#with a side of pineapple italian ice

[bokutosmochi]

kinktober day five: somnophilia!

ADRENALINE RUSH ♡ NANAMI KENTO

fem!reader x nanami kento

ingredients: nanami has some adrenaline he has to get rid off

what's it: smut

allergen warning/s: spit, unprotected sex, somnophilia

sugar level: 1.5k

regulars: @ventdavi154 @deobiforever @sugusshi @angelshub @eussstasss

parlor's note: can't do a kinktober without including nyanyamin!!

bon appetit!

fuck gojo, fuck that patchface curse, fuck the higher ups

those were the only thoughts that bounced around nanami's head.

it was no secret that the man hated going any minute overtime, now here he was going home at fucking ten in the evening. on top of that, because of the late hour, the things he was able to pick up from his favorite bakery were what ever was left over from the day -- though one would argue that he's lucky because said bakery was still open at the late hour. regardless, the fact remained: the pastries were no longer fresh, no longer fluffy and warm.

if it was any other day, he wouldn't have ate it on the subway ride home from work and instead saved it so he could reheat it once he's safely in the confines of his own home, but not today. he was too hungry, and quite frankly, running out of patience.

he sets down his dull blade in its rightful place by the door and tugs off the yellow patterned tie in an uncharacteristically pissed off manner. not only was he filled with negative emotions, but adrenaline from the fight he had against an unnamed, unregistered cursed spirit was still pumping in his veins. with a huff, he hangs it over his shoulder, before moving on to unbutton his blue button down shirt as he walks over to the bedroom.

this was the part of his day that he looked forward to the most. sure, it was the end of the day, but it was the part where he'd see you, hold you for more than two hours.

laid down in the large california king bed was you. thick, soft blankets tucked up to under your chin, hair he loved running his hands through fanned out around your face, and your face. you looked so angelic when you slept, so peaceful even during nights like this when he knew you weren't sleeping well because he wasn't there in the bed with you -- you confessed to him one time, you always get the best dreams, the most restful nights of sleep whenever he's there holding you.

you shifted in your sleep, turning to your other side making the blanket move further down your body. it exposed the thin shirt you were wearing; an old shirt of nanami's. the fabric was so worn down that the man could spot your nipples, hardened from the chilly autumn air, from under the shirt.

you mewled softly and it made nanami wonder what you were dreaming of; whether you were dreaming at all. aside from that, the sound also made his beige slacks tighten and he found a way to release all that pent up frustration and adrenaline from his system.

he pushes the dress pants down along with his boxers, then damn near trips trying to take his socks off and walk to you at the same time. he's just had such a rough day and needs some help from you.

a thought pushes itself into his mind the moment he crawls on top of you, one that's about morality and ethics. he's never done this before and it feels wrong to do it. second thoughts fill his mind, but he remembers the fact that you've had this discussion before. he's already asked for your permission prior. in return, you only asked one thing from him: if i had a long day, try not to wake me if you don't have or want to. and aside from that, you've always been such a nice and thoughtful girlfriend. there has never been a moment in the many years you've been together where you've lacked understanding with him. you're always so selfless, giving him whatever he wanted, so long as it's reasonable, and this is reasonable, right?

with those thoughts as a green light, he pushes the blanket away from your body, nudges you so you'd be lying on your back, and moves the crotch of your panties to the side so he can have his way with you.

always the caring boyfriend, he makes sure you're properly lubricated before he does pushes himself in. after all, he doesn't want anything bad to happen to his sweet, caring girlfriend.

getting you wet the way he usually does takes too long, and besides, he'd probably end up waking you up too, which is something you asked him not to do if he didn't have to. not to mention the fact that he always gets so into turning you on; it's what gets him aroused too. he'll get too handsy, too noisy.

it's not an option so he opts to spit on your pussy instead.

he enjoys the sight of his glob of drool dripping around your vulva for a moment before spreading it around. when he decides that you're not wet enough, he spits again and does the same thing.

the man may think that exerting minimal effort is all that's required for most of his day-to-day tasks, but that rule does not include you and it never will. he always makes sure to take care of you the way you take care of him.

when your lips are shiny with his spit, he backs away for a moment, lines the head of his cock with your slit then pushes in as softly and slowly as he could, trying his best not to jostle you.

he moans lowly as he sinks in your warm pussy. it's a sensation he can never get enough of, even if he makes love to you a million times. he adores it, the way you welcome him so easily. he only stops his motions when he was buried to the hilt, his pelvis flush against yours.

he looked down to where your bodies connected and involuntarily muttered a low shit under his breath. to him, the sight was a masterpiece that could easily top an expensive painting any day; it certainly made him feel more emotions than those.

with a deep breath sucked in through the mouth, he started moving, steadily thrusting in and out of your wet cunt. the movement was calculated, executed with maximum precision to ensure that you won't wake from your slumber.

how could you expect him to keep his composure completely under these circumstances? you're so tight, he's always said that your pussy was made for him, and he doesn't just say that to get you off; he truly means it, and then you combine your perfect pussy with your perfect face. he's a goner.

he tries to stifle his moans, tries to swallow them under his breaths, but a few still manage to escape. despite those, he continues to yearn to make this nice and quick. it's just to blow off some steam, after all.

the moment his attempts become futile comes when you stir, letting out noises that shoots blood steaming down to his already painfully hard dick, and flutter your eyes open.

when his eyes meets yours, his elbows buckle, though he's quick to straighten himself back up again; his motion was so fluid you didn't even notice it, only the slight twitch of his cock.

you yawn before acknowledging the situation. "kento?" your words are slurred due to the sleepiness that remains in your system. "what's goin' on?"

"sorry hun," he grunts, continuing to fuck you. "adrenaline rush. you can go back to sleep if you want."

you give him a hum though you didn't actually succumb to sleep. the feeling of kento's cock inside you wasn't something you could simply nap through, no matter how hard you try nor matter how hard he tries to not rouse you.

he might have thought you were asleep - you were so quiet, not making a noise other than the natural moans - if you didn't mutter an "i'm close" at the exact same moment he felt his orgasm nearing.

"i am too, hun." his movements become sloppier. he loses his rhythm to the pleasure and due to the lapse in concentration since he began to play with your clit to help you reach your high as well.

