathed in his ear to continue, he was able to slip all the way inside you without having to stop again. You bit back a yelp at the feeling of being full; it was so foreign and so satisfying at the same time, and it had your entire body tensing.

Izuku pressed a light kiss to the slope of your jugular. His struggle to hold back was becoming more and more evident to you, and even just the slightest shift in your pelvis had him keening and twitching. “Does it feel okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “It’s okay. You can move.”

The first thrust was completely overwhelming for both of you. You gasped at the strange sensation of having something moving back and then pressing forward again inside of you. Izuku whined aloud in relief as he was finally about to experience the full pleasure your tight walls had to offer.

“Baby,” he mumbled over and over as his thrusts continued and he desperately tried to find his rhythm. “Baby, fuck!”

You moaned in tandem with him. Each roll of his hips was bringing only more pleasure and the pain was beginning to drain away. Your fingers gripped tight into Izuku’s hair as your other hand slid down Izuku’s back, digging into the thick muscles of his shoulders as you searched for something to anchor yourself. “Izu,” you murmured as your body rocked gently back and forth “Izu, more, please.”

And Izuku complied, his thrusts becoming deeper as he finally settled into an even pace.

Your back arched away from the bed as pleasure began to rush through your body again. Tingles were shooting, across your skin and a voice was beginning to chant in the back of your mind ‘more, more, more’. Without thinking, you pulled your legs upward and locked your ankles behind Izuku’s back, spreading yourself open for him as much as you could. Your cunt was gushing again, growing more wet than you had ever experienced before, and making it increasingly easier for Izuku to thrust into you. Between the heavy sounds of skin against skin, you could hear the wet squelch as your arousal oozed between you, coating Izuku’s balls and his thrusts continued to deepen.

A violent shiver rushed down your spine and unconsciously you clenched around Izuku’s cock, a move that had him trembling and his thrusts growing erratic. “Baby,” he panted, raising his head to give you a pleading look. “I can’t… I’m gonna…fuck!”

You reached up to cup either side of his face with your hands and gave him a long kiss. “It’s okay,” you mumbled against his lips. “Let go, please, Izu, cum for me.”

And he did. With a long groan his head dropped against your chest and he slammed his hips into yours one last time before cumming, hard. You gasped as you felt your insides fill up, warmth filling you as ropes of thick cum spewed into your aching cunt. “F-fuck,” you murmured as your head fell back, butterflies rushing through you as Izuku pressed light kisses all the way up your neck, whimpering as he did so. “Izu…”

As he began to come down from his climax, you fully expected him to pull out. Your body was already beginning to relax against the sheets, preparing for things to wind down for the night. What you didn’t expect was for him to prop himself back on his elbows and lean down to give you a sweet kiss as his hips began to roll softly against yours again.

Almost immediately your back arched as he hit the sweet spot inside you, and you looked up at him with wide, surprised eyes. “Izuku, what’re you-?”

“You didn’t cum, right?” Izuku mumbled, his voice and movements a little shaky as he fought through his overstimulation to continue. You shook your head slowly.

“Then we’re not done.”

“B-but, what about you?” you asked as a shudder rolled through your body. “Isn’t it too much?”

“Don’t worry, ah, about me?” Izuku’s face scrunched and his entire body trembled as you clenched around him. “You didn’t go through all the pain at the start to not feel good now.”

You could honestly have cried at that. If you were honest with yourself, you’d gone into this experience fully expecting not to cum. Not because you didn’t have faith in Izuku but because you’d heard, from almost everyone, that girls hardly ever came their first time. The female orgasm was more difficult to achieve after all, and unless your partner was experienced, it was unlikely you’d reach it, on top of the added stress of having sex for the first place.

However, after hearing what Izuku had said, you could tell he’d also known that going in and was now fully prepared to push himself further in order for you to achieve your pleasure. Knowing this had your heart twisting with love and affection for him and, if anything, turned your arousal up a notch. Linking your arms around his neck, you pressed your face into his collarbone and allowed your body to succumb completely to the feeling of his cock pounding into your cunt.

Moans were starting to fall continuously from both your lips again and now you could feel the tightening in your stomach and the rising heat that signalled you were close. “Shit,” you whimpered as your thighs tightened around Izuku’s hips. “Izu!

“I can feel it, Pumpkin,” your boyfriend whimpered and you knew he was talking about the tightening in your pussy. “You’re close, right?”

“Ngh, fuck, so close!” you squeaked as your head began to grow hazy.

One of Izuku’s hands slipped down and you moaned loud as his thumb brushed across your puffy and sensitive clit. “Izuku!” A violent tremor ran the length of your body then and suddenly you were on the edge.

“Fuck, baby,” Izuku whimpered as he drew circles on your clit. He was about to cum too, his third orgasm of the night pulling his muscles tense and causing his cock to twitch inside you. However he seemed just as desperate for you to reach your own release as he played with your clit and thrust into you with enough power to leave bruises on the inside of your thighs.

“Please baby,” you heard him plead into your ear, his desperate voice turning you on even more. “Please cum for me, baby. I need you to, fuck, I need you to cum, Pumpkin, please, please!”

Those words were all you needed to swan dive into your climax. Sinking your teeth into his shoulder, you screamed against his skin as heat flooded your muscles and your body convulsed beneath Izuku.

The violent clenching of your cunt around him had your boyfriend following not long after. His seed spilled inside you for the second time that night, filling you up again to the point where it was almost uncomfortable. Then he collapsed atop your body, head buried deep in your shoulder.

For a moment the pair of you stayed like that, allowing for your heavy breathing to gradually slow. You continued to card your fingers through Izuku’s hair, pushing it back from his sweat-slicked forehead, as you focussed on the feeling of his heart beating against your own. Now that the heat of the moment was over, you were starting to notice how sticky you felt, both with sweat and your own slick.

After a second, Izuku let out a groan. You unhooked your legs from around his waist and then tried to suppress your feel of discontent as he pulled back, removing his softening cock from your aching body.

“Shit,” the teenage boy mumbled out as he glanced down at the mess between your thighs. Globs of thick cum were beginning to ooze out of your still twitching pussy, no longer held in by Izuku plugging you up. For a moment your boyfriend stared at the sight, completely mesmerised. Then he leaned forward to kiss you again.

You moaned lightly at the feeling of his soft lips on yours, revelling in the feather-light touch of his fingertips as they skimmed across your jaw. Then, when Izuku finally pulled back and flopped to lie beside you, he rolled your body easily into his arms to tuck you against his chest.

For a moment the pair of you lay silent, simply enjoying basking in the aftermath of each other. Then you felt Izuku chuckle lowly.

“If Kacchan ever found out I lost my virginity before him, he’d blow a fuse.”

You turned to stare up at your boyfriend, eyes wide. “Bakugou’s still a virgin?!”

“Oh yeah.” Izuku snuggled closer to you, burying his nose in your hair. “He’s never been touched in his life.”

You couldn’t help but snort. “How the fuck would you know that?”

“I just do.”

“Oh really?”

You felt his grin against your hair. “No. Sero overheard him telling Kirishima he hadn’t slept with anyone and then Sero told Kaminari and I overheard Kaminari telling Mina.”

“Jesus,” you mumbled. “I swear, no one in that group knows how to keep a secret.” Then you looked up at him, a little worried. “Are you gonna tell Bakugou that we… did it?”

“No.” His grip on you tightened just a little and you saw a slight glint in his eye. “Although, if he ever asks about it, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Fair enough.”

There was another moment of silence before Izuku shifted so he could look down at you properly. The moonlight was hitting his face once again and his deep green eyes were wide and adoring as they slid over your figure.

“I’m really happy, though.”

You blinked at him, confused. “About what?”

“That we did do it.” He blushed a little. “That you were my first.”

Your heart jumped and you couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at your lips. Reaching up, you brushed one of his curls away from his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kissed your cheek sweetly. “I love you, Y/N. And I’m so happy to have you.”

“I love you too,” you murmured and snuggled closer to him. “Thank you, Izuku.”

“For what?”

“For being my first.”

Izuku smiled and kissed you one last time before settling down to sleep. “Of course, Pumpkin.”

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Note

Could I request a Jaskier x female reader where the reader is a princess who during daylight, is condemned to be a bear, after being cursed by an evil sorcerer At night she become a human again. Which the curse can only be broken by a man (who would be Jaskier) who pledges his heart solely to the reader (something like true love’s kiss). Please and thank you!!!

Bruin

jaskier x reader

masterlist

Warnings; mentions of witcher killing, mentions of death and angst, curses, nudity, some fluff, implied smut

“G-Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice shivered, as he saw a great mountain of brunette fur, wading through the long grass, heavy breathing exhibiting from its wet snout. “There’s a bear!”

“If you’re that scared, try to speak quieter.” The Witcher’s speech remained monotone, as he continued walking, leaving the bard to catch up with his hardy footsteps. “We need to leave before nightfall, that is when the true monster is unleashed from the bruin vessel.”

“You kill monsters, we’ll be fine.” The bard waved off, though he was terrified, and Geralt was all but convinced with his dismissal. “We will, won’t we Geralt?”

“It’s bad luck to remain out here at night, it’s an old wives tale, however, no one survives the night out here. Not after the disappearance of the princess of Arafell.” Jaskier remembered that tale, he had even seen the princess at a banquet once when they were both young in age.

Neither of them had the opportunity to converse with one another that evening, it was the night she had ran away. and he certainly had regretted never asking her dance. Before that though, they had often strode through the gardens hand in hand, conversing on the beauty of the petals that veiled around the stems, and she, unlike most people, listened to his descriptive forms of poetry. Back then, he had been shy, and not to mention, she was of sought after royal blood. That evening was the last that anyone from the kingdom had ever been seen, after the slumber of eternity wept over their souls. One thing he severely remembered though, was that she loved dandelions.

The princess had ran away, leaving the king and queen in search of someone that could find her, and thus they hired a private sorcerer to complete their wishes. But instead of seeking out the lost girl, the old man took the gold and the lives of old, wallowing the land in distress that clambered into a delving of madness.

A shout bellowed from the bear, and Jaskier found him to “How long will it be til we reach the borders?”

“The bad luck will loom over us Jaskier, we will not make it out of here in the span of the next countless hours. There will be a moon in the sky, but perhaps we’ll be able to seek out cover in the old guard’s tower.”

“Where are we Geralt?” The brown haired poet feared to be met with the answer “What makes you think that we’ll survive the night?!”

“This is what remains of Arafell.” Stated the white haired hunter, as he continued to plod through the thick foliage beneath his dark boots. He stepped on the dull green life form, not encouraged to pursue any further into the depths as he heard the destination that they were travelling through.

“Arafell, great.” Huffed the irritating bard, clutching his lute as he spoke the haunting name. “There’s no need to be afraid, when you’re in the land of torn bodies, because the witcher is by your side. He’ll slash and dice, protect the mice, from the darkness that falls from above. The people are dead, I am filled with dread, in the land of Ar-afellll.”

“Stop singing.” Whenever there was any fault present in their adventures together, Jaskier had a tendency, wallowing similar like a pie without filling to sing. It shrouded Geralt with epitomised frustration, his betrothed follower sure knew how to pull his strings, it was as though he were a moral lute, a practice run of socialisation for the noble’s son.

“Sorry.” Apologised the traveller, with a shrug encompassed by a spark of coldness affecting his posture. There was a breeze, filled with the pinching of icicles in the air, and it clawed through his clothes, clashing with the meat blanketed warmth of his bones. “It’s just- we’re in bloody Arafell, or what remains of it, and you are so calm. Have you maybe perhaps forgotten what happened here?!”

“No. I was here when it queen Ara and her kingdom fell. And that bear has lurked every inch of these demolished castle lands searching for scraps, and if you cannot tell, it is almost night fall, and she has come up sufficiently short of anything, for all these decades.”

The listener frowned, bears did not live so long. It was a curious prospect, it remained loyal to these grounds, although it was empty. There had to be a reason why, a pattern that supposed why it, or she as Geralt had divulged, remained to lurk in the midst of the overgrown forestry. And then another thought (yes, Jaskier had the ability to do that despite what his protective travel mate may have wondered), hit him, like a bolt of lightning.

“Um, Geralt, where is the bear?” He gulped, hearing the rustling of the thick foliage metres behind them. The moon scourged the sky with its global presence, inducing another shot of ambient fear through Jaskier’s veins. “It was-“

“Shut up a moment.” It was almost impossible half the time to silence Jaskier, but this time, he actually obliged the command. Geralt drew his sword, the one that glistened a predominate silver and was made from the compound, clutching the handle in his vice and skilled grip, as his feet took him closer to the imposter that was imbedded within the weeds.

“Oh.” Jaskier covered his eyes, he couldn’t look as Geralt pointed the weapon at the beasts throat; a whimper escaped it as Geralt took a step back, alerting his companion. “Kill it Geralt, it’s a bear, it’s going to kill us.”

“It was a bear.” Geralt elaborated as he watched the beast transform and lose its course coat of brown fur, turning into a less monstrous beast. It was only a girl, with unruly and wild hair that was matted in all directions, her face contorted into fear. “Of whom are you, my lady?”

“A witcher.” It trailed from her lips as a whisper, her tone alerting Jaskier that it indeed was not a bear, rather it was a woman, laid on the forest ground, in nothing but her own layers of skin. His eyes widened for a moment, until he earned an elbow in the rib from his friend for his long and convicted ogling. “I have only heard legends but...

“You speak english?” Jaskier wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, hinting at his subsequent misunderstanding of the situation. “but you were a bear?!” This was all growing more confusion with each passing second, there were too many angles of the world.

“I’m cursed.” It was an easy consequence to admit, for the lady of the worlds already lived through them. “Each day, I am forced to pad about in the brute body of a bruin, a sorcerer brought by darkness himself to this dimension damned me to this abomination, his name was-“

“Lament.” From hearing that name, the woman on the ground was taken aback as the women, trying to prevail some decency, attempted to cover her breasts with her arms, as she crossed her legs over one another. “Your parents sent me to find you, lady. I came up empty handed in my search for you, there was no trail that I managed to find, nothing that would point in your direction. And that night, as I returned with short of nothing of any news of your whereabouts, Lament was there.”

“He killed them all, didn’t he. My family?” The answer didn’t require any verification from Geralt, the solemn, yet usual expression on the Witcher’s face was all the confirmation that she needed. “Of course he did, he’s a poisonous shadow, when he finds something he wants, he takes away its home, so that it can’t run back to the hearth whence it came from. I regret every running away from home...”

“Wait a moment.” This was all beginning to add up in some mind boggling way. Jaskier flitted his gaze aside for a moment as Geralt pulled a fine blanket from his luggage, knowingly seeing the movement out of the corner of his curious eye that she was pulling the material that conducted warmth over her shoulders, and across her sachet of flaunted skin.

"Shut up Jaskier." Instantaneously stated the bard, whom had returned his cerulean gaze back upon the y/h/c woman, depositing a composition of interest to her form.

"You're the princess of Arafell, aren't you. Y/n, it's you, isn't it?" Y/n's expression was one of shock; how did this man know of her identity? She understood how the witcher did, though with considering he was condemned with the duty of finding her. The brunette man was slightly familiar, and so he revealed why that was. “it’s Julian.” Jaskier held his hand to his chest, almost hurt that you didn’t recognise him, but it had been years, so many, none of which had been kind to you. “My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

“Dandelion!” The reprised title spun from y/n's tongue, remembering the nickname that she had given the now gentleman all those years ago, when he was nothing more than a persisting boy that made her flash an unashamed laughter in the midst of poised quality showrooms of noble gatherings. "I remember you." She dwelled on the fact, if she weren't clothed in only a shrill and frayed blanket that was pebbled with small dots of soil, from where it had been laid on the ground, y/n surely would have jumped up and spun her arms around his 'sexy goose' neck.

"You've got to be kidding me, it is just my luck that the pair of you know each other." Geralt crossed his arms, shaking his sleek silver head, being deprived of attention as he spoke. "Is there any way to get yourself out to get you out of this prospected curse of turning into a bear, y/n?"

"To be betrothed to a man, confirmed with a kiss resonating true love, though, nobody with any sense would put themselves in that position for me, there is no wealth to my name anymore, nor is there relevance with my heritage, for there is nothing that remains, as you have confirmed for me. This man must certainly be one of a kind, for he has to pledge his loyalty solely to me, forbidding himself from ever being with another woman again."

The mention of a lack of sense reminded Geralt of one man in particular, and he was stood right beside him. But it couldn't have been Jaskier, of all people, and- Geralt found himself overcome with dread as the bard stepped forward, crunching his shoed feet into the withered grass, closer to the rediscovered princess.

"I have waited my whole life to see you again." Oh god, here he went, Geralt thought. "When we were younger, I was infatuated with you, and here we are, united again in a union. If my betrothal means nothing then you will remain in this shrine of gloom, but to me, it would mean everything to me."

"Y/N come on, have some sense, it-" There was lack of reason for Geralt to continue speaking, as y/n sprung up, the blanket flowing down from her shoulders, baring her body cold to the crisp air, as her hands clasped both sides of Jaskier's face, and pressed her lips to his.