"ken," he recognizes what you need with the call of his name. one of your hands found their way to his back, currently running the nails down the hard muscle. the pain only added to nanami's delight.

"i'm right there, hun. you can let go."

the both of you come at the same time and the feeling was euphoric. despite wanting rest, you're glad you woke up.

"that was nice." you commented lamely. the word didn't sum up the experience, it was so much better than nice, but your tired brain couldn't think of anything else. apparently, nanami had the same sentiment.

"i think that's a bit of an understatement, darling. now come on and get some rest, you deserve it."

i get: reblog

you get: a california king bed with a nanami body pillow

#angelshubnetwork #kinktober2k23 #order of the day! #order up for nanami! #one matcha mochi #with a side of pineapple italian ice #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x you #nanami one shot #nanami kento one shot #nanami fic #nanami kento fic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk one shot #jjk fic #nanami #nanami kento #jjk

[angelmush]

it was my day off work today so we went to an italian deli for groceries and lunch (we had generously portioned mortadella sandwiches on springy herbed focaccia piled w roasted red peppers n lots of crisp lettuce w a blood orange soda on the side) and then while i was cooking dinner my gf made me a sparkling water w lemon and ice to sip on and played nina simone on a speaker and did the dishes for me :,,) i used the fresh fettuccine and creamy decadent gorgonzola sauce we bought today and i added green and yellow farmer’s market zucchini that i sautéed w garlic and butter and topped the pasta and veg w prosciutto bits that i fried til it was crispy and THEN !!!! after that i made a double batch of brown butter miso choccy chip cookie dough that i pre scooped and froze for single serve cookie emergencies (aka, when i crave a choccy chip cookie but only want 1 and don’t feel like actually baking and instead just have the energy to pull a frozen ball of cookie dough out of a ziploc and throw it in the oven for a few minutes) and THENNNNN we had some fancy ice cream (a black cocoa flavor and a triple caramelized milk flavor and a pineapple lychee flavor) while watching a movie together and now we r tucked up in bed w full bellies together !!!!!!!!

#long winded way to say i love food and also spending time w my gf and sharing it w her and cooking for her #we have been eating rly well but i haven’t been taking pics haha #but i loveeee cooking for her #and sharing delicious treats w her #personal #recipe #recovery

[fivemonsturzzzwowz]

the menu from https://www.freddysfanzone.com/ ! i'm visitor 102,723 :3 i have such a soft spot for in-universe expansive basically useless details like menus. i'll transcribe all the menu items the best i can! Value Deals 1. 20 game tokens, 1 medium 1 topping pizza, 2 soft drinks, 3.99 2. 40 game tokens, 2 medium 1 topping pizzas, 4 soft drinks, 5.99 3. 80 game tokens, 1 large 1 topping pizza, 4 soft drinks, 8.99 4. 120 game tokens, 2 large 1 topping pizzas, 6 soft drinks, 10.99 BONNIE'S FAMILY SPECIAL: 120 game tokens, 4 large 1 topping pizzas, 2 large fries, 10 soft drinks, 14.99 Pizzas Sizes: small (2.99) | medium (4.99) | large (5.99) (additional toppings .20 cents) Toppings: cheese, pepperoni, sausage, ham, bacon, banana pepper, mushroom, red onion, spinach, black olive, extra cheese, tomato, pineapple, green pepper. FREDDY'S PIZZA: 3.99 medium | 6.99 large All Meat Combo- classic marinara sauce, pepperoni, Italian sausage, ham, and smoked bacon Veggie Lovers- classic marinara sauce, tomatoes, black olives, green peppers, onions, and mushrooms Super Combo- (Obscured, likely classic marinara sauce), pepperoni, seasoned (obscured for a couple ingredients), green peppers, and onions Chica's Special- classic marinara sauce, pineapple, and ham (Upgrade any large pizza to a family size for just [$5? blurry] substitute milk or apple juice for kids beverage) House Salad Classic crisp lettuce, tomatoes, croutons, cheese, black olives, red onion, and cucumbers. $1.50 per person $1 add chicken (Add French fries, only $1!) Wings & More CHICA'S WINGS Small (serves 3) 2.99 | Family (serves 4) 5.99 | Party (serves [8? blurry]) 4.99 | XL Party (serves 13) 6.99 Beverages: Soft Drinks (0.75) Iced Tea (0.50) Water (0.25) Milk (0.50) Apple Juice (0.25) Beer (0.99) Entrees: Chicken Tenders- box crispy chicken strips with a side of French fries (1.99) Foxy's Sub- pepperoni, salami, ham, onions, banana peppers, Italian dressing, & provolone cheese (1.95) Club Sandwich- turkey, ham, lettuce, tomato, onions, mayonnaise, & American cheese on white toast (1.99) Grilled Cheese- American cheese melted on white bread with a side of tomato soup (1.99) Rabbit Foot Stew- rabbit legs, potatoes, carrots, and rice with a side of bread (1.50) Desserts: Mini Apple Pie (1.99) Cinnamon Sticks (1.00) Birthday Cake (1.50) Candy (0.25)

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf movie #food tw #freddy's fanzone #if any of yall have any idea of what the more blurry parts of it say lmk! i'll edit it accordingly :3 #ask to tag if need be ^^

[roxy206]

What's your usual coffee/tea order? Do you prefer warm or cold drinks? Do you have a favorite seasonal drink/treat?

Happy Sunday!

I almost always prefer an iced drink when it comes to ordering tea or coffee. I can’t drink a hot hot beverage, so that’s one reason I tend to opt for iced so I don’t have to wait forever before I start drinking it. I’m more of a tea person, so I will have hot tea if I’m making it myself usually & I don’t make coffee at home

An iced chai latte is typically my go to. A regular iced tea is also a solid option & I’ve been enjoying Dunkin’s mango pineapple refresher

I do also occasionally like to get a Medicine Ball from Starbucks if I am feeling a hot drink moment

Treat wise I think the only thing that’s really seasonal for me are some things my family has at Christmas. My mom’s side of the family is Italian American & my mom always makes pizzelles. We also get this Italian candy Torrone — actually Torrone sometimes also makes an appearance at Thanksgiving & Easter if someone decides to make a special trip to one of the stores that sells it

thanks Google for the pics

#kimmy answers #glittertrail #I think we may have found that you can get Torrone on Amazon — but I think it’s the brand we get if we can’t find our favorite

[surveysand]

forty-three.

1. What’s the last thing you ate? onion rings.

2. What’s your favourite cheese? provolone.

3. What’s your favourite fish? salmon.

4. What’s your favourite fruit? peaches.

5. When, if ever, did you start liking olives? i hate olives, but i can tolerate black olives. i can only eat them if they're mixed/topped on something.

6. When, if ever, did you start liking beer? never. i hate beer.

7. When, if ever, did you start liking shellfish? when i was younger. i don't remember ever not liking them.

8. What was the best thing your mum/dad/guardian used to make? my dad's mashed potatoes are to die for.

9. What’s the native specialty of your hometown? nothing, lol. we're not really known for anything.

10. What’s your comfort food? mashed potatoes.

11. What’s your favourite type of chocolate? milk.

12. How do you like your steak? medium rare or well. it depends on how i feel.

13. How do you like your burger? medium rare. topped with lettuce, onion, american cheese, ketchup, and mayo.

14. How do you like your eggs? sunny side up.

15. How do you like your potatoes? mashed.

16. How do you take your coffee? iced: caramel with cream and sugar.

17. How do you take your tea? i don't drink (warm) tea enough to know what i like in it.

18. What’s your favourite mug? i don't have one.

19. What’s your biscuit or cookie of choice? chocolate chip.

20. What’s your ideal breakfast? waffles, sausage links, hashbrowns, eggs, and some fruit. a glass of orange juice to drink.

21. What’s your ideal sandwich? turkey, provolone, lettuce, onion, and mayo. all on wheat.

22. What’s your ideal pizza: extra cheese, chicken, pepperoni, and pineapple.

23. What’s your ideal pie (sweet or savoury)? peanut butter.

24. What’s your ideal salad? chef's salad. hold the tomatoes.

25. What food do you always like to have in the fridge? eggs and deli meat.

26. What food do you always like to have in the freezer? frozen vegetables.

27. What food do you always like to have in the cupboard? pasta and canned soup.

28. What spices can you not live without? salt, pepper, onion powder, garlic powder/salt, and steak rub.

29. What sauces can you not live without? like condiments? ranch, ketchup, mayo, and soy sauce.

30. Where do you buy most of your food? giant and wal-mart.

31. How often do you go food shopping? every week.

33. What’s the most expensive piece of kitchen equipment you own? probably my microwave, lol. i don't own the big appliances in my apartment.

34. What’s the last piece of equipment you bought for your kitchen? baking sheets.

35. What piece of kitchen equipment could you not live without? stove and fridge.

36. How many times a week/month do you cook from raw ingredients? not very often, maybe once or twice. i only use raw ingredients when i bake.

37. What’s the last thing you cooked from raw ingredients? brownies.

38. What meats have you eaten besides cow, pig and poultry? i think lamb is the only other one i've eaten.

39. What’s the last time you ate something that had fallen on the floor? i have no idea.

40. What’s the last time you ate something you’d picked in the wild? quite a while. i don't think i've done that since i was a kid. my great grandmother had apple trees by her house and we'd always pick some and make homemade applesauce.

41. Arrange the following in order of preference: Italian, Mexican, Chinese, Indian, Thai, Sushi. sushi > mexican > italian > chinese > indian > thai

42. Arrange the following in order of preference: Vodka, Whiskey, Brandy, Rum. vodka > rum > brandy > whiskey

43. Arrange the following in order of preference: Garlic, Basil, Caramel, Lime, Mint, Ginger, Aniseed. garlic > basil > lime > caramel > ginger > mint > aniseed

44. Arrange the following in order of preference: Pineapple, Orange, Apple, Strawberry, Cherry, Watermelon, Banana. orange > pineapple > watermelon > banana > apple > strawberry > cherry

45. Bread and spread: wheat bread with butter and grape jam.

46. What’s your fast food restaurant of choice, and what do you usually order? mcdonald's. ten piece nuggets, large fry, large sweet tea. mcdouble on the side (i pig the hell out when it comes to mcdonald's). ranch on the side.

47. Pick a city. What are the best dining experiences you’ve had in that city? warwick, rhode island. i don't remember the exact name of the restaurant, but it was some of the best clam chowder i've ever had. i also had shrimp scampi that was out of this world. the atmosphere was great and, even though we had to (understandably) wait, it was situated right next to a body water that was lovely to sit and wait by.

48. What’s your choice of tipple at the end of a long day? what the hell is tipple?

49. What’s the next thing you’ll eat? i just ordered some ice cream and candy, so that.

50. Are you hungry now? yes. i want something sweet.

51. Do you eat your breakfast everyday? no.

52. At what time do you have breakfast? around 9 am.

53. At what time do you have lunch? typically 1 pm-ish.

54. What do you have for lunch? it's different everyday, but i typically do leftovers (if i have any) or something simple like a sandwich, wrap, etc.

55. At what time do you have dinner? around 8 pm.

56. What do you have for dinner? this also is different everyday.

57. Do you light candles during dinner? no.

58. How many chairs are there in your dining room and who sits in the main chair? i don't have a dining room.

59. Do you eat and drink using your right hand or the left one? right.

61. Mention the veggies that you like most: i love all of them, but my favorites are potatoes, broccoli, and corn.

62. What fruit and vegetable do you like the least? i haven't had any i don't like, honestly.

63. You like your fruit salad to have more: cantaloupe.

64. You prefer your vegetable salad to contain more: avocado.

65. What’s your favourite sandwich spread? mayo.

66. What’s your favourite chocolate bar? take 5's.

67. What’s your favourite dessert? cake.

68. What’s your favourite drink? sweet tea.

69. What’s your favourite snack? sour cream and onion chips.

70. What’s your favourite bubble gum flavour? spearmint.

71. What’s your favourite ice cream flavour? cookie dough.

72. What’s your favourite potato chip flavour? sour cream and onion.

73. What’s your favourite soup? wedding.

74. What’s your favourite pizza? hawaiian, but substitute ham with chicken.

75. What’s your favourite type of dish? something filling and savory.

76. What food do you hate? most pork dishes.

77. What’s your favourite restaurant? a local one in the city i live in (not going to name it for privacy reasons).

78. Do you eat homemade food, or food delivered from outside? both.

80. Who cooks at home? i live by myself, so me, lol.

81. What kind of diet (e.g. low-fat, high-fiber, high-carbohydrate, balanced diet etc.) do you have? i don't have a diet.