The witcher cringed, turning away as the pair practically ate the other's face, like starved animals that had been distanced for many years, which in their case was true. "Do you know if the curse is broken, is there any indicator if so?"

A hum fell from y/n's mouth as Jaskier's hand traced the curve of her spine, causing Geralt to scoff. That was the only response he earned, and to a high stake, it disgusted him. "I think I'm just gonna let you two have some time to yourselves, I guess we will see in the morning if you're being mawled by a bear you flippant."

And thus he walked away, leaving the two to pursue their primitive instincts, under the blessed moon, and on the routed curfew on the dark and dead land of Arafell.

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Second Chance | dark!Scott Lang x reader

summary: every perfect heist has five stages: identify the score, find your ‘in,’ enter unnoticed, get the score, and leave before anyone knows you were there. scott is good at heists, but not so good at relationships, family, or co-parenting with his ex. but he’s going to do it right this time, by starting a new family with you. he’s going to make sure you stay, by never letting you leave at all.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: noncon, stalking/yandere, breeding kink, overstimulation, kidnapping, innocence/corruption kink?, age gap, pregnancy, lil mention of lactation kink

note: this is set sometime around the plot of ant-man so cassie is still little, no snap/blip, none of that stuff!

Stage 1: Identify the score

Scott loved his daughter, but he hated having to share her with his ex-wife and her new husband.

The stepdad wasn't a bad guy… annoying, but not dangerous or anything, so Scott figured he should count his blessings. And Cassie was always a blessing.

But still, this was not the life he has envisioned for himself. He had always wanted to have a family, and in his mind that had meant actually being with them. Christmas around the fireplace, ice cream in the park, a dog named Rover— the whole shebang. Instead he had postcards from vacations he wasn’t invited to, visits supervised by social workers, and far too many missed recitals and games and plays. He couldn’t make up for time lost, he couldn’t undo everything that had ruined his shot at the picture-perfect family… but he could try again.

That’s where you came in.

Hank had introduced Scott to his new assistant one morning with almost no warning, and he’d been so flustered he almost forgot to shake your hand and greet you. You had on this little blouse with ruffles that was just too precious, and sparkly gold earrings outshined only by your eyes. He could imagine you by his side so easily, with gold on your finger to match, playing the part of his beautiful, obedient wife.

You were the perfect mark. Young: therefore innocent, too trusting, and hopefully plenty fertile. The fact that you were sweet and smart and adorable was just a bonus.

It seemed like you had taken a liking to him too, although there was more of a mentor/mentee dynamic than he had originally intended; as if you looked up to him, as opposed to acknowledging the fact that he was single and attractive like you were supposed to. Thankfully, he had a plan and he knew it was just a matter of time before he was going to get his second chance with you.

Stage 2: Find your ‘in.’

“Is this your card?” he asked, smiling when you nodded excitedly.

"Hey, you're pretty good!" you giggled as he slipped the playing card back into the deck. "How long have you been doing magic?"

"Uh, not long," he admitted, "I just learned this stuff to impress my daughter."

Your face shifted and he knew he had you. "Oh my god, that's so sweet!" you beamed. You were looking at him like you thought he was the most adorable guy in the world, and he tried not to smile too hard because he finally had his in. "You sound like an incredible dad."

"Well, I try…” he sighed, pulling for your sympathy, “it's tough only having her on weekends and stuff."

“Oh, I can’t even imagine,” you nodded with understanding. You won’t have to, Scott replied internally.

“Eh, I survive,” he shrugged. “When you love somebody that much… you take what you can get.”

He glanced away before looking back at you, admiring the puppy-dog eyes you were giving him.

“You’ll understand someday— assuming you, you know, want kids and all that,” he stammered, testing the waters but breathing a sigh of relief when you grinned.

“Oh, definitely. I mean, not right now, but definitely someday,” you agreed. He laughed a little, amused by the way you foolishly believed you would get to decide you would have kids. He probably would’ve still gone through with his plan even if you’d said you didn’t want any, but it was easier this way and he wanted to make sure his new family had a loving mother to care for them.

And loving was the only way to describe the expression on your face in that moment, presumably as you imagined your picturesque future. He could only dream that he was somewhere in your fantasy, but it didn’t really matter since he was about to insert himself into your reality regardless.

You waved goodbye when he left the lab that night, not knowing that he was just going to wait in his car for you to leave so he could follow you home.

Stage 3: Enter unnoticed.

Even though the stake out, like any, should’ve been horrifically boring, Scott found himself excited and oddly… peppy. It must have been the knowledge that tonight he was going to start the rest of his life, with somebody who wouldn’t— or rather, couldn’t— leave and take his child away.

At half-past one, when he was confident you were already completely asleep, he made his move. Breaking into your apartment was disturbingly simple, making him even more glad that he was getting you out of this place: a woman living alone should really have better security. The next issue was making sure you wouldn’t wake up when he took you. Thankfully, he had science on his side in the form of a gas he’d stolen from Hank’s lab; it wasn’t dangerous, just something to keep you asleep through being taken to your new home. All he had to do was pull the pin and roll the canister under your bedroom door, then give it time to clear so he could whisk you away.

There was still a little puff of smoke when he opened your bedroom door, but it didn't affect him— what did have an effect was the sight of you out cold on your bed. You looked peaceful, innocent… like his perfect little wife, ready for the taking.

He let himself ogle only for a moment at your body exposed by the thin pajamas, running his fingers over your sleeping silhouette.

You stirred slightly under his touch making him grin. So sensitive already…

The weight of you in his arms was every he'd dreamed it would be and more. So much waiting for his new lease on life, for his chance to do things right, and now all that he had to do was carry you home.

Stage 4: Get the score.

He waited for you to wake up, watching from the shadows as you slowly came to and tugged at your restraints. To be clear, he didn’t enjoy your distress, but he knew it was necessary. Plus, maybe he could comfort you and that idea excited him more than anything.

“Somebody help me!” you yelped, struggling uselessly against the ropes that secured each of your limbs to the bedposts.

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” Scott finally interjected as he stepped out into the light, your head whipping around to look at him. You looked relieved, for a moment.

“Scott,” you mumbled, “what are you doing here? What… what happened?”

“Nothing happened, you’re going to be just fine,” he explained calmly, taking a seat beside you on the bed. Your brow furrowed and your eyes darted around.

“Where am I?’

“You’re finally home.”

It was clear that you didn't understand quite yet, though the way your eyes darted around and your brow furrowed made it obvious you were starting to get the gist. "Scott, I… I don't…"

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” he soothed, reaching up to cradle your face in his hand. It broke his heart slightly when you tried to turn your head away from his touch, but he was sympathetic to your reticence; it would be trained out of you soon, anyways. “Just relax, okay? Everything’s gonna be fine— not just fine: great.”

You shivered slightly and he was about to ask if you were cold, if he could get you a blanket or turn up the heating, but you spoke first. “What are you gonna do to me?” you asked, hesitant yet stern.

“Well, that depends on how well you behave,” he explained calmly.

“Will you let me go?” Your voice was softer, weaker, and it made his chest tighten; he loved you so much he didn’t know what to do with himself sometimes.

You let out a little sob when he shook his head in reply. “No, baby, I can’t. You don’t understand… you don’t know what it’s like, having a family and being away from them all the time. It’s torture; that’s why you’re here. This time you're not gonna leave me… never gonna let you out of my sights, sweetheart: you or the baby."

Your whole body tensed up as your eyes went wide, making him chuckle a little.

"Don't be so scared, you're gonna love it. I just know you're going to be an amazing mom…"

You tried to kick him away as he ran his hand up your leg, and even though it didn't work at all it still hurt his feelings. "Baby," he frowned, tutting disapprovingly, "don't be rude… just relax and it'll feel good."

His hand travelled higher, reaching up between your thighs where his finger gently brushed over your swollen bud through your pajama shorts. He smirked at the way it was clearly already aroused.

"See? You're gonna like it, you already want it," he purred.

His purr became a growl when he slipped two fingers into your panties and found your folds already slick and warm. He had meant to tease you a bit more but now he couldn’t stop himself from pushing his fingers into you and groaning at the feeling of your walls wrapped tightly around them. It was obvious that you were enjoying it just by the way your channel tightened and fluttered encouragingly, even if your face was twisted in conflict.

“It’s okay if it feels good,” he reminded you, rubbing his thumb over your clit and grinning when your back arched. “It’s okay to come.”

You shook your head, mumbling “no,” but it seemed more like you were talking to yourself than to him. It was sort of inspiring how much you were trying to hold yourself back even when he could feel your pleasure building with every curl of his fingers. The way you bit down on your lip to hide your moans was admirable but ultimately fruitless, your body jolting and shaking under him.

“Come on, baby, I know you’re so close, just come for me,” he cooed, knowing that you’d be so much more pliant once your first orgasm was out of the way.

He could see how badly you wanted, and needed, to obey him, but you were still foolishly resisting and trying to squirm away. In a moment of frustration, he used his free hand to push down on you just below your belly button: it served both to pin you to the bed and to push your spongy g-spot right into the tips of his fingers, making you choke and gurgle as your eyes shot open.

“There it is,” he grinned, “see how good I can make you feel? Go ahead, sweetheart, make a mess on my fingers…”

It wasn’t much longer until a new wave of wetness seeped from your opening, down around his hand and onto the sheets below, making him laugh a little purely out of pride.

“Fuck, just like that— keep going,” he demanded with a little growl, loving the way you writhed and gasped all for him. To see you like this was reward enough, but to know that nobody else would ever see you like this again, that you’d be his forever? It was nearly overwhelming.

He didn’t stop until your whines were too pained to bear— there was a clear difference between overstimulated and genuinely suffering, and his interest laid solidly in the first. Still, he loved the way you sighed with relief when he slowed down and pulled his fingers from you; already your body was limp and heavy, your eyes blinking slowly.

“Are you tired already? Baby, we’re just getting started,” he chuckled, standing up to strip quickly. He wasn’t sure if your shock was from seeing his body or knowing what he was going to do to you next, but it was likely some mixture of the two— definitely plenty of the first with the way your eyes scanned him while he took off his jeans. He was pretty proud of himself for staying in shape, and every long night at the gym was justified when he saw you swallow nervously at the sight of him. You had trouble hiding your arousal when your body was tied up and completely exposed to him, aside from the little pajama set that did nothing to hide your hardening nipples.

When he was naked, finally, he climbed onto the bed and slotted himself between your legs, ignoring the way you struggled beneath him to tear off your top.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered under his breath as your chest was finally freed, your tits jiggling a little whenever you tried to squirm away. “So fucking perfect…”

He grabbed one and held it steady so he could lean down and capture the nipple between his lips, humming when you whined and bucked beneath him.

“These are gonna get bigger when I knock you up, you know,” he smiled happily, looking up at where you were staring back with wide, wild eyes. “Gonna be full of milk for our little one.”

He moved to the other nipple slowly, circling it with his tongue before finally latching on and sucking it just hard enough to make you yelp slightly.

“Will you let me have a taste too, baby?” he teased, laughing at your expression that tried (and failed) to mask arousal with disgust.

Though he would have to wait to taste your milk, there was another part of you he could taste now— or as soon as he finished kissing his way down your stomach, and quickly ripping and disposing of your little shorts.

The second he got you naked for him, the smell of your need hit the air and it drove him fucking wild. Once again, his plans to tease you— kiss your thighs, leave little bite marks on your hips, give the gentlest licks to your swollen button— were lost to his desire, leaving him with no choice but to dive right in and devour you.

It was worth it to see you fall apart for him so quickly, your back arching dramatically as you grabbed the ropes that tied your hands just to have something to hold onto. He could tell nobody had ever eaten your cunt this good before, because if they had you wouldn’t have gasped so loudly when he pushed his tongue into you. The lewd slurping sounds that echoed around the basement reminded you both that every sound was trapped, just like you— it scared you more but it turned him on, his cock bobbing up against his abs in a silent beg for stimulation.

But it wasn’t quite time to fuck you. Close, but not yet. He needed to taste you at the peak of your pleasure first.

Two fingers pushed slowly into your pulsing channel definitely helped to speed things along: he could hear you getting louder, and feel you getting tighter. He could even feel your clit throbbing against his tongue, and it only made him want to push you further to the edge.

"I know you're so close honey, just let go," he purred between laps at your swollen bud.

Clearly you were still worn out from the last orgasm but it made it even easier to make you come this time, even when you were uselessly fighting it. Your broken little moans made his heart twist, and his cock flex slightly although he was doing his best to ignore it.

You started to relax and go limp, so he pulled back and took a moment to appreciate how lovely you looked, exhausted and blissed-out just from his touch.

"Doing so good for me, sweetheart," he praised huskily. "I think we've both waited long enough… I'm gonna put my cock in you now."

Your mumbles and heavy breaths almost sounded like you were considering begging him not to again, but apparently you were either too tired or too smart to keep that game up. He grinned as he scooted forward a bit so he could rub his cock between your swollen, slick lips; the way his thick shaft spread your folds was intoxicating, and he couldn't wait to see how it looked when he pushed into your tight cunt.

He literally couldn't wait: he was already guiding the head to your opening and sliding home.

You whimpered weakly and his head fell back with a groan. "God, baby, so fucking tight…"

Underneath where his hands rested on your legs, he could feel you struggling again.

"Shh, just take it honey, it's gonna be so good," he assured from between his teeth, jaw tight and heart racing. As much as slowing down and giving you some time to adjust would be the gentlemanly thing to do, he couldn't find the patience now that he was inside you and it felt so perfect.

When he was finally all the way within you and his hips were flush against yours, you made a little noise like a moan and a sob while he leaned down to cage your body in with his, resting his arms beside your head.

"See how perfect we are together? Like we're made for each other," he cooed, pouting a little when a tear fell from your eye. "Don't cry, baby," he soothed as he wiped it away with his thumb, "everything's finally right. I'm gonna move now, okay?"

But he didn't wait for your permission before he pulled back and pushed in again, stroking your walls with patience and precision.

Each thrust pushed the head of his cock right into that spongy spot inside you, making you gasp and tug on your restraints a bit— and you looked so beautiful in the throes of pleasure like this, spread out beneath him and your body at his disposal. But, disposal was the last of his plans for you: he wanted to savor you, make you feel as good as you made him feel (if that was even possible).

So, he did his best to target your most sensitive spots, grinning at your body's obvious reaction. Occasionally he would rub your clit with his thumb or reach up to play with your tits, but overall he stuck to just appreciating the perfect friction of your channel on the ridges and veins of his cock.

It didn't take much more of that for you to arch your back again, the weak moans that spilled from your lips just as much a sign of your orgasm as the way your inner muscles flexed around him.

"Just like that," he praised under his breath, "fuck, come for me baby…"

Moving faster and with more ferocity, he was able to push you into another one quickly as he grinned down at you.

"There you go, angel, just keep coming for me, I know you can give me one more—"

"N-no," you stammered, "can't…"

"Yes you can, honey, be my good little girl and come one more time for me," he encouraged, thrusting harder and faster as you whimpered and writhed. The fluttering of your walls brought his own orgasm close but he staved it off as he fought to get one last glimpse of you at the height of your pleasure. "There you go," he grinned when he felt your body tense up only to relax all at once, a beautiful broken whine echoing around the room.

The sensation of his balls tightening was always a sign that he was close, but it was much stronger now than normal and he knew he was going to come so hard.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," he groaned. "Gonna fill you up so good that you have to get pregnant."

"Scott, please," you whimpered, "please just pull out."

"I can't, honey, I couldn't if I wanted to— you just feel too good," he explained, thrusting faster as he began to lose his rhythm. "Fuck, just like that— oh god, baby, I'm coming, fuck!"

He groaned as finally he felt each pump of come paint the deepest parts of you, not stopping until he spilled every drop.

You tried to squirm but he held your hips tight, the little pulses of your walls milking his cock for all it was worth. "Baby," he sighed as he started to catch his breath, "fuck, you're amazing."

Your sweet little body shivered beneath him, making him frown sympathetically and rub your arms.

"Aw, honey, are you cold?" he soothed, hugging you tight and giving you a peck on the tip of your nose.

"Why…" you mumbled, so quiet that he almost didn't hear it, as your eyes fluttered shut.

"It's okay, honey, I'm right here," he promised, "I know you're tired, you can go to sleep now."

Stage 5: Leave before anyone knows you were there.

This one didn’t exactly apply in this case, since nobody was leaving anywhere anytime soon; he was going to stay with you as long as he could, only leaving when work absolutely demanded it. In fact, his first order of business was to go back to the lab and bring your letter of resignation with him. With some bargaining he got you to sign it, and once it was done he could barely keep it together at work all day— he just couldn’t wait to get home and be with you again, knowing that the last of the loose ends were tied and nobody was going to come looking for you.

You adjusted to domestic life rather well, especially once you started showing and your maternal instincts started to overpower the independence you used to value.

"Good morning, angel," he purred against your ear as you stirred in his arms, your movements rustling the sheets of your shared king bed. He hummed as he ran his hands over your body, resting on your round, swollen belly where he suddenly felt his child kicking underneath. "Did you feel that?" he gasped.