82. How do you keep yourself fit? i don't, lol.

[melissasadventures]

Friday, March 31st

Guest blogger: Charlie

Woke up - and I really did not want to get up - but once I did I got up and got dressed really quickly. We ate toast and packed up to go to Peggy's. We got a cab this time because of all the stuff. 

There were subways going over the Manhattan bridge which I thought was interesting. I wondered if we could take a subway just to go over the bridge. It might not sound that interesting but since I'm a tourist it's the most amazing thing in the world. 

When we got to Peggy's we dropped off stuff and got a couple crackers for the road.

Our first stop was the Michael Aram store, where there was gold everywhere, left-right-front-back. We were looking for something for some about $105 dollars for a prize that Melissa won when she was 15. We picked a silver peacock feather that we think would look good hanging on her wall. We dropped that at Peggy's and headed to SoHo for the Museum of Ice Cream.

When we got there there was a huge line. We finally got our tickets and we got inside. As we walked inside there was a huge whoosh of sweet air and everything was very pink. But they told us not to stop - and we continued walking into the admission room which was a hallway with ice cream cone patterns and a ice cream history timeline. Then we went into a room where we chose our ice cream name. My name was Chocolate Charlie with Whipped Cream. Melissa was Baked Alaska. We continue to a big room with a tiny stage and lots of ice cream. The choices were cherry sorbet and pink vanilla - but it was really vanilla with marachino cherry juice.  Delicious! I recited: “To be or not to be. To be... eaten.”

The whole place was very very pink: the walls are pink, the ice cream is pink and the workers are wearing pink. We went upstairs with vivid pink lightning that led to a yellow room, with doors that would open with scenes of milk being poured, and ice cream being scooped.

Then there was a subway that looked like you were flying and everything was pink. There was a room full of bananas and so many phone calls!  Then I bounced in the tiny bounce house. There was a room where it looked the walls were ice cream that were being scooped by giant scoops. They where serving ice cream in that room (obviously). The options were cotton candy and vegan strawberry. I got vegan strawberry. Then there was the only museum part of the museum: historical ice cream scoops and ice cream facts.

Further on there was a slide. It was such a good slide. It was twirly. You were handed a potato sack. You would twirl until it was black. You would arrive at your destination - a lovely melting cave with dimly lit lanterns. In that room there was more ice cream. The options were soft serve chocolate soft serve and pineapple. There were puzzles and a word search. 

The next room was like a playground with jungle gym and arcade serving cotton candy and lots of fun. Then there were wonky mirrors and then you went up a long hallway with red vents on each side of you with gentle light. You went up the ramp getting close until you could peek through. Then you reach lockers. What where you going to do there? It was a pool of sprinkles! It was amazing. It moved and sounded like water. We spent a ton of time there. Then we grabbed our shoes and reached the end. But no! We turn around and did half the museum again in reverse. We got some more cotton candy and played with everything again. 

We were walking down the street to go back to Peggy's and I suddenly said "Hello Mother!" because my mother was walking down the street.

  Then we to a concert and had dinner. It was overwhelming. Grandma said that's what Italian restaurants are like. It was stressful and noisy.

I wish my flight was cancelled until next week.   But the ice cream museum was definitely the highlight of it all.

[chelleztjs18]

Hello you mrs. curious honey nut cheerio 😅

Well that's good that it turned out tasty. Do you not cook a lot or do you just not do pasta dishes? Also, I would go with the tiramisu. I'm actually going to learn how to make that for Christmas. I just gotta find lady fingers lol

Yup, I've commented on some of your stories before. Maybe I'll try to start reblogging and commenting more with other authors. It just doesn't go with my blog though lol for the new year, I'll start a new blog with just all writing stuff 🤔

I was just kidding about you being crazy. I drink iced coffee during the winter too lol I prefer iced coffee over hot coffee.

Do you guys keep the tree up until after new year is over? Or once Christmas is over?

I guess the stalking, or obsessing over someone like in the first season.

-CuriousGeorge

Hello corn-punn! 😅

Yeah, we rarely cook or eat italian. He likes pizza, n im picky with pizza, plus i like pineapple on my pizza but he hates it that much that doesnt even want to do it half n half because he thinks the pineapple juice touch his half side of pizza 😅🤣. N i cant eat pizza that much, so i rarely eat pizza.

Oh wooow! Let me know how it goes if u make some one day.. i hv been wanting to try to make my own too n same, i dont know where to find lady fingers.😅

Ohh u have commented on my fic before? So i have interacted with u off anon before?? Hmmm which tumblr r u?🤨

Have u comment on my post recently?

Hahah its okay. I know u were kidding. But u r right, i can be crazy sometimes.🙂🙃

Well, we'll take it down after we got back fron vacation.

Oh hmm stalking, no i havent. Obsessing over someone, yes i hv. N usually just secretly, i never really show it. I can say lizzie really got me obsessed over her.

How bout u?

Cheerio! (Not the cereal one) 😅

#chellez answers #ask answered #anon answered #curious george anon

[happilyenchantingcomputer]

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[feedeepreggobellyluv]

Heres what my fiancee and I ate today (we both got our own stuff no sharing 😏 we split it all pretty evenly)

Morning

4 sausage burritos

4 sausage mcmuffins

4 hashbrowns

3 large Hi-Cs and 1 Large Coke

2 Large Caramel Frappes

Afternoon

2 ft long subway subs

Italian cheese bread with rotisserie chicken extra provolone lettuce pickles onions extra garlic aioli

4 chalupas

2 burritos

4 tacos

2 nacho fries

3 large baja blast fountain drinks

2 packs of cinnabon delights

Evening

2 1lbs burritos (with pork, chicken, steak, spanish rice & refried beans, topped with queso grilled shrimp, pineapple and chorizo)

4 large baskets of chips

2 cups of salsa

2 cups of queso

2 sides of rice

2 sides of beans

6 corona extra

1 friend ice cream sundae with hot fudge and a fried toritlla bowl (serves 4-6)

A F ton of candy

Today was amazing we literally smoked weed and stuffed our faces all day, cuddles scary movies sex its perfection. Shes so swollen that she said she felt like a whale. Also told me if this is what being pregnant feels like then she needs to be fat and pregnant all the time. Shes too nervous about it being so new to this community that she doesnt want to post rn but she said she’d think about it in the future, meanwhile she keeps hinting to me hints and one liners that feeders would keel over for and also is wanting a mistress or other woman for the both of us so Im lowkey hoping that she ends up loving this cause I would explode if I saw another cute girl feeding her (skinny or bbw or ssbbw we like alot of different body types). Lastly she had to take her bra off in the car on the way home cause her stomach was so bloated and her boobs have grew quite a bit recently, she had to pull her yoga pants down to let her fupa and belly plop into her lap I almost came in my pants just watching. Meanwhile I feel like a blimp, just like her I cant stop burping and farting and waddling. What really suprises me is that even though were super stuffed our belly buttons haven’t popped out, her and my navel are so deep you can tell were become lard filled blubber balls

I know this is alot but Im just so excited about how this Halloween went and how our journey is going 😊

[bokutosmochi]

kinktober day seven: mask kink!

FOGGY MIRRORS ♡ FUSHIGURO TOJI

fem!reader x ghostface! fushiguro toji

ingredients: toji indulges you in one of your fantasies

what's it: smut

allergen warning/s: knife kink, mirror kink, degradation [name calling, slut shaming], breeding kink, mask kink

sugar level: 1.5k

regulars: @ventdavi154 @deobiforever @sugusshi @angelshub

parlor's note: i love toji and i love scream, this is literally a match made in heaven and i love it.

bon appetit!

you've always been a big fan of the scream movies.

sure, there were ones you heavily preferred over the others, but nevertheless, the iconic movie franchise had a glimmer of nostalgia to it, making it one of your comfort movies. as such, it became a tradition of sorts for you to watch the movies during halloween season. no matter how busy you were, you've always been able to squeeze it somewhere in the month's schedule, whether it be spaced out between weeks, or not spaced out at all, instead being a movie marathon.

this didn't change when you started dating fushiguro toji.

it didn't matter if he admitted it or not, you both knew he loved the movies now too. amazingly, he's never watched any of the movies before you started dating. when he first told you this fact, you couldn't help but gasp and pull him to your bedroom, exclaiming a mishmash of words pertaining to having him watch the entire franchise, though he was only able to piece that out once you spread out all the cds in front of him. at the time, your words were all too slurred together for him to understand anything.

along with your obsession with the movies, he also knew about your infatuation with the ghostface character; it was really skeet ulrich and matthew lillard's performance of the iconic masked fiend that made you fall in love with the character. he was so charismatic, and the teasing tilt that's ever present in his unique and recognizable voice reminded you of another dark haired man you're in love with. if the way you looked at the television with a dreamy look on your face whenever ghostface is on screen didn't tell toji enough, there was also a time where you spelled it out for him, telling him that one of your fantasies was to fuck him while he's dressed as the horror icon.

and fushiguro toji never disappoints.

"this what you wanted, filthy girl?" toji grunted in your ear. the man in question told you to put on minimal makeup some minutes ago, emphasizing mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick.

you didn't know why he did that at first. one of your guesses, and certainly the most realistic one was maybe he's going to take you out on a date and wanted you to get ready, but toji has never asked you to apply makeup whenever you're going on dates before. he's never minded you going with makeup or going barefaced so it confused you.

now you know why. the man had the biggest kink for ruining your makeup. there was something about smudging your mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick that never failed to make his cock stir in his pants.

he loves you barefaced, he loves you with makeup skillfully done, and he loves you with messy makeup.

he loves it to the point where whenever you have it on, he always fucks you harder than usual. like now.

he has you bent over the bathroom counter, bare chest pressed tightly against the cold marble as one of his hands apply pressure to your back. your hands are laying on the table too, at first trying to find purchase on anything, grip on anything, but now, you've resorted to just clenching and unclenching them because toji, that tease, would end up shoving the items within your grasp away.

if it was any other time, he'd tell you to look into his eyes through the mirror in front of you, but that's not entirely possible right now as he's busy making your fantasies come to life: he's wearing the ghostface robe and mask. as a cherry on top, he also has a knife against the skin of your throat. the metal is cold and sharp, and you barely feel the edge. it's angled so you would be able to feel how sharp it is, feel the danger in the situation, but not enough to actually harm you. you know it's a real weapon, but your worry is zero to none because toji has experience with them. you're assured that you're safe, that somehow, someway, he's tilted it so that even if you lurch too far forward, it wouldn't actually cut into your flesh: at least to a degree where it'll cause significant injury.

just as he planned, makeup's running down your face, staining it. he's fucking you so well, to the point where your lips are bitten and swollen though you have kissed nothing but the plastic of his mask and there are black tracks running down your eyes from the tears you've shed due to him continually bruising your cervix.

"can you hear that?" he stops talking for a moment to emphasize his point, though even when he speaks, you could still hear the sound of wet skin hitting wet skin, the squelch of your pussy as his cock pushes its way in. "that's the sound of you being a fucking slut."

"you're so wet." he runs the hand that was previously on your lower back up your inner thigh, moist with your arousal, then grips your face. it's tight, the way he holds you, and having your scent so near your face makes your head spin. your cheeks squish together and can't help but moan at the sight, reflected through the mirror that's fogging up with each pant that comes out of your mouth. "d'you see how wet you are? all for some murderer in a mask and a knife by your throat?" his tone does not hide his disgust and it makes you squeeze around him.

he can't help but sneer a whore at your reaction to his degrading words.