"Mm-hmm," you mumbled sleepily, cuddling up closer to him and resting your hands on top of his. "That's our baby."

He kissed your cheek and smiled, trying to comprehend how he ever got so lucky. After all, second chances are hard to come by.

#scott lang x reader #dark!scott lang x reader #dark!scott lang smut #dark!scott lang x you

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keepingupwithpotters · 3 years

Note

“Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you still love me.”

This is slightly longer than usual and it doesn't even have a happy ending, oops? I presume you knew what you were doing when you sent me an angsty prompt ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And a happy birthday to @mppmaraudergirl !!! Hope you'll enjoy this unrequited pining dumpster fire queen :) I only wish it was set in 6th year to complete the set 🔥🗑❤️‍🔥

The dim light from the embers was trying to illuminate the Heads’ Office as he feasted his eyes on her. He thought about rekindling the fire to see her more clearly. Would she believe him if he said he was cold in April?

Just the fact they needed more light to see —her face in his case and the parchment in front of her for Lily’s— was enough proof that they’d been here for hours now, paying the price for not doing this in the last two weeks.

He tried not to think about why they were unable to do so, the first weeks of April a black blur in his mind he’d rather not visit.

Lily’s silhouette was a good distraction from his unwanted thoughts, he turned his focus back to it. He was just about to suggest adding more logs to the fireplace, weather be damned, when he realized Lily had been talking to him for a while now.

“—tried putting her with Bones last month but he said he will land himself in the hospital wing on patrol days if we ever pair them again, so we need a new partner for her.”

“How about Selwyn?”

“No, she's a half-blood, we can’t risk it.

“Fenwick?”

Lily looked thoughtful for a moment. “Fenwick could work.”

Happy that he had thwarted the danger, he went back to his favorite pastime.

“You know, this would finish a lot faster if you were helping me instead of gawking at me from afar.”

“I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?”

“You’re disturbing my concentration, Potter. Either close your eyes or come here.”

Never one to reject an offer like this, he hurried beside her. She had another thing coming if she actually expected this to stop him from drinking her in though. He could see the shadows of her eyelashes now.

“I can help you with that performance anxiety, Evans. I heard imagining me naked should do the trick.” He swallowed the words not that you’d have any problem with it back, afraid even this was pushing the limits.

“Thank you for that mental image.”

They were still pretending nothing had happened then. Fine by him.

She did look a little flustered though, he just hoped it wasn’t in anger. He decided not to risk it anymore, taking advantage of his new proximity to the redheaded witch to follow the freckles on her cheeks. Even he couldn’t fuck this up if he never opened his mouth, could he?

Guess not.

“C’mon Potter, work with me here.”

He’d be worried if he couldn’t hear the smile in her voice. “I am. I came over here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, to go over the patrol schedule with me,” the smile spread from her voice to her lips now, “not to continue your ogling beside my face now.”

He relented after that; still deathly afraid he could offend her unexpectedly. They went through the rest of the pairs slowly, easy laughter filling the air after a while. Lily was tapping the quill against her cheek, pondering about who to give Abbot as a partner, when he slipped up again.

It wasn’t his fault that the light hit her eyes just the right way when she was pursing her lips deep in thought. He was only human after all.

Still sprawled on her seat, it was proof of just how relaxed she was when she only laughed upon noticing, “Don’t look at me like that.”

A smart James, a James who wasn’t drunk on Lily’s laugh, would’ve never said what he said next.

“Like what?”

But he was far from that smart James now, the knowledge of what he probably looked like slipping through his foggy mind.

Her laughter hadn’t died fully yet when she said, “Like you still love me.”

Ah… Well, he brought that onto himself.

That was the hardest part about being friends with her probably. But it was okay, he had done worse things for Lily Evans than pretending he didn’t love her.

“You serenade your heart out to a girl one time…”

He didn’t bring up the other time the very same words were breathed tenderly in the dark. He wasn’t sure what was allowed yet, their newfound friendship still so fragile, so delicate.

When he realized he couldn’t have her in his life anymore unless he buried his feelings, that’s what he did, the opposite choice looking so unbearable that he hadn’t wasted a second thinking about it. So what if he sometimes felt like a tight fist was mangling his heart? He was listening to her laugh now, wasn’t he?

And he remembered what it was like, in that brief period, where he didn’t even have that in his life. Prefect meetings left abruptly, conversations ending quickly when he entered the room, gaze solely directed to people who could never appreciate them the way he would… He had been starved for her eyes, her voice, her touch. He thought he didn’t have her before, but there was never a time he didn’t have Lily Evans so completely than that damn week.

Which is why he fixed it, really, she left him no other choice. He promised her friendship, swore his feelings for her were gone, vowed to never try anything again. And as a reward, he got her back.

He kept all his promises so far, their past not-relationship (never a relationship) a taboo neither of them touched… until now. Once again Lily was steering the wheel and he was helpless but to follow her lead wherever she took him. Control had never been in his hands, and he was back to looking at her to figure out how he would be hurt next.

He wondered if this was a test when Lily looked satisfied with his answer. Was there a wrong answer to give here? Did he pass?

Lily stretched in her seat unaware of his musings, his wound still too fresh, he kept his eyes away from her this time. “I think we’re almost done here. Look it over one last time and we should be good to go.”

He took the parchment over from her distractedly, giving the schedule a lazy once-over when something caught his eye.

“You’ve put me with Remus.”

Her face stayed impassive but he could see she was fidgeting with her quill. “Uh, yes. Does that work for you?”

Suspicion arousing because of her skittish behavior, he turned his eyes to the schedule to locate her name.

There.

Lily Evans & Dirk Cresswell

“I thought you hated patrolling with Cresswell, isn’t that what you said before?”

She was unable to hide her apprehension now, her face flaming up rapidly before his eyes. “Not–not exactly.” She averted her eyes. “He asked to patrol with me at the last Slug meeting, said his current partner was causing some problems.”

He tried to relax his jaw, knowing it’d make everything worse for him if he proved her discomfort right.

“The schedule looks perfect, Evans. I think we can wrap it up for the night.”

Her relief choked up the room. “Yeah, let’s just close up the office and leave this bloody room at last.”

“Actually, you know what, why don’t you leave closing up to me?” He continued without paying attention to her halfhearted protests, “No, no, you earned it. Let me deal with the aftermath, it’s the least I can do.”

She gave him a relieved smile. “Thanks, Potter.” She was already halfway to the door when she said her goodnights.

He didn’t get up from his armchair right away, eyes stuck on the door she just left.

Pretending he didn’t love her may not be the worst thing he’d done for Lily Evans, but it was surely turning out to be the worst one for himself.

#jily #jily fic #jily canon #james potter #lily evans #james x lily #jily fanfiction #senem writes #i am not as the youngsters say letting the girls breathe

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

///

Harry hates clubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.”

“I’m already there, mate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.”

“You’re older than I am!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit.

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how do you like your new home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.”

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night.

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer.

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had.

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.”

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys.

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell.

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them.

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately.

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.”

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hysteriium · 3 years

Text

𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆;

(𝐆𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞)

(𝐀/𝐧 ): This is the first I’ve posted in ages!!! I can’t recall how long it’s been, life has truly been hectic but I’m getting back on the saddle!!! We’re starting with my boi! I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing this! I’ve been experimenting with the way he talks so it’s not as overt as I’ve previously written! I feel like the intonations may break the flow a bit so I’ve tried to make it more cohesive! Lmk what you guys think! Also shout out to my amazing partner @lilliryth they’re the light of my life and helped me edit this!! They’re such an amazing person and I would not be where I am today without them.

( 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ): Wedding. That is all. It’s not what you think.

( 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ): DK! Joker x Reader.

( 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ): 7,600+ k words!

( 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ): Angst (very little), swearing, violence.

The first time you’d asked, he simply stared in disbelief.

“Come again?” The bright red hues of confusion painted his husky voice.

The question had been wreaking havoc in your thoughts for the past month, unsure of how to slip out from ambiguity onto the sureness of the tongue. Such a bold yet silly little request was sure to be large and repugnant to the man hovering above you. While the darkness of his eyes was accentuated by his stygian greasepaint, hints of cocoa peeked through, prompting shy flutters of anxiety in your abdomen.

You can do this.

Your tongue slid across the arid cracks of your lips, wetting them. You cleared your throat, “I need a date to a wed–”

That was all you could get out before he blinked a few times and strode off.

The second time, albeit similar in difficulty, thankfully didn’t result in him running.

You tiptoed into his makeshift office with an air of mischief, his room sombre except for the lamp that spotlighted his desk. Hunched over blueprints which you suspected were his next big scheme, his eyes never drifted from the intricacies on the paper.

“Boo!” You shouted, catching his hips with an unbreakable hold when you closed the distance. While his body tensed, he couldn’t control the breath of amusement that left his nose.

“I can see you really tried there.”

You knew he followed your stare when his long fingers worked to roll the sheet. They were fast – so fast the pinched ends stuck out in layered rings that almost resembled winding mountainous trails. He couldn’t have curious eyes ogling his extra top secret will-have-to-kill-you-if-you-found-out criminal plans, now could he?

“What?” you started, while your hands fell and your footsteps whispered away from him. You felt the creases of your mouth wobble, ready to smile at any moment, and so you bit the inside of your tongue. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No,” he smirked, petting your head.

Curse his height.

“Now, uh, what is it, doll?”

You let your smile leap free, “I need to ask a super dooper big fav–”

“I’m not going.”

“But whyyyyyy? My parents are harassing me! They think their daughter’s going to grow old and grey and be alone forever.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine why.”

You shot him a look, one that only fuelled his amusement.

“J, I can’t just not show up.”

You watched his figure rise slightly as he drew and released a breath.

“I don’t like wed–” his tongue stuck out like he’d tasted something bad before he cleared his throat “–dings, they’re full of false hope, drunks and...” he shuddered, “romance. You see, they’ll end up killing each other in a few years. I can picture it now: dearly beloved wife kills cheating husband. Oh how could this have ever happened?”

He scoffed.

“You’re so dramatic. I promise it would only be for a few hours.”

“And pumpkin, how exactly are you gonna sneak me into a… place like that when I look like this,” he said, hands motioning to his face – mostly his scars.

It broke your heart. You could've sworn you heard it splinter, the downturn of your brows impossible to hold back. If only words were enough to convey complex feelings, to convey the pile of bricks nestled in your chest, to convey the desperate crave to comfort and rebut, the need to protect – even from himself. You had yet to find a way, and so you were stuck behind the thick lock and chain of language with no key in sight; restricted and bound to tools you never thought were enough, but could only hope were enough.

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. In his eyes you saw the emotions flicker, almost as tangible as they were transparent – anger, fear, shock. Stood still and stiff, you nodded softly, giving him a smile of equal warmth. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He squinted before hesitantly giving in, shifting so his cheek rested against your palm. He had to lower himself a little more to do so.

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with how you look. They’re beautiful, and I’ll keep saying so until there’s no breath left in my lungs.”

You held him ever so gently while he flitted his eyes shut. Your heart galloped then, its swell too big for your body and for a moment, brief as the breeze, the chaos he prided himself in was absent; for a moment there was peace.

“If you weren’t The Joker, I’d say go as is. Though, I have a plan!”

“Oh, do you now?” He said, shaking his head and returning to work. It was clear he was rapidly reaching his patience threshold.

Damn it.

“They have food!” You trailed off unsurely, as if it was a question – pinning your last hope on appealing to his raccoon inclinations.

It didn’t work.

The third, well…

You had just about given up and accepted the fact that it wasn’t his scene, that him meeting your parents would never be an option – a reality you had started to think of as a good thing the more you thought about it.

And so, the third day had been your acceptance. Self-care. Instead of chasing after an ideal, your hands were clutching a book, almost too hard, as the part you had been anticipating since very early had reached its finale. With your legs curled underneath you and practically asleep, your eyes flicked furiously from word to word–

That is until a looming figure shadowed the page completely, concealing all light from the lamp next to you.

Annoyance creased your features as you looked up at the clownish culprit. Your eyes met and a staring contest ensued, the intensity of his eyes beckoning a response until he, uncharacteristically, broke first.

“Will this make you, uh, happy?”

All traces of irritation were washed away by bewilderment, “sorry?”

“My being with you.”

“You mean to the wedding?” You asked, wide-eyed. If you hadn’t been as shocked as you were, you would have snorted at his continuous inability to say the word ‘wedding’.

He shifted on his feet, eyes darting away for a second before he licked his lips. “Yeah.”

“Is this a joke?”

“I’m not that cruel.”

You paused to hum obnoxiously, your finger tapping your chin to challenge the notion.

“Never mind,” he waved his hand in the air and was about to walk off before you grabbed his hand and sprung off your seat. You felt him try to wiggle out of your grasp with a grunt, but it was too late. “Thank you!” You shouted.

You missed the way his surprise melted into a genuine curl of his lips, twitching; the muscles unused. Instead, you were too busy stuffed in his vest, with your arms swathed around him. You both stayed there for a while basking in the warmth of each other, as his hands, which you guessed were hanging awkwardly in the air and unsure of what to do, encircled your waist.

Third time’s the charm.

Shaking fingers twirled sapphire silk, gliding over your cinched waist before finally moving up to the delicate exposed flesh of your neck. You glanced over the spaghetti straps that curved comfortably over your shoulder, and the simple silver circle necklace that laid between them, its chilled presence clashing with the heat of your skin.

Knock knock knock!

“Just a minute!” You said, jumping at the sudden rude intrusion.

“Not even funeral parlors take this long,” you heard J say from the other side, the distinctive departure of footsteps following promptly. They seemed faster than usual.

You puffed air at his complaint after calming your racing heart. Then you scrambled to finish up the final touches of makeup, at last winding the nude colored ribbons of your heels around your calves. Your head felt light, and your shoes only worsened the sudden gelatinous state your legs took on. Never before had you dressed up in such a way, not for years and much less in front of someone you dearly cherished. The line between fashionable and laughable was blurred and never truly had been exercised. Waving away the fuel your anxious thoughts provided, you decided to try and move. Your heels wobbled trying to avoid the flowing material pooled by your ankles, and you’d just managed to slip one foot out through the thigh-high slit. No matter how much you sighed, the pressure remained, weighing like an anvil. And so, with nothing much to lose, you made your way to the door; the dampness of your fingers leaving its foggy signature upon the knob.

This was it.

You breathed in one last time before opening the door.

“Okay, I’m re–”

You exhaled sharply, feeling the earlier intake of air leave you – taking with it the remaining wind in your lungs. You couldn’t control the twinkle of your eyes, nor the flip of your stomach as you gazed upon him.

His form was angled against the wall and his arms were crossed – that was, until he dragged his eyes over to you. His limbs then dropped to their sides and he quickly, almost stumbling over his shoes, righted his position. The bob of his Adam's apple was clear while both of you stood meters from each other with widened eyes. You knew he had the ability to pull off a suit, but the royal blue he donned was stunning. The stark colour complemented his blond locks, while his foulard tie with its blends of pinks, purples, and its navy base matched his socks.

It seemed you were both in the same boat, consumed by swells of giddiness and the need to fidget. The fingers that were dressed in dark brown leather gloves drummed against his thigh, while one of his cedar suede shoes tapped furiously against the floor.

“What.” He finally stated, rather than questioning.

You dropped the necklace your fingers had started circling.

“Nothing! You just look… really nice,” you uttered earnestly, unable to contain the sweet smile that broke through awe.

“Yeah, yeah. Uh… you too,” he said, the last part coming out less steady.

He avoided eye contact when you trotted over to him, fiddling with his cufflinks, though his tending to them immediately vanished when you began to accentuate the swish of your hips.

All fidgeting stopped.

You were sure he was expecting something else, rather than the delicate cupping of his cheek once you reached him, soft lips meeting with roughened skin as you kissed his scars. You took your time with each one, whispering affection, before claiming his mouth. He growled against you, and you could feel him tighten his hold.

The tip of his tongue traced the stain of lipstick, a wordless demand for entry which left you weak. Almost parting your lips to allow the gentle slide of his tongue, he suddenly reared back with a smirk.

“Peach,” he cooed.

You were going to have to reapply later.

With a small smile you extended your arm to the couch, and knowing time was beginning to pass, he complied. As he advanced, you peeked at the orange lining in his blazer. The hue was similar to his purple coat, though slightly lighter. You smiled to yourself, the small detail so characteristically him.

“Alright. Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, bracing himself.

Already a step ahead, you had brought out the makeup needed just prior to getting dressed. Sitting on one of the nearby surfaces, you picked up a small translucent bag with little red hearts on it – a fact he’d snickered to himself at when he first saw it – and walked over to him.

“As you wish, grumpy,” you simpered, “now hold still!”

True to his new title, you heard him mutter something unintelligible under his breath. The tap-tap-tap of his foot against the floor was most of the noise for a good while, and although distracting, the fidgeting of his hands was less noisy. You knew more than anyone he needed to squirm around, some movement at the very least, and so you endured. You deduced that he’d not been this close to someone in so very long, let alone allow them to do his makeup. That task, intimate and personal within itself, was not something others could be trusted with.