"fuck, i love this little slutty pussy." he throws his head back. the words are muffled through the mask, but it's enough to send shivers down your spine.

he lets go of your cheeks for a second to toss one of your legs up onto the counter effortlessly. the new position lets him hit deeper inside you and you damn near scream at the feeling.

toji chuckles, "quiet down, baby. don't want any of your neighbors to file a noise complaint, don't ya? i know it's halloween, but i don't think they're that nice."

you're left a whimpering, wet mess below him, but you wouldn't have it any other way. everything happening is straight out of what used to be just your filthiest late night fantasies, from toji's build, his voice, the way he moves his hips, his cock, his demeanor, both reminiscent of himself and the character he's dressed up as, his look, the way he talks to you, everything. as always, he knew what you wanted without having to ask you. this includes the way his hand traveled to your clit, and how he moved the hand holding the knife as you jolted forward. "bet you're close, sweet girl. your pussy's squeezing me so tight." he gasps and you nod.

"nghh yes! yes, please can i come?" you would have gone completely limp from his ministrations, if it wasn't for the hand that's gripping the blade holding you up.

he puts his face close to your ear, and in a mocking manner says "you have to beg for it first." making you whine. he tuts at you condescendingly. "you said you wanted a villain, baby. what kind of villain would i be if i took it easy on you?"

then he makes it even harder when he rolls your swollen bud with his calloused fingers which causes your knees to buckle. "beg for it, sweet girl. i know you can do it."

"please, please, please, please," you sob. "wanna come so bad. lemme come for you, mister ghostface, please."

those were the right words to say, lemme come for you, because before you knew it, he's growling out a do it at the same time he's thrusting his hips harder as he breeds you, pushing his semen further inside you.

"there you go, there you go, you dirty girl."

i get: reblog

you get: a ghostface mask with toji's 🤭

#angelshubnetwork #kinktober2k23 #order of the day! #order up for toji! #one matcha mochi #with a side of pineapple italian ice #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #toji one shot #toji fushiguro one shot #toji fic #toji fushiguro fic #toji #toji fushiguro #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk one shot #jjk fic #jjk

[outofsstyles]

CITY OF LOVE

{part 1 }

a/n: IT’S FINALLY HERE!! This is the second and final part of my friends to lovers fic featuring italy!Harry!! If you haven’t read the first part (When In Rome) make sure to click on the link above before coming back to this one  :)) As usual, feedback is always welcome,  hope everyone enjoys this one!

tag list: @rainsoncornelias​ @mellamolayla​ @sushiabby​

Word count: 13.1k (got a bit carried away, oops?)

Pairing: best friend!Harry + reader

Rating: M

You visit the notorious City Of Love and Harry’s infatuated.

“We’re almost there,” Harry says, interrupting your daydreams as you stare out the window of the moving train.

You give him a small smile, checking the time on your wrist clock before going back to your previous position.

He loves catching you in moments like this. When you’re so focused on your own thoughts you become unaware of the world around you. It’s one of those moments where you look the prettiest, he thinks — not that you ever look anything below gorgeous to him. But there’s something about it, when you’re just so lost inside your head, not even trying to look beautiful, something about these moments makes his heart skip a beat. He wishes he could open up your head and read your mind like it was his favorite book. Learn your thoughts and your feelings. He wishes it so badly.

Instead, he takes the opportunity to admire your figure without the risk of getting caught staring — knowing you’d tease him to no end if you did. He takes notice of all the details in you he’s memorized over and over through the years you’ve known each other, but somehow never got tired of it. He doesn’t want to seem like a creep. And it’s not as if he does it on purpose either. He tries to concentrate on the book open in front of him, but only manages to skip through a few words before finding himself glancing up at you again.

It’s unfair to him how beautiful you look this early in the morning. The sunlight shining through the window next to you hitting your face so perfectly it makes his heart jump on his chest. Your hair’s cascading down your shoulders in a way that not even the most skilled painter could replicate in one of his masterpieces.  The dress you chose for the day hugs your body loosely enough so you have space to breathe underneath but still tight enough that makes him twitch on his trousers every time his eyes wander to your chest.

The scene seems as it should belong on the walls of an art museum. You’re glowing.

He makes a subtle move to reach for his bag next to him, keeping his eyes on you to make sure you don’t notice whilst he retrieves his small camera.

Pressing the camera against his face, he quickly pushes the button, capturing the sight in front of him. The ‘click’ sound of the photo being taken catches your attention, making you throw him a pointed look, lips parting with a small gasp.

“Harry!” You call out when you see him moving the camera from his face. “A warning wouldn’t hurt!”

“And what’s the fun in that?” He grins down at the picture shown on the small screen. “Don’t get to capture your natural beauty.”

He glances up at you, catching a blush creeping on your cheeks as you try to hold back a smile. “Does that mean I’m not pretty when I pose?”

“Course not,” he quickly denies, shaking his head. “Didn’t mean it like that, of course you’re always beautiful it’s just-”

“Harry,” you giggle as he nervously stumbles on his words. “I was just teasing.”

He shakes his head at you, “Just like the spontaneous moments s’all.”

“I know,” you smile fondly at him.

Now he feels like he’s the one blushing. Not even because of anything that’s being said but just by the way you’re smiling at him. It fills his stomach with the most beautiful butterflies. He glances down again so you don’t notice it, pretending he’s doing something on the camera, digits fidgeting with the buttons, mindlessly going through the menu that pops up. He peeks his eyes back up subtly, only to find you looking back out the window, but this time with the loveliest smile on your face.

It doesn’t take much longer until the train slowly comes to a stop. A vocal announcement coming from the tiny speaker above your heads lets you know it’s your stop, urging the passengers to step carefully out of the cabins. You quickly gather your belongings, joining the small crowd that’s drifting out to the platform.

The change in the atmosphere is abrupt when you step out. It almost feels as if you hit a wall of heat, the air around you is thick — making you reach for your water bottle hanging on the side of your backpack.

“Benvenuta a Verona!” Harry’s voice chirps from behind you, his hand adjusting his sunglasses on his face as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, hugging you close as you begin to follow the group moving towards the exit of the station. You arch your brows at him in a wordless question while you sip from the bottle in your hands. It doesn’t take more than that for him to understand your request, translating his previous words. “Welcome to Verona, darling.”

It makes an elated sigh to escape from your lips, “Fair Verona,” you say. “The city of love.”

“The city of love,” Harry repeats, letting his arm fall back to the side of his body once you turn to place your bottle back where you retrieved it from. “Excited?”

“Very,” you squeal, grabbing his arm and giving it a squeeze. “Only know this city through the words of our good old friend, William.”

He chuckles, “please stop referring to Shakespeare by his first name.”

“You know I won’t.” You joke, biting back a smile as you look up at him.

The shimmering sunlight hits the two of you as you walk out of the station, the sky painted a beautiful tone of blue. There’s a slight breeze hitting the spot on top of the entrance stairs, causing your dress to dance around your thighs as you step down to the sidewalk. You giggle as you bring your hands down, trying to keep the skirt from rolling up and revealing much more than you’d intended when you chose the outfit for the day. A few children run down the steps to catch the bubbles a smiley old lady blows from what seems to be a sweets stand, the sound of their laughter filling the surrounding space.

It seems like the perfect beginning for what Harry intends to be the perfect day. It nearly makes him sigh in relief when you glance at him with a bright smile adorning your face. If there’s anything he wants to get it right for you during your stay, it’s Verona.

He first visited the city when his previous roommate, Peter (a tall lanky Canadian boy that was almost as bad with Italian as Harry at first — and always managed to bring a laugh out of him) got offered a job at a small atelier located in the center of the city. Harry helped him with the moving part and in the midst of putting together wooden shelves and relocating couches, he found some time to wander around the streets nearby. It didn’t take much for him to fall in love with every corner, beguiled by every slight detail he noticed.

And it didn’t help how much of it reminded him of you, only consolidating how captivated he felt about it.

**

“This camera is so confusing,” you say once Harry approaches you.

You’re frowning down at the gadget in your hands, fingers pressing one of the multiple buttons next to the display screen, opening a menu screen that only reinforces your puzzled expression. It makes him smile; you look so fucking cute.

Harry makes a move to sit down next to you on the step next to the sidewalk, plopping in his mouth a piece of pineapple from the fruit bowl he had just purchased. He reaches for the camera in your hands, quickly pressing a few buttons so that the screen is back to displaying the pictures instead of the menu you had just opened. You mutter a quick ‘thank you’ as you shield your vision from the sun with your hand, squinting your eyes in a try to take a look at the screen under the bright sunlight.

“Why didn’t you bring your Polaroid?” You question, analyzing the photo shown on the small screen. It’s one he took of you when you walked into a no exit street because you loved the look of the flowers hanging from the balconies on the old buildings all the way down to the floor. You’re laughing at some dumb joke he had made, your eyes scrunched and your head thrown back in a big smile — it was probably his favorite picture he took of you. Your voice brings him back from his thoughts when he doesn’t answer right away. “Just would’ve been so much easier to use.”

“It’s broken,” he announces, focusing back on the fruits in front of him as he grabs a bite of a half-cut grape.

“What?” You gaze up at him in shock. “How?”

“Matteo,” he says, glancing up at you only to find your arched eyebrow. “My flatmate.”

You roll your eyes slightly, “I know who he is, Harry.” You say, “did he break it?”

“Sort of,” he starts, “we were drunk one night, and he wanted to take like some pictures on the staircase,” you frown at him, “don’t ask,” he chuckles, “long story short, he let the Polaroid fall down the steps, and she was never the same after that.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle. “Rest in peace, poor camera.”

“He bought me this one though, so it’s all good.” Harry motions to the device in your hands. “Was the cheapest nicest camera he could find, but it does the job just fine.”

You smile at him, moving your eyes back down to the small screen as you continue to go through the photos. Harry takes in the sight from where you two sit in comfortable silence, the loud mixture of different chatter surrounding the space. A crowd of people wanders around the small fair that covers the center of the open plaza. Some of them are clearly tourists with sunburnt skin and selfie sticks, he chuckles at a specific family wearing bright matching outfits, the two kids eating their small scoops of ice cream, but seeming to get it more on their own faces and clothes than inside their mouths. He can also pick out some that most likely are locals from around the area, ones that come with their reusable bags to pick out the fresh vegetables offered in the tents.

Harry picks up a piece of the fruit on the bowl with the plastic fork, holding it up near your mouth as an offer.

You peek at the food quickly, not really registering before wrapping your lips around it. “What is it?” Your voice is muffled as you chew.

“Watermelon,” Harry chuckles, “Do you not know how watermelon tastes?”

“Shut up.” He feels your elbow pushing him playfully as you let out a short laugh. “Just took me a second,” you look down at the bowl on his lap before meeting his again with a pout on your lips. “Can I have another one?”

And there’s no fucking way he could ever refuse. “Sure.”

He picks up another piece of watermelon, purposefully choosing the biggest one on the bowl, raising it up to offer you again. You lean towards the fork, your tongue poking out just a bit as you bite into the fruit presented to you. This would be fine, just a simple action, if you didn’t make sure to stare into his eyes while you do it.

The intention behind the gesture is unknown to him, but it doesn’t stop his breath from catching on his throat. He can feel his blood rush down his body, his cock plumping just slightly as he peeks down to watch your tongue poking out to lick a bit of the juice that’s on your lips, you chuckle slightly. The scene seems to happen almost in slow motion to him, and he can’t help but start feeling flustered, breaking his gaze away from you quickly. Of course, you couldn’t have done it on purpose, and he wonders if it was all a speck of his love deprived imagination once he peeks up to find you fiddling with your backpack sitting by your feet.

A blush in creeping on his cheeks as he looks down again, resting the fork back inside the bowl to reach for his sunglasses that rest on top of his head - with the purpose of holding back his curls.

“God, why did I pack so much stuff?” You ask yourself, completely unaware of his pounding heart, closing the backpack with a small laugh. “we’re only staying for a night and I brought like, three shirts.”

“Is it too heavy? I can carry it for you,” he offers, mentally cussing himself out for not doing it sooner.

“It’s fine, H, I can manage it.” You assure.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind,” he insists. “Should’ve asked Peter to leave a copy of his key under the doormat or summat, so you wouldn’t have to carry your stuff around all day.”

“Harry,” you giggle as he stops rambling. “It’s fine, not heavy at all.”