“Time to hide these little guys,” you murmured, focused as the beauty blender sat between your fingers and dabbed on concealer. “Not that they need hiding. I’ll miss them.”

“Really?” He chimed in, eyes shut while you did your work.

“Yeah, they’re a part of you and I’d never want you to hide or be ashamed of who you are.”

“Hmm,” he trailed off.

Occasionally his mouth quirked, his tongue darting out to lick his scars; an involuntary movement. You were patient, and even if he wasn’t overt about his guilt of messing up your progress, you reassured him lightly with a kiss on the head, sometimes playing with the dirty blond waves that lacked any sign of green.

The day before he’d washed out the colour in preparation for the big day, groaning until he caught sight of himself in the mirror; contemplative. Ethereal and almost delicate he seemed. How precious it was to witness such cracks in the fortress, where the basking rays of sun illuminated what once was – and still is, only shrouded by shrubbery and thorns, so overgrown and disordered that they had forgotten to take care of even themselves. Forgotten how.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groaned as you finished blending the concealer on both cheeks. Grabbing the foundation you had colour matched, you dabbed a bit on your hand before applying that too.

“Honestly, me neither,” you replied, feeling no need to sugarcoat the shock from your tone. You knew he appreciated the truth. “But I’m glad you are! You’re doing so well!”

He squirmed a little at the compliment but settled seconds later. Soon after finishing the blending, you reared back and observed your labour. Although it wasn’t perfect, and if you looked hard enough you could still see the intricate crevices in his skin, it passed.

“All done!”

As soon as you spoke, J pushed off his palms. He was halfway off the chair when you stopped him.

“Wait! I have to walk you through something.”

At this, his eyebrows quirked up. You knew you had his attention.

“Conditions!” You announced.

“Ah. Now there are conditions.”

“Yes! I don’t want you to throw a tantrum and blow up the whole reception.”

“My my, aren’t you a little fire stopper.”

“Promise me.”

He flicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. With one hand on his chest and the other raised just next to his head, he bowed a little. “I swear.”

You wrinkled your nose, “I swear there will be no funny business, and I’ll be on my best behaviour – oh and no crossing your toes either!”

“You know me so well,” he sighed, admitting defeat, “Fine. I swear there’ll be no funny business and I’ll be on…” he cleared his throat and brought a closed fist to his mouth, “my best behaviour.” Then he shone his impishly wide grin, one that only intensified the pit of doubt in your stomach.

It would have to do, though.

“Okay,” you whispered.

He stood up now, towering over you.

“Okay,” he mimicked, dropping his hands at the base of your hips.

The last few days had been full of surprises, his agreement to attend trumping all. However, his overt display of affection was a close second. Never before had he been so forthcoming and so comfortable with physical contact.

As his hands laid there, unmoving and making their home in your curves, you inched closer to him; a specific craving only his warmth could ease. Though, those very same hands around you tightened when you tried to step forward, holding you in place. Curiously, you looked up at him, brows furrowed.

“What are you–”

It seemed he couldn’t help himself. The evil laughter he’d been trying to restrain bubbled from his throat and bounced off the walls. The eagerness to ask what he was doing quickly died – hard – when you could no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. It instead morphed into protests and occasional bouts of laughter as your arms dangled along his back, your pelvis against his shoulder. One gloved hand rested crudely just below the curve of your ass, occasionally squeezing your upper thigh and holding you in place, while his other arm hung unobstructed.

“We–” he clicked his tongue, “–wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?” He finished, purring.

The location was a couple hours outside of Gotham on the coastline in an area you’d practically never heard of. If it wasn’t for J’s gift for navigation, and his frustration when you kept leading him down wrong turns, you would have been hours late instead of just missing the ceremony. The last straw had been assuring him the early exit was your turn off despite his gut instinct, despite the countless times he asked ‘are you sure?’ and despite his sneaking glances – something he stopped doing when he almost crashed into the car next to you, too focused on craning his neck. All of this combined had resulted in the brutal demise of your map reading days.

Stopping where he could after taking the wrong exit he held out a gloved hand, a wordless demand for the navigator. Before long, you were back on the freeway, thankfully heading the right way. The directory rested in his lap as he balanced the seemingly breezy tasks of reading and driving.

Clearly safety was his middle name.

Once the two of you arrived at the venue, the first thing you both noticed was the heat. Warm and uncomfortable, the seabreeze made this bearable. The next notable feature was the rambunctious clamour of the crowd; music, laughter and shouting.

After worming your way out of the van, comically wedged between two much smaller cars, you headed towards the reception, stopping short from the asphalt-sand border. J stared at it as if it had foiled his genius villainous plots, as if it was the cause of all his misfortunes, as if it was responsible for the brutal murder of his first pet. Then, he made a face – a mixture between a scowl and disgust.

He sniffed, “it smells like...” he paused to grimace, “high society.”

The ghastly look was then directed ahead to each moving – breathing – organism he could see. There was no doubt in your mind the crowd had already made it on his hit list.

“For once I miss the stink of Gotham.”

“Well at least it’s at the beach!” You exclaimed, not recalling the last time you’d been. Trying to think that far back made your brain hurt, the tingle of overworked cogs and Brain Fog a lethal combination that coerced your forfeit in seconds. At the very least you were happy to be making new memories, hopefully some you’d be able to remember in the future; memories you prayed were not, later too, guarded by the merciless Brain Fog and his ravenous desire to generate headaches.

“I hate the beach,” J delivered flatly, hatred distilled rolling off his person in waves.

“Oh, you hate everything!” You pouted, brushing off his pessimism.

“It’s hard not to.”

“Well…” You stopped to think, wracking your brain to prove him wrong, “what about me?”

That had to get him.

“You especially,” he grinned, eyes twinkling with a mischief that spoke nothing other than ‘you walked right into that one, sweetheart.’

You were unable to help the sigh that sailed past your hued lips, “well, come on sunshine. You can’t stare daggers at them all day.”

“I can try,” he spat sourly.

You rolled your eyes and dragged him along but immediately dropped the act when you quickly realised it hauled unwanted eyes, like metal to magnets. Yet, J followed even though you were certain he saw the cursed asphalt-sand barrier as the very gates of hell themselves. In fact, he seemed a little bit too eager to start his anathematised exploration of the 9 circles as when you looked back, expecting to see his long limbs hanging in defeated protest, you were met with, well, nothing.

One moment he was there, the next he was gone seemingly stalking off into the unknown, hiding among the sea of people. It wasn’t like he was easy to lose either, his height and his aura of absolute discomfort is what set him apart from the rest. He protruded like a broken bone – so why couldn’t you find him?

“Damn it, J!” You harshly whispered to yourself, unknowingly stamping your foot until the insidious specks of sand tumbled their way into your shoe, under your feet and between your toes. Easily conquering your layer of protection, their coarse presence made you want to grind your teeth.

Maybe this was a mistake.

Before you could go off and search for the lost irritating puppy, you heard shouts. At first they seemed like ordinary yells, distinctive deviations from the crowd which happened to catch your attention at the right moment. Though, the more time passed and you wandered around like a newborn giraffe looking for its mother, you realised this was not the case. Most telling was the way those vague cries morphed into the familiar syllables of your name. And then finally in view, the supposed sweet comfort of childhood embodied neared; their worn features staring into your own, different from all those years ago.

You fought the urge to run.

“Hey honey!” Your dad beamed.

Two pairs of smothering arms made their way toward you, enveloping. With your fingers clutching separate materials, each as scratchy and glacial as each other, your head started to spin and you felt yourself holding your breath.

“Hey mum, hey dad, it’s nice to see you two again,” you said, feeling the slow ache from clenching your jaw starting to set in. You quickly swapped this expression for a small smile when they released you.

“How’ve you been?” Your dad inquired, the shimmer in his eyes a sight you couldn’t help but double take at. You noticed there was no glass in his hand.

“Don’t bombard her dear,” your mum rolled her eyes, “where’s this date you were telling me about?”

She lingered on the word with an emotion you couldn’t quite discern while her adjudicating eyes swept over your outfit. Her eyebrows then lifted, scrunching her nose with it. “Not bad.”

Her scanning forced you to shrink into yourself, the automatic motion of your palms relentless in their pursuit of wrinkles, a fact you did not pick up on until your mother cleared her throat at your unprompted staring contest.

“My question dear, it’s rude to ignore your mother,” her thin brows creased and the folds just above them rested along her forehead in a similar fashion.

You scrambled for an acceptable answer, the question just as ambiguous to yourself.

“He’s… um… getting us drinks! I was actually just about to go check up on–”

“Well if a man can’t even fetch you a drink he’s hardly useful,” she scoffed, turning to her husband to whisper, “can’t imagine what this prince charming looks like.”

Anger, lava-like and boiling, rose up in your throat. The pressure seemed unbearable as you tried to keep your mouth closed – tried not to defend the one you loved with your entire being. How dare she judge someone she had yet to even meet? She had yet to see the beauty that radiated in and out.

It had only been minutes and you’d already been zapped of your energy for the day.

“I think I should go check on him now.” “Yes, of course. Come back to me when you have something to show,” your mother smiled. You watched her lips stretch, her wine lipstick as pigmented as the red coating your vision.

Her hand clutched the necklace around her chest. Her fingers traced the glistening diamond which hung overtly, screaming it’s pricelessness to all passersby as she went to go have another sip of her champagne. At the corner of your eye you noticed movement, a pair of worn hands clutching suit pants. Hard. You turned automatically and when you met his eyes your dad shot you a strained smile. It almost looked like an apology.

Your stomach turned.

You tried your best to conceal the stomping as you promptly departed, promising yourself to at least wait until you were out of their view and blending in with the crowd. Once you merged with the patches, you quickly discovered that navigating your way out of it was going to be just as hard as trying to find J. Left and right amalgamated, looking the same no matter how many times you tried to compare differences and so did everyone’s outfits. You could have sworn you’d seen the same red dress three times, though you also could have sworn you went all different directions to the last; the truth was you were no more knowing than a sailor stranded at sea lacking a compass, the same indistinguishable shapelessness stretching out for miles and miles with no end in sight.

Then, a miracle – a clearing of people which shrieked hope and a long portable table with flowing white lace harbouring all kinds of food. Amongst the good news, a blotch of royal blue caught your eye and a flash of blond. Focusing your view on the table and its few inhabitants, one of which was the blue wearing stranger, you quickly realised your missing date was fixed and firm in place at the snack area. No sooner than this revelation processed you dashed over, the anger returning once the relief had run its fleeting course. As you stormed your way over to him he failed to look up, too preoccupied with the food he was collecting. Lacking in subtlety, you grabbed his arm.

“Jesus there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

J, who had been waiting to stuff his face with what you identified as another cupcake, mouth ringed with strawberry frosting, crumbs and sprinkles, dropped it in surprise and turned to you with widened eyes. They shrunk as soon as they showed an inkling of surprise and instead shifted to speckled guilt.

“Cupcake,” he managed to mumble with a full mouth.

Your fiery frustration was immediately put out by how cute he was, and you felt a surge of guilt yourself. It wasn’t fair to be taking out your personal frustrations on him.

After closing your eyes and taking a breath, you reset.

“They think I’m lying about you.”

He swallowed.

“You wanna leave? I, uh, know I want to,” he said much louder than the whisper you wish he’d used.

Such a comment warranted an elbow jab into his waist as you smiled ear to ear and sickly sweet at the passing guest who had clearly heard J. The middle aged woman with short brunette hair, white pom-pom earrings and beady eyes shot you two a blazing look before rutting her nose into the air. The reek of pretension wafted off her. Now you could see what J was saying earlier.

Pee-yew.

Everyone here sucked.

“I’m gonna kill her later,” he murmured, squinting after her.

“J, you promised to be good!”

Even if she was a grandiloquent old bitch who deserved it.

His ominous response was to pour himself some punch, the clown-in-disguise bringing the plastic up to his lips. As the cup masked most of his face, the only thing visible was his deadly gaze which bounced from congregation to congregation.

“How much longer.” Again, it wasn’t phrased as a question, more a statement.

“The bride and groom haven’t even danced yet.”

He scrunched his nose, though dropped the subject. At least verbally.

“You’re so crabby. You do know that you’re drawing even more attention to yourself this way?”

“Hmmph.”

It was silent for a few minutes before, without warning, he grabbed your hand. The hesitant and jagged strokes of his thumb followed and even though they belonged to a novice, the delicacy was still there.

The message was clear:

I’m new to this.

Your lips upturned, the gentle quirk hidden by transient hair flowing along the salty breeze. His touch was warm and paradoxically amiable; his presence a shelter cutting the chilly current that had picked up around noon. Stained lips, of which you had forgotten about until the sticky residue imprinted boldly on his glove, aimed to ease his buzzing mind. Expecting a grumble for the lipstick mark, what you got in return was the soft gaze of dark brown eyes – a sign of taming raging waters. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact the window into his soul for once could be identified as just that – a window; crystal, without the dirtied stains of camouflage and trepidation.

Something had changed.

Before you could get another word in, it was announced the bride and groom were going to have their first dance. The crowd gathered around the newly wedded couple as the music suddenly switched. The speakers were loud as they played a waltz, the couple’s limbs intertwined and swaying to its dramatic pace. They twirled and swayed with the grace of swans tiptoeing and beguiling the creeping ocean on the golden sands. Even though you knew virtually nothing about them, and were convinced that in fact this whole invite was your mother’s scheme to pry, the sight was a beautiful one to behold. The epitome of love – reciprocal trust and utter surrender; it had you wondering where you’d gone wrong previously, and if such a thing was as formulaic as it seemed to be, or if they were freefalling into the abyss as much as everyone else was; blindfolded, but nonetheless with each other. Welded in each other’s hearts.

How long had you projected your yearning at the couple and vicariously lived through their magical moment? You couldn’t say, though it was only the sudden grip on your shoulder that had managed to break your fixed admiration. It was firm, but nowhere near the realm of rough, and it even contained a fraction of gentleness, an action that wordlessly said ‘are you okay?’

At the sudden presence, you looked over your shoulder to find J, his guarded eyes holding a knowledge which only deepened the crawling feeling of embarrassment. Blood rushed to your cheeks. As you rounded your gaze back to the couple, you quickly saw the crowd was beginning to join them, all dancing at their own pace as the music continued its intimate lull. J’s hand slid down your arm while you watched and returned to hold your hand. Content and about to lean into him, your sudden love struck daze pounced away when he started to walk, dragging you along with him.

“Hey– what are you doing?”

No response.

“Let me go!” You said, your tone coming out a lot angrier than you’d expected. You guessed this alerted him because even though you were mere meters away from the rest of the crowd he stopped to explain.

“I saw the way you were looking at them. You know, cupcake, you’re not hard to read,” he drawled.

You pursed your lips, looking away for a moment.

“So what? What are you doing?”

“What does it – ah – look like?”

He’d seemingly taken your lack of response as a positive and continued forward. He grinned once he had you in position and placed his palm on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles. He then maneuvered his other hand to grab yours and stretched it forward. From his first few steps you knew immediately it was the Viennese Waltz. The fast tempoed dance was one you weren't all too familiar with, but you’d learned its slower English counterpart.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you gasped, trying your best to conceal your astonishment. You didn’t want to seem rude, though he just didn’t seem like the person interested in such a thing. Nor have the time. You were certainly finding yourself more curious about the origin of such a talent, and all the other potential abilities that were sneakily tucked away.

“Well aren’t I just full of surprises.”

He dipped you slightly in time with the halt of the orchestra. He held you there for a moment before the tune resumed its boisterous charm, climbing steadily to its crescendo.

“Here’s to another,” he said, his smile widening. If you didn’t know him so well you would have believed the expression to be completely innocent and honeyed. Standing there intertwined with his limbs you knew that devilish gleam was anything but.

And, seconds later, this suspicion proved right.

Suddenly he lifted you, twirling you around in such a way that made you feel like you were the bride. You’d only seen such a thing in Disney movies and cheesy rom coms – to be cherished, to be loved and cared for in such a delicate way was a fantasy; a taste of nostalgia and a serenade to the hopeless romantic within.

“J, put me down! Put me down!” You felt yourself swallow when his hands tightly gripped your hips. For a moment the irritation you’d experienced all day from a full face of makeup and wandering had all been worth it.

His laughs slipped out, too; a direct contrast from his often irked facade, a musically heart-warming phenomenon which no instrument could emulate. The whole time you kept your eyes on each other and never once did they deter, focused on drinking in the beauty of each other. The cheers from the crowd you’d gathered fell upon both your deaf ears, transfixed by each other’s magic in your own closed off bubbles.

As you continued to dance, the act itself felt like flying. The crowd separated when you neared – that is, until everything stopped. Sharp and prompt.

Neither of you had much regard for the abrupt bump when it happened, there were people everywhere and mistakes occurred. It was no big deal. At least that’s what you told yourself until such a collision was followed by a violent shriek and a splash.

Loud gasps replaced the background noise of applause.

In a few frightening seconds your brain made the connection – linking who you’d just seen in the same area minutes before, inches from the ocean.

“Oops,” you squeaked, too scared to turn around. However, despite your better judgement you did just that.

The groom stood in shock, evidently unable to come to terms with the sight he was seeing. One moment his new wife was safe within his arms, dancing as if it was only two of them in the universe, the next she was below him, swimming with seaweed. Then, his form began to tremble, a telltale sign that what was to come was nowhere near the realms of good.

He turned around with searing red eyes, a wrinkled nose and bared teeth. The eyes of the bull met the petrified, and his stubby, squared and well-manicured finger pointed directly at you.

“You fucking bitch!” He roared.

You jumped, feeling yourself cling to J. His arm wrapped around you reassuringly and although you trusted him with your life, being confronted by a raging groom was still nonetheless intimidating. The groom who apparently cared more about telling you off than helping his wife, who was still floundering in the crashing waves, began his march over to you.

“Do you know who I am?” He continued, and you wondered if he was still aware there was a crowd around. J almost instantly stood in front of you and had to hunch further to scowl at your aggressor.

“What was that?” J grabbed the man in front of him and slipped the blade hidden in his sleeve between the groom’s lips, angling it against the crease of his mouth.

“Hmm? Why not try your luck, princess. Say it again.”

The groom froze, the flicker of fear evident even on your end, though he kept up his brutish facade.

“You’re both going to be 6 feet under when my dad’s through with you.”

“Aww… run along to daddy so he can fix all your problems,” you could hear the pout in your boyfriend’s voice, comfortable and in your eyes even elated, to spit out the toxins he’d been gathering from just being here all day.

“So you do know who I am–” “The second most spoiled kid of Gotham’s underbelly.”

“And yet, you’re still holding the knife.”

“Of course the first would be your brother though, hmm?” J continued, completely ignoring the man's statement.

The groom gritted his teeth.

“I bet it stings to not be the favourite. To not even have him here on your big day.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” The groom spat, bullseyeing J’s shoe. You saw red pooling at the corner of the man’s mouth, the mere act of expectorating on your boyfriend’s shoe more urgent than self-preservation.

Yeesh.

“Now that’s not very hygienic,” J growled, wrinkling his nose. His grip on the knife tightened and in one quick motion, the groom was screaming.

While you couldn’t see the infliction from where you were positioned, the blood dripping onto the sand was clear as crystal. The screams of those around you were piercing, their horror and disgust forcing you to cling tighter to your boyfriend.

“J, please! That’s enough, it’s okay!” You pulled on his blazer. Feeling the hundreds of widened eyes staring holes into your being was no longer a concern. What mattered most was him. Getting out of here.

With a quick glance to his right, J met you, then looked back at the groom.

He smacked his lips.

“Seems you are lucky,” he purred, the shimmer in his eye reflecting nothing of the warmth he concealed so carefully – nothing of the warmth of when your eyes met. Instead, it was serrated and reflected jeopardy. He possessed the force of a hurricane. A gravity; the way in which he commanded the direction of things and uprooted the fortitude of the righteous, the sure, a mothernatured finesse.

He looked back at you again before shifting his hold on the man, fisting his wrinkled and bloodied shirt, then barked, “why don’t you go join your blushing bride?”

With the element of surprise, J raised his knee and shot it between the man’s legs, the man falling down almost as fast as the foreign presence made an impact. You could have sworn someone at the corner of your eye jolted, most likely fearing the worst while others let out shrieks. Fear of the unknown, the seduction of one’s imagination and its ability to fill in blanks was the most manipulatable aspect of consciousness. Rather than bleeding out and rocking lifeless against the cradling waves like so many had thought, the groom sat there, soaking in the shame of defeat and crimson. He hollered while his new wife crawled to his side.

“Tell your precious father I said ‘hi.’”

All eyes now turned to you both as you speedily departed, J dragging you along once more. The colony of sand in your shoe that had begun its formation hours ago was well in its breeding season now, the leathery insole most likely buried along with the newly wed’s marriage. Before you fully exited the cooperative crowd, forever to forget the merging faces of horror, two familiar ones caught your eye.

Hah!

“Some date, huh?” You smiled, staring at your mother straight on. The way her face twisted up in a myriad of emotions – surprise, disgust, embarrassment – was something you’d never forget. You were sure you destroyed her little snobbish social circle by the mere association. Pride swelled in your chest, a childish victory that didn’t seem so childish when you later reflected on your relationship with her.

When the two of you escaped back to the van successfully, there was a moment of contemplation.

“I – heh – think that went well!” J laughed to himself, rounding his body to face you, “you think your parents like me?”

“I think I should be asking the same to myself,” you said.

“Cheer up buttercup, at least your parents know you’re not dying alone anymore.”

“To be honest, after that shitshow they’d probably prefer it,” a sigh left your lips and you began to bite them, unconscious of the small action until the taste of metal blew up your taste buds.

“Eh. Who needs parents, anyway?”

You began to fiddle with your hands, suddenly finding them incredibly interesting. From the lack of interruptions you concluded he knew you were miles away, trapped in the wilderness of your own thoughts.

“So I’m guessing you only came because you found out whose wedding it was.”

It took a lot to break the silence, and the air suddenly shifted to a heaviness. You weren’t sure you were the only one tensing.

J clicked his tongue but didn’t answer.

“It’s okay… I think I’ve had my fill of weddings for a while, anyway. And parents. And honestly, maybe people,” you answered for him, despite the swirl of hurt brewing in your gut.

He breathed out his amusement. The lack of transience had you swallowing, frantic to keep the growing weight on your chest from expanding – from consuming your entire being with emptiness. You didn’t know how long you had until the stampede made its mark, the thunderous thuds of terror already echoing in the distance.

Those were only thoughts you could entertain alone, sunken in the decaying paradise of your bed.

Silence prevailed again.

Dazed and lost of direction, you remained fixated on the lines of your palms.

“The husband had a temper. You know, I thought they were so lovely at first.”

“That’s what they want you to believe. Their little golden castles sparkle in the sun and it’s only until the rain pours that you can see them for what they really are. Wet cardboard. Looks can be deceiving.”

“They certainly can be,” you looked up at him, smiling softly.

Even with the friction, you slowly reached up to cup his face. This time on his end, there was no fear or hesitation. Instead, just an unspoken mutual trust between two wandering souls. You looked down at his lips while your thumbs stroked the hidden lines of his scars. The gentle caresses wore down the makeup until finally they were visible again.

The marks of a survivor – beautiful and bold.

“Wait,” he said, the word simple and yet so labyrinthine. He reared back and looked at his hands while your own moved to rest on your knees. Curled into fists, his slowly unclamped like a blooming flower. What they revealed had your heart thumping, dancing its rhythm in your throat. You felt your eyes widen and the sadness immediately leave you, as if all its colour had been drained from you. You felt like a 1930’s cartoon, so shaken to the core that all you could see was greyscale.

“It wasn’t the only reason,” he whispered, the commanding presence absent.

He cleared his throat and finally looked up at you, “in fact, these were my only reason.”

“You son of a bitch,” you bit your tongue in awe at the binding pieces of metal in his hands. They twinkled in the holiday rays, beckoning, unuttering whispers of fabrication. Was the weight of those dual bands as heavy as his heart? As heavy as the solemn expression as he processed your jabbing words?

“I-I know it’s not much but–” he stuttered, and was promptly interjected.

“Oh! No, no, no! I didn’t mean–”

You both smiled. Yours wide and brazen, his small and seraphic.

“My J. Always starting fights, always getting what he wants,” you took the ring from his finger and darted to your left hand, slipping it on its rightful throne, “how can I resist?”

You kissed him mellowed and full of saccharine and he sighed, his reciprocation just as tender despite the usual dash of coarseness.

“Mine,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. He fluttered his eyes shut and his breathing began to steady.

“Mine,” you whispered.

In all that was and all that ever could be, never would you have believed such a moment possible. Magical and idiosyncratic, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Nothing big and extravagant in front of many eyes. Just the two of you, inside what you now considered the best moment of your life. What many described as a lock and chain, a prison for the rest of one’s life, you would describe as the only thing you had ever wanted. As much as before, everything felt complete.

Supernal.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, breathing in unison, basking in each other. All you knew was that it was all too soon when you hit the road again, starting the long journey back to Gotham. After a lot of the same scenery – trees, cars, rocks, more cars and occasional bodies of water – your eyes had become leaden. Resting became impossible to oppose and before long your eyes gave into its stinging demand.

Somewhere within the haze of half-consciousness, a mysterious material was draped over you. It was silken on the inside, your arms softly grazing it occasionally, and linen on the outside, your chin brushing over it when passing uneven roads. Subtle ripples of cologne drifted from the fabric as you finally fell prey to sleep’s siren song.

“Sleep well, sweetpea,” lulled a sweet voice.

334 notes · View notes

tainted-wine · 3 years

Text

Nowhere, absolutely nowhere in your ask did you insinuate that you wanted this but I couldn’t resist getting thirsty because...you know. Thinking about it, I may have been subconsciously inspired by @bibbidi-bobbidi-birb and her amazing Seven Deadly Birds series. If you want some real magical Hawks action, go read her beautiful fic Gula!

What do you call a hummingbird version of Hawks? Hums?

This rambling-turned-ficlet contains Microphilia, Noncon/Dubcon, Forced oral(receiving), and Yandere vibes. Just pervy fairy!Hawks in a fantasy AU.

Anyway Hawks is a tiny bastard that has completely ruined fairies for you. Everyone in this village, a village built in the middle of an enchanted forest, welcomes the small magical beings whenever they’re spotted flying about. You knew that fairies had a reputation for being tricksters, but Keigo...

You didn’t know it was possible for someone the size of your hand to be such a menace. You should have never acknowledged him. You shouldn’t have commented on his rose wings as he hovered over your flowers, the shimmering feathers appearing to change color at every angle. You shouldn’t have given him that small dish of sweet syrup as you thanked him and his kind for using their magic to keep the humans safe from the more wicked inhabitants of the forest.

His obsession with you began on that very same day you met. At first it was endearing, the way he fluttered around you, embarrassing you with backhanded compliments that only a fairy can make sound flattering.

“You’re pretty good-looking yourself, for a smelly human at least.”

Everyday he would ask for another sugary treat to slurp up, the sweetness of his voice hiding the fact that he never takes no for an answer. He’d passive aggressively question you, because what’s more important than showing a little gratitude to a creature that’s just trying to protect you?

When he isn’t forcing you to feed him, he’s following you around like a pesky bug, expecting you to make conversation. Ignore him and he’ll buzz loudly in your ear or tug on your hair. Whatever task you’re handling can’t be more important than a generous fairy asking for a little company. His questions become a bit too invasive for your liking.

“Have any of the men here caught your eye?”

“No? And why not? Are they missing something?”

“So are you still a maiden?”

“You are? Then you must taste sweeter than anything you’ve given me so far! Why not offer yourself?”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but it frightened you. The old tales never mentioned fairies consuming human flesh or drinking blood.

He only became more aggressive and less respectful of your privacy as time went on. One night you noticed too late that he found a way into your home and was calmly watching you bathe, laughing when you screamed and jumped out of the small tub without thinking and revealing your nude body to him.

“Can I drink from you?”

You say no.

One morning you wake up to find him curled up and sleeping soundly on your chest. You react by smacking him and sending him flying into a wall. As much as you’ve grown to detest him, you still panic over the fact that you just harmed a fairy.

He smirks when he sees your fear, despite how dazed he was.

“I’ll forgive you if I can drink from you.”

You say no.

Keigo frowns and, instead of pressuring you like you expected, flies away on his damaged wings. When he doesn’t return that day or the day after, you think that he has finally left you alone.

You had your first terrible nightmare the next time you slept. They got more intense every night, dreams of shadowy beasts violently tearing you limb from limb. For awhile you try different herbs and remedies in hopes of getting a peaceful sleep, but they all fail. You begin to fear sleep, dragging your feet through the streets with dark and heavy eyelids.

Then the hallucinations haunt you. Your neighbors are starting to keep their distance, whispering to each other about the times when you suddenly collapse and scream, raising your hands in front of you as if a monster is lunging at you. “She’s gone mad.”

One night, as you sit on your bed and try to blink away the horrid creatures, Keigo returns.

You’re already on your hands and knees the second you see him and realize he isn’t a part of your own cruel delusions. You beg him to save you from whatever this is, whatever evil has suddenly taken hold of your mind. He takes a long look at your sad state before answering to your pleas.

“I can save you, if you let me drink from you.”

It only scares you for a second before you accept, ready to give him anything he wants. It can’t be worse than the horrors you’ve been experiencing these past days.

You don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t the order to remove all of the clothing below your waist. When you hesitate, he motions to turn around and exit out of your window, which quickly makes you panic again as you shakily fumble with your garments.

It was the first time you exposed yourself to someone. Keigo may not be a human male, but judging by the many times he’s casually ogled you, he’s probably just as wolfish as one.

You’re told to lie back on the bed and spread your legs. The embarrassment is almost strong enough to overpower your drowsiness and week-long headache. The fairy flies and lands between your thighs, standing right in front of your virgin womanhood.

Small hands touch your lips all over. “What a beautiful flower. I’ve been dreaming about how sweet your nectar tastes since you first spoke to me.” He presses the hooded bud at the top and chuckles when your hips jolt.

Oh gods, is this what he means by drinking? No...

You’re afraid to close your eyes, afraid of whatever terrifying demons await you in the darkness, but you simply don’t have the strength to watch him violate you like this.

You don’t see, but you sure do feel the slender and very long invasion inside of you, a foreign and shameful feeling, but admittedly not unpleasant. It darts in and out of you rapidly, your nerves struggling to keep up with the speed of sensations. He’s feeding from you just like he would from a flower or a cup of sugar water.

The avian tongue is small yet brings you so much pleasure that it chases away your fears. You fight to keep your quivering thighs from closing and crushing the feasting fairy, your pussy contracting as more juices flow to soak him.

He’ll occasionally come up for air and comment on how delicious you are, how juicy your petals are once you fully bloom, and how you’ve officially spoiled him and will no longer be satisfied by any of your sugary gifts.

His nimble muscle works fast at collecting your moisture, pressing against your walls just enough to make you whimper as a strange pressure grew inside of your belly. You eventually gain the courage to look down, though all you can really see is a pair of wings that will sometimes happily flutter.

Keigo is still gorging himself when the tension in your gut suddenly snaps with a burst of pleasure strong enough to temporarily smother the darkness. It has you screaming into the night, and if the village wasn’t already convinced that you were insane, someone probably would have ventured out to check on you. He climbs up your stomach and rests on your chest when he finishes, completely drenched and proud of it.

He promises that the shadows will slowly go away, and you want to embrace his small form. You haven’t forgotten how despicable he’s been, but you owe him your life, or at the very least your sanity. You still shy away when he informs you that he needs to feed from you at least once a day to ensure your mind remains free. As incredible as it felt, it will always be difficult to just open your legs and allow his tongue inside your most intimate spot.

As for Keigo, he can’t believe how well this plan went. Now he can go tell his fellow fairies that you have finally made amends for your unreasonable behavior.

When you had the audacity to smack him into a wall, he fled into the depths of the forest and alerted the others of his injuries. Enraged by the harm you brought upon one of their own, they lifted their protective magic over you, leaving you vulnerable to the evils of the woods. It truly was sad watching the unseen forces torment you, but you needed to be taught a lesson for denying him so many times and daring to strike him.

Your protection will return once he gives them the news, but you'll never know that. Instead, you’ll believe that he is keeping you safe all on his own, with the work of his mouth and ravenous appetite. It sounds ridiculous to his own ears, but it’s not like you silly humans understood fairy magic well enough to know better.

He can’t help it. You’re the sweetest flower in these woods, and he’s going to keep you all to himself.

#asks #hawks #smut #yandere #tw noncon #tw dubcon #keigo takami #hawks x reader #well this is something i never thought i'd write #or even have interest in #but life is unpredictable #so here's micro!hawks #i'm sorry anon #all you did was mention him being super tiny #and my brain exploded

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frenchbreads-writing · 3 years

Text

Valentine’s Day Dilemma|{Ojiro Mashirao}

My amazing tradition of doing things late has struck again!!

I’m sorry I haven’t posted anything in literally forever but writer’s block has been kicking my ass lately but I’m starting to get back into it again so that’s good.

Also, it’s my one year anniversary since I started my first writing account!!!! Thank all of you who are here and support my content I love y’all so much!!!!

I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Ojiro Mashirao x Male Reader

Words: 1.6k (1,615)

Warning(s): None

Requests: Closed

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Another love letter.’

Ojiro thought as he watched another girl confess to you.

He couldn’t understand you. You were insanely good-looking, charming, and nice you could have anyone you wanted.

You smiled apologetically and returned the letter to the girl saying something Ojiro couldn’t make out.

The girl looked dejected and sauntered off.

You could have anyone you wanted yet you always rejected anyone who has ever confessed. No matter how good-looking or cool they were.

“You know, you could always ask him out instead of watching him like a creep.”

Ojiro jumped and turned around to see Dark Shadow hovering next to him.

“W-what? I’m not-“

Dark Shadow moved closer to him and poked him in his chest.

“Yes you were, you were staring at (y/n) with big ol’ googly eyes.”

Before Dark Shadow could continue Tokoyami’s voice rang out from behind them.

“Dark shadow, leave him alone.”

Tokoyami walks up and swatted Dark Shadow on his beak.

Dark Shadow stuck his tongue out before disappearing into Tokoyami’s side.

“T-thank you Tokoyami.”

Tokoyami nodded at him.

“You’re welcome.”

He paused for a moment.

“Dark shadow is right though, you should confess to (Y/n).”

Ojiro choked on his saliva at his words face becoming beet red.

“W-what?! I don’t like him like that!”

“Oh really?”

“Yes!”

Tokoyami raised an eyebrow at him and crossed his arms.

“Every time he walks in the room you stare at him the whole time and every time the two of you talk you seem like you’re a moment away from passing out.”

Ojiro froze and his tail came up and covered his face.

“B-be quiet.”

Tokoyami chuckled.

Before the bird-headed boy could tease him any further the bell rang signaling the start of class.

“Just think about it.”

Tokoyami said before walking over to his seat.

And that’s what Ojiro did for the past week.

He’s entertained the idea of confessing ever since he realized his crush.

But ultimately, he always convinced himself that you’re far above him on the social ladder and you wouldn’t settle for someone as plain as him.

But this time he looked at you while Aizawa droned on about his lesson. You were quietly snickering as you passed notes back and forth with Kirishima.

As he stared suddenly you turned around to face him.

He jumped, startled at the sudden attention. The sound of a yelp from behind him snapped him out of his daze. He turned to see Kaminari’s school supplies scattered on the floor. Ojiro’s tail resting on his table.

He stuttered out an apology and moved his tail away.

A chuckle made Ojiro look up.

You were laughing at the scene.

Ojiro covered his face with his hands and faced the board, face burning with embarrassment.

During hero practice he watched you. You were practically made to be a hero, gracefully getting through obstacles and completing challenges.

But you also looked out for your classmates. congratulating them when they succeeded and encouraging them when they failed.

You were amazing.

After class, Ojiro walked up to Tokoyami.

“Okay, I’ll do it how do I confess?”

The following days were spent with Ojiro and Tokoyami brainstorming ideas.

Ojiro walked up to the school almost an hour early. It was Valentine’s Day, the perfect opportunity to confess, even if he would be rejected.

When he walked through the school gates he saw you standing at your shoe locker fiddling with the handle.

He went to his locker and watched when you opened the door around 10 pink envelopes fell out with about 30 still crammed into the small space.

You just sighed and picked up the fallen ones before scooping the rest of the letters into your hands, you then proceeded to toss the letters into the trash, put on your shoes, and walk away.

The letter in Ojiro’s pocket suddenly felt heavy.

He took it out and stared at it before crumbling it up and shoving it in his bag.

Throughout the rest of the day, he watched as you got letters and chocolates from random people, boys, and girls alike.

Each one you politely declined.

All of them walked away dejected, clutching their gifts to their chests, and some even cried.

Ojiro didn’t get nearly as many Valentine’s gifts as a lot of his classmates. Hell, most of them were from his classmates.

Ojiro sighed as stood by the school gate.

He was supposed to meet Tokoyami there to tell him how it went. Tell him how he just couldn’t go through with it.

He stood there moping until he heard squealing from behind him.

He turned around and gasped as he saw you standing directly in front of him.

“(Y-Y/n)!”

“Hey, Ojiro I was wondering if you had a moment?”

He nodded, his face turning red.

“Well, uh, I wasn’t planning on doing this but Kirishima convinced me.”

You reached into your back pocket and pulled out a card handing it to him blushing and rubbing the back of your neck.

“H-here.”

He took it and looked it over.

It had very clearly been crumpled up and smoothed out.

The words on the front said ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ he blushed and opened the card and there were more words.

At the top, it said ‘Tail me you love me!’

And below that

‘I was wondering if you would like to be my Valentines?’

When he finished his face was bright red.

“S-So?”

Ojirou’s mouth opened but nothing came out, he was too embarrassed.

You looked hurt taking his silence as rejection.

“I-it’s fine if you don’t feel the same, sorry for making you uncomfortable I’ll just be going now.”

You began to make your way past him when Ojiro grabbed you by the arm.

“(Y-Y/n) wait!”

You paused and looked at him.

He shoved his backpack off of his shoulders and riffled through it for a moment before shoving a crumpled ball into your chest.

“This was for you.”

You took the ball and gently unfurled it.

The words on the front were in the same font as yours and opening it revealed the same exact card as yours but on the inside had a lot more words.

You began reading and at the second line, you realized it was a confession letter.

“W-wait, Ojiro you feel the same?”

You looked up clutching the card to your chest tightly, beginning to crease the sides once again.

Ojiro’s tail was wagging behind him as he nodded.

You let out a laugh as you lunged forward, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close, and lifting him from the ground.

Ojiro let out an embarrassing noise as he instinctively wrapped his arms around your neck.

“(Y-Y/n) c-can you put me down? People are staring.”

You froze as you looked around and most of your fanboys and girls were staring in disbelief.

“Oh yeah, sorry.”

You nervously chuckled as you lowered him back down to his feet.

“So, (Y/n) does this mean we’re dating?”

You blushed and rubbed the back of your neck.

“If you want to, then yeah.”

Ojiro smiled and grabbed your hand. Your hand was a little sweaty but so was his.

The two of you blushed at the gesture.

“S-so we should go on a date right?”

You nodded.

“Yeah, um, are you free right now?”

Ojiro thought for a moment.

“Uh, n-no I have chores to do, how about tomorrow?”

You smiled.

“Sure!”

The two of you stood there for a minute in silence before you cleared your throat.

“I’ve gotta go but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Ojiro nodded enthusiastically.

“Y-yeah!”

“...”

“Um, you can let go of my hand now”

“Huh?—“ Ojiro looked down and saw he was still gripping your hand. “—Oh, sorry!”

He let go and you chuckled.

“Thanks, bye cutie.”

Ojiro blushed as he waved at you, his tail also waving side to side.

“Finally, it’s about time one of you made a move!”

Ojiro jumped and spun around.

Dark shadow was in his face again.

“Watching the two of you ogle each other every two seconds was painful.”

“W-what?”

Tokoyami cleared his throat from behind Dark shadow.

“Yeah, the two of you were very obvious with your infatuation with each other I don’t know how you didn’t notice.”

Ojiro sputtered.

“Wait, so you knew he liked me the entire time and you didn’t say anything?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Ojiro just sighed. It worked out in the end so there’s no reason to be upset.

“It’s fine, anyway I should be going, see you tomorrow Tokoyami.”

Ojiro waved and began his walk home.

As Ojiro was finishing up his final chore for the day his phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out and turned it on.

A text from an unknown number was on his screen.

It said “Hey Ojiro!!! Tokoyami gave me your number”

He smiled and typed a quick reply.

“Hey (Y/n).”

You replied almost instantly.

“I just wanted to say that I look forward to our date tomorrow”

“Me too.”

After that, the two of you texted back and forth, for the rest of the day and well into the night.

So when you told him you had to go to sleep he was left alone in the dark laying in bed.

He was so nervous that he couldn’t sleep, but he was also excited.

Out of all of the people you could’ve chosen, you chose him.

Ojiro hugged his tail to his chest and buried his face into the tuft of hair at the top.

He needed to go to sleep to wake up bright and early to set something up for after class.

Hopefully, he could impress you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#frenchbread's writing #ojiro mashirao x male reader #ojiro mashirao x reader #ojiro mashirao #ojiro x reader #ojiro x male reader #bnha x reader #bnha x male reader #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #mha x male reader #mha #my hero academia #x male reader #male!reader #male reader

194 notes · View notes

starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

𝑅𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐷𝑈𝑆𝑇

Summary: Kaz had faced two of his fears - almost watching you die and going against his touch aversion. And now he has to deal with the consequences that not only burden him, but also yourself

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of violence, touch aversion,

Word Count: 3255

Masterlist Link

The night, it’s integrity toiled with you, as you say at the camp, with Inej planning on abandoning you all, and Jesper missing that bleating goat. It made you wonder of what direction that you should pursue going in, as you ogled up at the glittered sky, the sequinned stars glinting mischievously back at you. You were nothing other than a speck in the world, as they were in the laminated skyline, the Saints and dark generals were the ones that whisked you down such demeaning paths. The crows were to scurry from their brash threats and existences, the journey of catching the sun summoner had been all for nought.

Not a kruge had been earned in your name, the small bump of adventure had inevitably ended up as being a waste of both resources and time. And now the task of returning through the dreary and life threatening fold lay at your feet; such a plain that was created from pure evil was nerve wrecking. You’d never be considered as one of the goods that served the gods, but you were nowhere close to the Darkling’s maleficence. Had he not only taken hostage of a symbol to all geisha, but your veins were adeptly black, and the toxic venom was spreading with each hour that sourly passed. None of your fellow murder knew of the state that was combusting you; you had saved Kaz, with no regrets of doing so. That dagger had landed in Aleksander’s shoulder, and he had spread his shadowing cloud over to you, tormenting you with the image of complete destruction.

You were lucky to have escaped from his entrapment, Kaz had saved you, whisking your from the overbearing plough of suffering, even grabbing you with his glove covered hands, pressuring himself to do such an act to keep you alive. Though, you didn’t know how much longer you would remain so, and that was why you were gazing up at the constellations; hoping that you’d end up in their blazing glorification. Perhaps you’d survive, nothing was known of your current condition. Or you’d be cursed, turned grisha or something significantly worse. One thing that you’d learned on this gruelling mission was that anything was possible, even Kaz had made a step in his discomfort to rescue you, hauling you away from your inevitable doom by the arm, and stepping into the shrouding darkness. If it had not been for him, then you’d surely have composed into a defiled corpse, ripped apart by the darkness that Aleksander exhibited, and had enhanced through ancient looms that had been integrated onto absorbable parchment.

“I see that you’re less tense; does this mean that you are no longer mad at me?” His voice rang in your ears, prompting you to grind your teeth together as though you were mashing up crystals of salt. Eternally, you were grateful for the risk he had taken to ensure that you would not meet whichever saint you believed in once you travelled through the ropes of pitch and certain demise. You refused to give him the source of satisfaction of giving him your undivided attention; most feared him enough to comply and give him all the attentiveness he demanded as he struck his cane upon a surface, however, unlike those commoners, there was nothing about Kaz Brekker that struck fear in you. He were merely a man, whilst albeit had done some unforgivable things, had suffered same as everyone else, but terribly more so. “I’ll take your silence as a no then, should I?”

In turn, you crossed the folding origami of your arms over the expanse of your chest, and continued to ogle your pupils up towards the passageway of luminescence that hung like a chain in the velvet sky, causing Dirty Hands himself as he had been known, to release a heartfelt huff of frustration. It had taken quite the toll on him to oppose his own serious paranoia, and yet here you were, ignoring him after the cold events. Gulping, you couldn’t help but have annoyance seed in you as he continued to hover his presence beside you, he was using the tactic on purpose, full well knowing that it would eventually have you splintering until you cracked. You’d always had a soft spot for Kaz since the day you had met him; he was so brutally concurred with the ways of making a victim squeal like a sow giving birth, yet there continued to be an innocence within him, of which he hid from most. It was quite the contrast, as were his child like eyes that bore into you like his wish was to make you frail from poised embarrassment until you disappeared into a fine speck on the shoulder of his coat.

That was an irrational thought though, Kaz Brekker simply wanted to know, and not for the first time, why you disposed of reciprocated speech, and chose to pretend to be deaf to his consolation that he was attempting to reprimand with you. “Because if you remain to be angered with me saving your life, then, I would like to know. I’m not going to scoundrel around your presence all evening, we’re going to have to start moving sooner rather than later if we ever hope to get upon the route that I have planned. As useful as your combat is, and irreplaceable as I may think you are at times, I will allow you to go on your own path as you wish. You aren’t the only one that wants to part from the crows; Inej also has intentions to. If this is also because of the sun summoner, then they are freely your beliefs, though I certainly think you have the strength to strive towards something controversially more.” Inej leaving - that was news to you, and thus you finally surrendered, turning to him with spite written upon features, and commenced in supervising his lean form with integral eyes.

“To where do you have plans to go Kaz?” In turn, the volume of your sound increased, as you marked him as your target of choice. “And you’re right, I am pissed that you decided to save me rather than prioritising your own life; if anything were to happen to you, I’m not sure how I’d handle it. I have an inkling of a feeling that I wouldn’t even be able to. That’s because if you weren’t here I’d probably go crazy and envelop myself in a spiralling madness of which I’d be averted onto a path of nothingness. You are the one that has gifted me with a purpose, and time and time again you continue to preserve my life and I’m not sure I can cope with that. Just knowing that you are willing to throw yourself in the eye of danger to ensure that I do not meet my eventual end that is coming anyway. And worst of all, you faced off against that no good, dirty grisha, murderous General. Do you have any idea of what he would have done to you if he were to explicitly, and cruelly as are his routines, contort your body into the whim of his Darkling abilities.”

“I have an idea or two.” He admitted, toying with the fingers of his gloves, relieved to not see what lay beneath the leather. He stared at you in the face, feeling sickened from the sight of the creases that promoted your frown that was directed thoroughly towards him. It wasn’t a good feeling to be on the other end of your diverging glare, it was making him conflicted with the perishing of his emotions. A part of him was laughing inside that he was intimidated by someone, a woman no less, the other was rather impressed with your ample stubbornness. Now that was one thing that the two of you had in common; you both stood like stone, shadowing behind your beliefs or there lack of, as though Medusa had fixed the pair of you with her grey glazed glare, and forced you to be the way that you were. “And it was in fact you who decided to save my life first, I was merely returning the favour.” He now took it as his shift to allow his eyes to travel up into the beyond, the highlights that flawed his irises being triggered by the ambience that strobed in the frustrated sky, that was getting more antsy by each second that passed.

“I saved your life because I care about you, not because I value your skills and require them. That is a vast difference that separated us from being merely a single detail in a rope of stars. We’re separate in thought, and consolably close in real time and space, that fate has chosen us to be. We were both close to death in that second, he could have tarnished us both if that were his main priority, and we should be thankful that he realised that we were not lying when the admittance of not knowing of Alina Starkoff’s whereabouts fell off our tongues like misconducted liquor.” Your voice cracked, thinking about Kaz dead was the last thing that you wanted to obscure your mind, however it was the only thing that was roaming around the space like a moth darting around in a light fixture, having fallen captive to its own instinctive nature to fly too close to the example of fire. “Never, and I mean this Kaz, step in the path of death that narrows in my sights; I’d rather it be me than you of whom takes a fall into such a never ending abyss. You’re the face of this operation, and I am merely a killer that you decided to take under your wing whence times got too tough for either of us to cope alone.”

“I am not bound to make any promises, especially when you speak of accepting death so gracefully. And to answer your prior question, we are returning to Ketterdam, and I- i um-“ he fidgeted, his jaw contained to clench and release in a rhythm as he attempted to get the words out. “I need you to come with me on this, trust me, I have a plan, one that does not involve you dying. There will be no funerals that parallel this task ahead of us, if anything happens, you are my priority.” The heart felt ropes of words interlocked, much like the passage of beaming stars that made a blanket in the material of the sky; they shon stirringly in the abyss of the above, daring to deter you as its source of focus, causing you to freeze up as Kaz spoke his difficult to say words. “And when we get the one million kruge, that is when I will allow you to go out on your own, then you will have the expenses to protect yourself, and disappear if we cannot manage to end this eternal wrath that the grisha and hierarchy establish through the existence of the fold, they turn the tides of where whomever can go, and if they are gone, you shall have the freedom to venture to the place that your heart most desires, you’d no longer have to be trapped by my side similarly to my cane.”

“Everything that you are saying is tipping my head upside down; that I out of everyone, am your priority and that you are to set me free like a bird that has been trapped in a cage? Perhaps, this is a situation that it seems not you have enquired to think of, but I do not want to leave your side, even if I can. If I so much as wanted to, I’d have taken the chance to wrangle free in the midst of the journey from Ketterdam to these exasperating lands that want us to be persecuted for this job that we have taken underneath our midnight wings, though if you hadn’t noticed, I remain here. And whilst I wouldn’t have been peripherally if you weren’t to have saved me from my possible annihilation, I still have no intentions of abandoning you in any way, although that resolutes from you openly willing to take the risk of your own life in order to preserve my own. Never, and I compensate that with defiance, do that again.” You swiped your finger towards him, watching as the crease between his brows stiffened and grew deeper like a crescent that exhibited itself in the lawns of time, he poised his head back at your jurisdiction, clearly offended by your selfless demand.

“I cannot make that promise, there are little to no things that I have connective nurturing for; money and wealth stomp on nearly anything, but to me your life is priceless, even if your opinions do not retrograde the same reflection of worth.” His palm was shaky beneath its armour of leather as he went to reach for your hand, it took him a minute or so until he paid the dues of contact, but he faced his greatest fear, and denied avoiding contact. The prospect of Kaz touching anyone, let alone it being you, stirred a strange sensation through your body, as though you were being electrocuted via a storm, more specifically, a bolt of lightning that shot down from the angry clouds, shooting adrenaline and a high pulse through every limb of your form. “Do not mistake me for not having care towards Inej and Jesper, but without you I’d lose the path of succeeding through all my personal struggles, because you are the one thing that reminds me to continue to fight all of the harms in the world that wish to prosecute us, as though we are rodents that climb out from the sewers and run through the streets, poisoning them. There is a strong suit that wraps around me, stubbornly suffocating my interests, so that I have an avoidance of ever allowing anything to proceed to happen to you - get that through that steel skull of yours, you are smart and strong and my number one mine of gold for me to protect.”

“Kaz…” it felt like a forbidden sentence slipping off your tongue, simply by saying his name. You gave his hand a squeeze, noticing how he stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed a second later, getting used to the notion of silent amorist exchange; his blue eyes scalped every inch of your face, staring at the skin that compressed against your bone structure, the twinkle of the stars illuminating each distinctive feature that condoned your image. “I don’t know what I should say it’s - it is like we have been risking everything for nothing. And I am no gold mine, I cannot get us all that kruge, and I sure as hell can’t beat against the most powerful grisha known to man. I may be strong, but I am not strong enough. I may be smart, but certainly not smart enough. Overall, to everyone I am missing something, and it makes me wonder what else you see in me rather than an opportunist that can bring men to their knees in a second by sweeping beneath them, ready to swipe anything of value that they carry within the income of their pockets.” Drifting on their own accord, your eyes diverted once more to gaze up into the magnificent scenery that stroke above; each star was different within its placement, as well as how much it glowed under the pressure of insistent staring. It was as truly beautiful sight, and as you accorded your eyes to focus on the chord of light, Kaz’s eyes remained tuned upon your perseverance.

“The fact is you could bring any man, including myself,“ he gulped for a moment, feeling just how cheesy his words were as they spewed out, before he continued. Each word he spoke with giving you a new light that you saw Kaz under, he was not just a ruthless killer that likened to getting his hands dirty on a job, he was human like everyone else, many people seemed to forget that. But he had never appeared more humane as he did in the second with you, his hand clasped foreignly in the clasp of your own, and his eyes void of all intent, they were pure and for a second juridical with the haven of content. He wasn’t envisioning good, he was allowing himself to see what was right in front of him. “To their knees.” He finished his sentence, only to go on and elongate the mercenary like talk that he often had a problem with discussing. Though now could be the last moments that he could open up in such a way; it was uncertain how the turn of planned events would turn out, sailing through the fold was a danger all in itself, a toiling threat that was pushing you all forwards with a stern hand on each of your backs. “And you don’t even have to lift a finger to do so, every emotion you make me emit makes me possess a vigil weakness that I try to keep hidden, but in order to get the last of my strength through it, I acquire to get this off my chest before we venture to our next route. I care deeply for you, when I’m around you it feels like I am beneath water, the liquid gurgling in my lungs like sickening liquor. I have never felt this way, not have I ever had a desire to be monitored by these virtual sources, but they’re here, as are we.”

Taking a sturdy breath, you raised Kaz’s gloved hand and aligned it with your lips, gently pressing a kiss to the material that separated your skin. “You will not lose me Brekker, I’m not going anywhere. We’ve gotten this far, and that’s impressive all on its own. The trip back to Ketterdam cannot be as difficult as our journey here, we endured betrayal from that oaf that helped us cross the border, we got in and out of the Little Palace unscathed, and escaped the General on another account. I’d say that’s quite impressive, and behind every ploy you have been the grand mastermind. So let’s go home, and we can pick this up from there. ‘Tis a shame though, the stars don’t quite shine as bright back there, but we’ll have each other, and that is enough to brighten and guide me through the nights.” His lips stretched at the sides, depositing an appearance of relived thought. There had merely not been much of a fight between you on the situation, if he were to have pried any further about your safety he was sure there’d have been, but things had settled before they reached that stage. The primary battle though was to be against one of the most powerful grisha to walk the earth, of whom was keeping the Sun Summoner hostage. But as you had supposed, things would work themselves out. “I’m going to check on Inej, I won’t be a second.” He remembered the smile on your face as you trekked off, it was a notion to which he analysed that you were one of the few people who were kind to him. Once you were out of his vision, he looked up at the stars. There may have been no saints resting up there, but it sure was a peaceful view.

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cursestothemoon · 3 years

Text

I Need You To Kiss Me

Bill Weasley x Gender Neutral!Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1847

This is rather short and unedited but i thought it was cute so i hope you guys like ittt ❤️

***

Bill watched you with a look of interest, the bright yellow accents of your house robes seemed to glow in the morning stream of sunlight that entered the great hall. You laughed at something Charlie was saying, his hands coming out to mimic the flap of what Bill could only assume was a dragon. It was his favorite part of the day, watching you talk to his brother. Unlike usual sibling rivalry, Bill was rarely ever jealous of other men, especially his own brother, and Charlie was well aware of his brother's feelings for the giggly Hufflepuff.

Charlie Weasley attempted to make a shadow puppet of a dragon, the look of determination and the awkward hand gestures made you erupt into a fit of giggles making Charlie shove your shoulder. You two had met in the year prior, you had been asked to be the study partner of a boy in the year below you, a Gryffindor nonetheless. Charlie was the one who walked into the library the next day, glowing ginger curls sat messily atop his head and freckles littered his face and neck. He was also ridiculously tall and burly, but his goofy smile and energetic wave was enough to prove he’d be good company.

You two had been friends since then, and as if it couldn’t get any better Charlie’s older brother Bill would often come by the library to meet with his brother after the study sessions. Bill was overtly handsome, he had the same red hair- though it fell in a more relaxed wave and was just long enough for the bottom layers to brush his shoulders and the top layers his ears- and freckles that kissed the tip of his nose and scattered across his cheeks. Confidence oozed out his pores like honey, Bill Weasley was the most intimidatingly gorgeous man you had ever seen.

“Oi, Bill! What about it then?”

Bill turned toward the sound, coming face to face with Calvin Clark, a fellow Gryffindor and quidditch teammate. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking to be filled on what he missed while he was doing his morning ogling.

“You’re not still hung up on that puff, are you?” Leonard Throndson asked, another teammate of Bill’s.

Bill chuckled, moving to fully face his pestering friends, “And would that be so bad?”

His facial expression was playful, but his tone let the boys know he’d do as he pleased regardless of what they said.

Calvin was the one to answer, “You’ve never been this interested in someone before and not tried asking them out before.”

“Is it cause they’re screwing Charlie?” Leonard asked, mouth fuller than his focus in the conversation.

The question earned him a whack to the back of the head by Bill making him pout and reach a hand up to rub the back of his head.

“They aren’t screwing Charlie, but they are his friend and we don’t really know each other. Reckon, it would be rather awkward if I just up and snogged my brother’s best friend.”

Calvin and Leonard nodded in agreement but Bill continued, “Maybe I’ll ask Charlie about them…”

“That’s great and all Bill, but back to my question. You up for a party this Friday?”

A sound of shock came out of Leonard’s, once again, full mouth making Bill and Calvin watch him muscle down the large helping of eggs he had shoveled into his mouth just minutes before.

“You should invite Y/n, then bam! Make your move at the party.”

Bill thought for a moment, considering the plan, “Not a bad idea.”

The boys were then immersed in party planning, Bill feeling his excitement start to simmer at the mere prospect of asking you out.

---

You were leaving transfiguration when Bill Weasley pulled you to the side, a gentle arm guiding the small of your back. Once he came to a stop in front of Professor Binns classroom, you face him with a small smile.

“Everything alright, Bill?”

Bill leaned on the wall next to the door, his shoulder propping him up as he crossed his shins loosely and the best nonchalant expression he could muster fixed on his face.

“There’s a party this Friday in the Gryffindor common room, you should come.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, eyes glancing down at your feet, “Yeah that would be-that would be great I’d love to come.”

“What if I asked you to come with me, as my date.”

You gave him an incredulous look, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find something to say.

He was incredibly forward and his confidence was exhilarating, not at all a turn off, and of course he was devilishly handsome and you’d want nothing more than to be his date but you didn’t talk to him much, and you thought he didn’t really pay attention to his brother’s friend.

“You wanna go on a date with me?”

Bill chuckled, hand coming up to comb back his hair and you felt your knees wobble at the sight, “Yeah, if you’re comfortable with that. If not you should still come to the party.”

“I’d love to come to the party, Bill, as your date.” You smiled, cheeks starting to ache.

“Brilliant, I’ll come pick you up by the barrels at 7:00 Friday night.”

You nodded, words seemingly having escaped you as your eyes followed his retreating frame, only to be startled by another Weasley. Charlie impressively snuck up behind you, successfully making you just when he popped into your eye line.

“What was Bill saying?” He asked, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

Charlie had been made aware of Bill’s plans to ask you to the party by the man himself, and he couldn’t be happier at the thought of his older brother dating his best friend. He thought you two would be a perfect match far before any feelings were realized between Bill and yourself. Bill’s rugged exterior would compliment the softness of your being, and vice versa. Not to mention, you were both rather attractive people and Charlie was sure the sight of you two as a couple would be the talk of the school.

“He just asked if I would want to go to the Gryffindor party with- you knew!” You gasped, hand shooting out to smack Charlie’s shoulder.

He just nodded with a blinding smile, “He may have mentioned wanting to ask you out.”

You shook your head in disbelief, unable to keep yourself from laughing, “Get to class you ninny.”

Charlie jogged off, dodging another hit from you as he chuckled, his laughter being heard through the corridor.

---

Friday night arrived faster than anticipated, and your nerves were barely still intact. You had planned and replanned how the night would go over and over again in your head, praying to any celestial being or otherwise that you wouldn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Bill.

6:58

That was the time you left your common room to wait for Bill, only he was already standing by the barrels with a smile playing on his lips.

“Was afraid you’d stood me up.” He laughed, hand moving to intertwine with yours as he led you to the Gryffindor towers.

You averted his gaze as you responded, “I thought about it, but felt bad in the end.”

Bill slapped his hand to his chest and he let out a dramatic gasp, “You’ve wounded me, Y/n. I thought Hufflepuffs were meant to be kind?”

“Guess I’ve always been a bit of a rebel.” You teased, glancing to see Bill looking at you with a smile and eye crinkles that made your heart leap.

“Perfect.”

The party was already in full swing by the time Bill ushered you through the portrait hole, hand finding its way around your waist and unmoving from the spot making unruly butterflies erupt in your belly.

He guided you toward a couch in the middle of the room where Charlie was sitting with a few other quidditch teammates of his and Bill’s that you could vaguely recognize, but they all greeted you with smiles.

“Y/n! How are you? It’s so much nicer seeing you in person rather than hearing Bill describe your dazzling smile or twinkling eyes.” Leonard spoke with such intense honesty, deriving from the few drinks he had before you arrived, it made you giggle as you turned to Bill who was now glaring daggers at Leonard.

“Twinkling eyes huh?” You asked Bill.

He smiled down at you, ignoring the way Leonard was now trying to push his way to the dancefloor, and gave a flirty response, “They are quite the sight, ‘specially when you’re laughing.”

Charlie smiled at the sight of his brother and his best friend getting all cozy on the couch as the party raged on. Bill’s hand resting respectfully on your knee, his thumb rubbing small circles.

It seemed you had melted into the couch and Bill’s side, he had one arm around you while the other rested on your leg that had been pulled to cross over one of his legs. You were completely facing him as you two talked, his hand that was around your shoulder coming up every so often to play with the ends of your hair as he spoke. He was more than happy to talk about his big family, and all his brothers. Charlie you knew, but he told you about Percy, the reserved adult trapped in a boy, then there were Fred and George, the wild twins that had a knack for causing trouble, and Ron, the youngest brother who had a new found love of food after a picky few years. But his smile widened and eyes crinkled with glee as he told you about the youngest, Ginny, his only sister.

“Poor girl’s only going to have brother’s growing up, but I reckon she’ll be able to take care of herself alright, she’s already pretty good at it.” He chuckled thinking of seven year old Ginny telling off Ron for eating her chicken wing.

And you told him about yourself, your family, and your fondest memories all while Bill listened carefully, a fond smile on his face as he watched your eyes twinkle just as he had described to Leonard and Calvin.

Soon your voice started to fade as you, quite literally, lost yourself in his eyes. Both of you leaned closer, at such a slow pace it was almost undetectable but the invisible pull was definitely noticed by you and Bill.

He stopped just before his lips reached yours, his hand coming up to hold your jaw as he looked into your eyes as he spoke, “Would it be terribly inappropriate of me to kiss you right now?”

Words, yet again, escaped you and left a simple, almost desperate, nod as your only answer to his question as you tried to lean closer to his lips.

“I need your words, love.”

Your voice was needy and whispered, “I need you to kiss me, Bill.”

He didn’t hesitate.

#bill weasley #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley x gender neutral! reader #Harry Potter imagines

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 3 years

Text

What if...

For the record, I blame @phrenic-a and @mountevey for this one... I, uh, think maybe three parts? Four? And just posting it here, not on AO3, as I DON’T DO AUS! ...except for this one, it seems. *sigh*

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if...

Part 1

Rated T for a slight touch of gloom before the fluff can start

It has been three months since they left Seswenna. Three months since she told Macero she was bringing Corin along to scout for some new outfits and her husband barely bothering to pay attention to the end of the sentence.

They couldn’t stay on Seswenna any longer. Corin is turning five soon and Macero had been hinting heavily at how was time for the boy to start his training and that it was way overdue for her to produce another child. Macero has plans and a schedule to keep.

But as neither scenario was an option for Dulsissia, she found a ship going to the most distant, dark corner of the Galaxy, scraped together some credits that Macero didn’t know about and bought two tickets.

She and Corin left that very day.

As there was no way for her to bring lots of credits without alerting Macero, Dulsissia brought as much jewellery as she dared, hoping that would be enough to last them a good while, but she had no idea that decent living quarters, servants and proper food were so expensive. And while she’d been aware of that she’d have to find some way to earn a living for her and her son, Dulsissia quickly learned that none of her skills were something that someone one this foreign, gritty and vulgar planet were willing to pay for. Here credits went to food and booze, not fashion and beauty. Here there was nothing but concrete on the ground and thick, suffocating smoke in the sky.

It hadn’t taken long before they were running out of funds and this is why they now no longer have a roof over their heads and why the food has been so scarce the last couple of days.

Her sweet, sweet boy has been so good these months. Hardly asking any questions, never complaining, simply following her like a baby-Porg with blind trust and love. Dulsissia’s heart is breaking over the fact that she’s going to fail him.

They can’t go on like this. She refuses to let him starve. They will go back and she will face Macero’s wrath before she lets her child end up like one of the unfortunate souls they see scuttling around in the alleyways here.

Lost in her misery, she doesn’t notice the danger until it is too late. An arm goes around her waist and she’s yanked away from her son. Corin calls out for her, his thin voice filled with panic, but she can’t reply as a dirty hand covers her mouth and she is fighting to free herself.

It’s a human man drawling all kinds of horrible things into her ear, clearly drunk and unwilling to pay for female company. A second voice joins in. Two of them.

Dulsissia panics, just like her son, but no matter how she fights; they are too strong and she can’t break free.

The sound of a blaster being fired is frightfully loud, but as the man lets go of Dulsissia; she’s too busy breaking free and running forward to drop to her knees and cradle Corin protectively against herself to care. The boy clings to her with desperation.

A second shot. Someone nearby falls to the ground. Dulsissia tries to cover Corin’s ears and closes her eyes while hot tears trail down her face.

She never should have left. She should have found a different way. She should have never brought Corin here. Even Macero was better than this. She would have found a way to shield Corin from his wrath. She never should have left…

“Are you two okay?” A slightly robotic voice asks.

Tensing up, Dulsissia hesitates, wondering what new horror will follow what she’s just been through, then slowly looks up at the towering shape standing there.

It is a humanoid looking being, but it is wearing blue armor and a blue helmet concealing their face. They holster a massive blaster and the helmet tilts a little in what could almost look like concern.

Dulsissia nods. She keeps Corin close, shielded from the stranger. “Thank you.” She says in a half-whisper as her throat hurts from trying to scream earlier. She hopes good manners might keep the stranger, who looks like a male, in a benign mood and that he’d not simply take over where the others had left off.

“This area is not safe. Where are you going?” The stranger asks.

Dulsissia hesitates, reluctant to tell him anything but scared she might provoke him if she doesn’t. She’s very aware of the two bodies still twitching on the ground. She says the first thing that comes to her mind. “The marked.”

A moment of silence, then the helmet nods. “I’ll escort you two there.”

There is another jab of reluctance, but Dulsissia doesn’t dare decline. Also, if they are around others, he might not dare to do anything… unseemly. She slowly straightens, keeping one hand on Corin’s head as he shifts to cling to her leg instead of her torso. “That would be very kind of you.”

The stranger turns and takes a couple of steps before he stops and looks back at her.

Dulsissia takes a deep breath, strokes Corin’s hair and then the two follow this armored stranger.

Their mysterious saviour doesn’t speak again until he comes to a halt at the outskirts of the busy marketplace filled with all kinds of shouting merchants and odd smells. “Will you be okay here?”

Dulsissia nods again, eager to be rid of him.

“Mommy…” Corin tugs at her skirts. “I’m hungry…”

“I know, baby.” Dulsissia replies, stroking his hair and feeling the urge to cry again. She wants to crouch down, look him in the eyes and explain things, but she doesn’t dare take her eyes of the stranger.

He’s looking at Corin.

“Can we eat here, Mommy?” Corin asks with hope in his voice.

“Later, baby.” Dulsissia replies and hopes with all her heart that she isn’t lying.

The helmet shifts its attention up to her, the t-shaped visor feels like it is burrowing under her skin, and the stranger stares at her for several long seconds. “Let me buy you some food.”

Dulsissia swallows hard. “That is very kind of you, but you’ve already done enough…”

A glance down at Corin again and then back at her, and the stranger nods towards the food stalls. “Come. The boy can choose. Anything he wants.”

Corin tugs eagerly at her skirt and she dares a glance down at her son. His eyes are filled with excitement instead of worries for the first time since they’d been forced to leave their apartment. His little face is dirty, she notes with a jab of disappointment in herself. Forcing herself to smile, she nods to Corin and makes herself look at the stranger’s visor. “If you insist.”

The stranger gestures for them to take the lead and they do.

Not long after that, they are seated by a table, Dulsissia and Corin on one side, the stranger sitting at the opposite side, and the boy is inhaling the huge plate of deep fried ‘something’ in front of him. Dulsissia uses the opportunity to wipe off some of the dirt on Corin’s face before shifting more food from her plate over to his.

The silent stranger watches her and while she can’t see his eyes, she can feel them. Strangely enough it doesn’t feel like he’s ogling her like those men had. Dulsissia gets the feeling that he’s trying to figure her out. Like she’s some puzzle to him.

Like he wasn’t the mysterious one? Appearing out of the shadows to save her from horrors? Offering to buy food for her child? Declining to get anything to eat for himself but insisting she get food too.

Dulsissia looks directly at his visor, sees the helmet move a little as he shifts his gaze away, if she didn’t know better she’d say a little embarrassed after getting caught looking at her. “What is your name?” She asks.

“I’m Davarax.” He replies. “May I ask for yours?”

“Dul-” Oh, old habit, she wasn’t supposed to use her real name, “-cy. I’m Dulcy. And this..” Dulsissia places her hand on Corin’s head to introduce him, but the boy beats her to it.

“I’m Corin!” He grins, mouth filled with food.

Dulsissia closes her eyes for a second. So much for not using their real names. She glues on a smile and looks over at Davarax again. “Dulcy and Corin.”

“Why are you wearing a helmet?” Corin asks and she prods his shoulder, reminding him not to speak with his mouth full and to stop asking questions. He closes his mouth and chews.

“I am a Mandalorian.” Davarax replies, as if he didn’t mind answering. (Macero would always get annoyed when Corin asked about anything.) “My Creed tells me to always wear it.”

“Always?” Corin’s eyes go huge again. “How do you eat?”

Davarax exhales what sounds like a little laugh. “I can take it off when I’m alone.”

Dulsissia frowns a little. She’s heard about Mandalorians, has she not? Mercenaries? It would certainly explain why he was so efficient in shooting those two men and seem completely unfazed by the situation. It would also explain why he’s so… muscular.

“My turn to ask a question.” Davarax says and turns his attention to her. “Do you have a weapon?”

Suddenly all the anxiousness that had been starting to seep away rushes back into her and Dulsissia tenses up. She tries to keep a blank expression. She shakes her head.

Sighing, Davarax nods. “Thought as much.” He reaches down his side. “On this planet, looking like you do and with a kid to keep safe, you’re going to need a weapon to protect yourself and him with.” Pulling up a fierce looking vibro-blade, Davarax doesn’t activate it, merely flips it over to hold the blade while offering her the hilt. “Here. Take it.”

She hesitates, but eventually Dulsissia cautiously reaches out and takes the weapon. It feels cold and heavy in her hand. For the third time in a short time, Corin’s eyes grow huge.

“Don’t hesitate.” Davarax tells her. “If someone comes after you, deal with them. Swift and hard. No regret. Understand?”

Looking from the blade and over to him, to the emotionless t-visor, Dulsissia manages a faint nod.

It’s the first time she’s ever held a weapon of any kind. Not counting cutlery. Or gossip. An actual weapon. And she’s not entirely sure she likes the feeling. It’s intimidating.

But she pulls the blade close and decides to keep it. While she might not like the feel of a weapon, she will use it to protect her son. That’s not even a hard choice to make. “Thank you.”

Davarax nods, pleased at her accepting it.

“Why are you helping us?” Dulsissia asks, shame burning in her cheeks at having to accept pity from strangers.

“Because you needed help.” Davarax replies. “Because no real Mandalorian will turn their back on a child in distress.”

Suddenly curious, Dulsissia asks before she can stop herself. “Do you have children?”

“Four. Four amazing little ones.” Davarax replies with badly hidden pride. His shoulders even pull back a little in a preening move that he’s definitely not aware of as he follows it up with an awkward shrug right after. “I mean… Technically they’re not mine. I’m their teacher.”

Dulsissia can’t help but to smile, charmed by his reply, and she remembers how she’d wished her tutor had been her real father. “Lucky them.”

Davarax shrugs again and to her amusement, the mighty warrior does appear a little awkward. He probably did not mean to reveal so much about himself. She hides a smile by daintily picking up a piece of food and nibbling on it while moving the rest over onto Corin’s plate.

“Should I get some more?” Davarax asks. “You should eat some too, you know.”

Dulsissia shakes her head, despite the hunger gnawing in her belly. As long as her son is full, she’s fine. And while Davarax did not hesitate to buy whatever food Corin had pointed at and has given her what looks to be a valuable vibroblade, she’s not blind to the worn down look of his armor and clothing. He might be generous, but he’s not rich.

After stuffing himself beyond what he probably should by cleaning the plate yet again, Corin makes a faint sound of pain and moves over to lean against her. “My tummy aches….”

“I’m not surprised,” Dulsissia replies with a smile, leaning down and kissing his hair, “you ate like a Rancor.”

Corin laughs a little but remains leaning against her and it doesn’t take long before he’s drowsing.

Sighing, Dulsissia strokes his dark hair and feels the guilt suffocating her again. Her poor boy is finally full, but now the exhaustion from barely any sleep over these last couple of nights is setting in and she needs to find out where to seek shelter for the night without any credits to pay for it.

Either Davarax reads her mind or he just picks up on Corin’s exhaustion, but he once again looks at the boy and then her and asks his question. “Where are you staying tonight?”

Dulssisia clenches her jaw and looks away. The humiliation burns.

A second pass, then two, and finally it seems like he understands. “Oh.” Silence follows and if not for how Corin is more of less asleep on her arm, Dulsissia would have walked away.

“Listen,” Davarax says, shifting his weight a little, “don’t take this the wrong way, but you two could join me in my room. This place is even less safe at night.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I would rent you your own room, but, well, they’re really-”

“Expensive, I know.” Dulsissia cuts him off. Her face is burning even hotter now, both with the continued humiliation of being broke and what sharing a room with a strange man might include.

“I give you my word you’ll be safe.” Davarax says with firm conviction. “Both of you.”

Dulsissia knows she shouldn’t. She knows it could be a trap. But she also knows she needs to find a place her son can sleep without fear or danger hanging over his head. “Tell me the names of your children.” She asks.

“Paz, Barthor, Raga and little Din.” Davarax replies no hesitation, but with a touch of confusion. “Why?”

Dulsissia smiles and shakes her head. “No reason. Just curious.” So he wasn’t lying about the children. He knew their names by heart. A teacher. She decides to risk it.

Corin is fast asleep by the time they decide to head to the inn. Dulsissia hoists him up and grunts with the effort. He’s still her baby boy, but he is definitely getting bigger. Arms and legs hanging down, dangling with the apathy only a sleeping child can produce, Corin burrows his face to her neck and sleeps on.

Seeing her struggle, Davarax reaches out. “Here. I’ll take him.”

“No.” Dulsissia’s answers is short and hard, and she turns to shield her son from the Mandalorian.

No one is taking her son away from her.

Davarax lifts his hands in a sign of backing off and nods. He then gestures to one of the large buildings looming behind the others. “This way.”

Dulsissia tries to focus on Davarax as they walk to avoid thinking about the weight of Corin. (He must be extra heavy from all the food.) The Mandalorian is tall. Dulsissia had some height on most women on Seswenna, but he is so tall he makes her seem short. And while the armor might make him seem even bigger, there is enough of him without the blue plates so she can tell that, yes, there is definitely muscle there. He walks with the grace of a predator.

Dulsissia feels a prickle of fear and is actually grateful for the reassuring weight of the vibroblade in her pocket.

They enter a grey tower of a building, head up to the third floor, passing by one rowdy soul after another, before entering the safety of their temporary refuge. The relief of being inside is quickly snuffed out by Dulsissia seeing, with rising despair, that there is only one bed in the room.

She clutches the sleeping Corin close, but doesn’t get the chance to panic or run for the door before Davarax walks over to the transparisteel and flips the switch to block the sound and light from outside and says; “Don’t worry. You two take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s okay, it’s what I usually do on missions anyway. Few places I travel to have inns.”

Dulsissia hesitates. It feels wrong that the man who had paid for the room was now forced to sleep on the floor, but… She looks at the sleeping boy in her arms and her heart breaks again. Her pride dictates that they’ve accepted far too much charity from this stranger as it is, but her maternal heart doesn’t care. Her boy can sleep in a bed tonight.

Gently easing Corin down on the bed, a wistful smile appears on her face when he makes a happy sound at the soft mattress and Dulsissia tucks him in. Once that is done, she turns to look over at where Davarax has settled on the floor next to the wall with the transparisteel.

He lies on his back, hands folded on his stomach, his blaster on the floor next to him, and his visor staring up at the ceiling. His helmet. He can’t even remove his helmet as long as they’re there. He hasn’t eaten either, only provided food to them.

Dulsissia swallows hard, reaches out and takes one of the two pillows on the bed, the one Corin is not using, before cautiously making her way over to Davarax. She holds it out to him.

He shakes his head. “I don’t need it. I’m used to this and the helmet has padding. It’s fine.”

“Please.” Dulsissia says. Her final fragment of pride giving up. She can’t pay him back, but… she can give him her pillow.

He looks over at her, watches her for a couple of seconds, then he slowly reaches out and takes the pillow. “Thanks.”

Dulsissia nods, turns away and walks back towards the bed and her sleeping son. She’s almost there when she hears Davarax speak.

“Are you two running away from something?”

With her back towards the Mandalorian, Dulsissia stands by the bed and looks at Corin. He looks peaceful and content. It takes so very little to make that boy happy. “Yes.” After everything this man has done for them, she can’t lie.

“Is there someone out there hunting you?”

Dulsissia closes her eyes. She sees Macero’s face. She knows he was probably beyond livid when he discovered what she’d done; taken their son and disappeared. Left him. She knows his pride will never give up and that he is searching for them this very moment. “Yes.”

Davarax doesn’t ask any more questions so she climbs into bed and curls herself around her son. She has no idea what to do tomorrow, but Dulsissia is so very, very tired… and soon she’s asleep.

A gentle grip on her shoulder wakes her the next morning and she opens her eyes with a violent start that also wakes her son and has him go from relaxed to frightened within a second.

“Sorry.” Davarax says, pulling his hand away. “I tried to call your name. Neither of you responded. I was starting to worry there was something wrong.”

Dulsissia sits up and automatically pulls Corin close, wrapping her arms protectively around him despite how he calmed the second he saw the Mandalorian. “No, I’m sorry. I guess I was more tired than I…” She sees the small table to the left has several small containers with what her nose tells her is food. Davarax can’t eat his breakfast before they’re gone. “...than I was aware of.” She lamely finishes and dreads the second Corin smells it too. How is she to explain to him that she has no breakfast for him? “We’ll be out of your room in a minute.”

Davarax gestures to the table. “Eat. Please.”

Corin’s head snaps up and he scouts around the room. “Breakfast?” He starts pushing his mother away, trying to free himself. “So hungry!”

“Baby, no.” Dulsissia says, holding him back. “That’s Davarax’ food.”

“I ate earlier.” Davarax says, walking over to flip the switch that will make the tansparisteel let light and sound in again. “This is for you two.”

Letting Corin go in another wave of defeat, feeling like an utter failure, Dulsissia just sits on the bed while her son eats. Corin happily digs into the containers and pulls out treats with glee.

“Dulcy…” Davarax says, and his voice is suddenly so very soft and gentle. Like he isn’t some random stranger they just met, who has done more for her son than she’s been able to do in days. Like he is someone who cares. “You have to eat.”

Nodding, she’s used to doing what she’s told, Dulsissia gets up and walks over to the table. The first mouthfuls are difficult, she’s struggling not to spit it back out, but then Corin looks over at her and gives her a wide, happy grin. He lost a tooth last week. Her sweet baby boy.

Okay, enough self-pity. Keep going, girl. For Corin.

Dulsissia eats.

By the time they leave the room, Corin is both filled up with food and sleep and is once again the energetic child she’d seen during the first weeks of their freedom. He’s running around, exploring and darting back to her and Davarax when things get too scary, and Dulsissia smiles. She has a moment of fear when Corin decides to jump up and grab a hold of Davarax’ arm and use him as a rope-swing, but instead of getting angry, the Mandalorian merely sways him back and forth. He even answers every single one of Corin’s billion questions until Dulsissia orders her son to stop pestering the man.

The sun is almost strong enough to break through the heavy smoke in the sky today. Corin is watching a couple of teenage Zabraks play some game with a leatherball in an empty parking area while Dulsissia and Davarax sit on a fallen tree nearby.

“Your children,” Dulsissia says, happy to pretend this is just a normal day, “what are they like?”

Davarax hums and there is a smile in that sound. “Paz was my first. He’s a handful. He’s as tall and broad-shouldered as kids five years older than him and he loves to pick fights. But once you get under that tough surface, that boy is a giant softie who thinks it is his job to look after everyone. Barthor, my second one, is the most clever creature I’ve ever met. His intelligence is off the charts. He gets frustrated because the rest of us take so long to catch up to what he already knows, poor soul. Now, my third, Raga…” Davarax sighs and looks over at her. “She’s the scary one. Paz more or less persuaded me to train her because no one else wanted her. Her temper, teeth and absolute lack of fear has made her quite infamous at the Covert. It’s a shame so few get to see her sweet side, because she does have one.” The Mandalorian turns his attention over to Corin. “And then there is little Din. Your boy reminds me of him. I found Din shortly after his parents were killed. He was adopted by some friends of mine, but I get the feeling it’s not going too well…”

Mesmerized, Dulsissia cannot imagine for a second that Macero would be this caring about any of his children that he’d end up having. “They are lucky to have you.”

Davarax shrugs. “I feel like I’m the lucky one. Children are a blessing to Mandalorians.”

Smiling, Dulsissia looks over at Corin as well and they sit in silence for a while.

“I have to leave soon.” Davarax says, blurting it out as if he’s been holding it in for a while.

The words act like a fist clenching around Dulsissia’s stomach. She’d known this was just a temporary break in the nightmare that is her life these days, a brief respite, but she still hates that it has to end already. “Oh.” Corin is going to be devastated too.

“I finished my mission this morning when I got the food.” Davarax says. “I have to go back to the Covert. Report in. Check on my kids. Do some repairs on my ship.”

Dulsissia nods, but can’t look over at him. “I understand.” She forces herself to smile again. She’s good at that. “Well, thank you for everything you’ve done for us. For saving me, but most of all for the kindness you’ve shown Corin. He hasn’t had much of that in his life…”

Davarax doesn’t answer right away and she worries that her words hadn’t been grateful enough. She’s just distracted by how she can feel despair snapping at her heels at the thought of what lies ahead of her. She will fight a way to feed and house her son, but she knows it won’t be easy. And it scares her how close she’d been to going back to Macero…

“You could come with me?” Davarax says the words with the amount of caution you’d use for a skittish dewback. “You and Corin, you could come stay at the Covert for a while. You would be safe from alley creepers and no one would find you there.”

Dulsissia stares at him. “But… I’m not a Mandalorian. Neither is Corin.”

“The leader of our Tribe will let you two stay if I ask her.” Davarax sounds certain in his words. “I promise you, there will be a place for you there. We can teach you how to fight, how to protect yourself and your son. We can help you keep him safe.”

Dulsissia considers it, looks over at her son and knows what he would say, but the boy is too trusting. Corin still thinks his father is a good man at heart. “If he found out, he would destroy your Covert. I can’t repay your kindness by bringing evil to your door.”

“I can promise you,” Davarax leans closer, “that if this fool tries to challenge my Tribe, we won’t be the ones to be destroyed.”

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Baby Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU #I SWORE I WOULDN'T WRITE THIS

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