You reach to pick another piece of fruit from his almost empty bowl - this time a squared-cut apple.

“So, where are we headed next, boss?” You inquire, leaning your body against his.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, taking a second to recompose himself. “You’ll see.”

You buff out an annoyed breath, “thought we agreed to stop with the surprises.”

“This is a special one, though,”  he smirks. “You’ll like it, don’t worry.”

**

Just as he predicted he hears a gasp leave your lips as you turn around the tunnel, your face lighting up in excitement as you recognize the place standing in front of you.

Juliet’s house.

The building is simple, nothing too out of the ordinary when compared to other houses around the city. Except it’s the meaning behind the exposed brick walls and the notorious balcony poking out from the second floor that makes it so memorable. In the courtyard in front of the entrance, there’s a small group gathered up, some lining up in front of the house to go into the museum, and some crowded around the statue of Juliet positioned across from the front door. It’s not nearly as packed as it can usually get, though, and for that Harry lets out a relieved sigh, not wanting the mass amount of bodies crushed together in the limited space to spoil your experience.

This was the place Harry was most excited for you to visit, imagining how it would be to watch your glistening eyes from the moment you’d announced you had bought the tickets to visit him.

He knows how much you loved Romeo and Juliet, even being probably one of the most overused love stories ever written, you still gushed about it since the moment you first read it way back when you were in high school. It was the story that sparked in you the love for literature. The one you used in your final thesis - which even though Harry couldn’t really understand much of, he still read all the way through.

“This is amazing,” you breathe out, your eyes scanning every inch of the place around you — so caught up at the moment, you don’t even realize Harry’s watching you.

“Is it like how you imagined it?” He asks, biting into his cheek to stop him from smiling too hard when you look up with a slight grin.

“Well, I’ve seen it before, you know,” you say, gazing around the graffiti-filled walls. Harry raises his brows at you in a silent question,  “I’ve watched Letters For Juliet.”

“Oh,” he follows you as you amble around. “Do they show this house in it?”

You gasp, turning to look at him with a dramatic shock in your face. “You’re telling me, Harry Styles, the king of romcoms, has never seen Letters For Juliet?”

He rolls his eyes at your teasing, chuckling softly, “unfortunately not.” He rests his hand over his heart, looking down, feigning shame. “Guess I have lost my crown.”

A giggle erupts from your lips, he looks up to watch you shake your head at him. “It’s just like I thought it would be, though,” you say, voice softer. “It’s beautiful.”

“You have to get your picture on Juliet’s statue,” he motions in the direction of the monument as you get closer to it, reaching for his bag to retrieve his camera. “Go grab her boob.”

“Don’t say it like that!” You snort, poking him playfully as you move to stand next to the motionless figure.

“But that’s the ritual!” He giggles, pointing the camera at you when you position your hand over her bust -- the bronze on the region already worn out from the numerous people that touch it every day.

You wait for the camera’s click, indicating the picture had been taken before jumping down from the step. “You rub her right breast to have luck in love, it’s a tradition,” you tell him, walking around the statue to glance at the wall, facing away from him. “You say it like it’s something… Cheeky.”

“So it isn’t cheeky?” You throw him a pointed look, causing him to chuckle as he raises his arms in defense. “It’s just an odd tradition, that’s all,” he glances down at the small camera screen to check the photo that was taken. It takes a moment of him smiling at it to himself before he realizes you didn’t say anything in response to his tease.

The silence makes him look up, searching around for you, quickly finding you standing not too far by the tunnel you had come from, your eyes focused on the ancient wall. He approaches you, earning a quick glance as you sense his presence getting closer. His eyes wander to the surface you’re focusing on. Every inch of it is covered with notes, some written in paper and glued to the surface, the edges of it marked with time stains, some written directly on the bricks. But all of them had the same feeling draped all over their words: love. It being the uncertainty of finding their other half, or the heartbreak of being separated from them. Most of them were as simple as just two initials, meant to mark the passion of a couple that had been in this exact same spot he stands on somewhere in time. A few of them, however, - mostly the ones written on paper - go more in dept in all kinds of tales of love.

Harry feels as if he could waste days just reading them all, and for your similar fascination, he assumes you could, as well.

“Look at all of those, H,” you gesture at the notes covering every inch of the stone walls. “Each one of them tells a different love story, isn’t it crazy?”

“It is,” he answers, his eyes focusing on a particular pink note in front of him. The writing is a bit smudged from time but he can still understand the words of a woman professing her love for her partner, their names written inside of a heart at the bottom of the paper. He finds himself wondering more about their story beyond the words written. “Do you think some of these couples are not together anymore?”

“Absolutely,” you say without skipping a beat, causing Harry’s eyes to peak over to you. You glance up at him, a small smile taking over your lips. “But you know what’s nice?”

“What?”

“Even if they’re not together anymore,” you begin, gazing back at the wall. “A part of their love will always stay here. Intact.”

He pauses, letting your words linger in the air as he gazes back at the note he was looking at. “That’s true.”

There’s a silence between you two, both quietly admiring all the different stories told in the few-worded messages splattered in front of you. It seems like something he could get lost for hours, just imagining how they all played out. Thinking about the moment that brought all of them to this place.

“Don’t waste your love on somebody who doesn’t value it,” you break the silence, reading the words written a bit lower in dirty white paint — the writing is big, taking over some of the notes. You let out a quiet sigh, voice so low he almost misses it, “William Shakespeare.”

Harry gazes down at you, trying to find some sort of indication on your intentions behind reading those words out loud but only being met with the side of your face, your eyes never leaving the words written in front of you.

“Maybe I should’ve listened to him, huh?” you let out a dry laugh as an attempt to mask the meaning of your words with humor, but your voice gives out just a bit, unveiling the hurt behind it.

The words you say hit Harry like a truck, his heart twisting as if someone had just ripped it out of his chest. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, knitting his brows together as he calls out your name just above a whisper. His voice is soft and tender, and he holds back the heaviness in his heart because this isn’t about him, you’re the one that needs to be comforted.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to be a downer,” you chuckle again, looking down at your shoes and facing away from Harry, your hands quickly moving up to rub your eyes. He calls you again, this time making a move to reach for your shoulder, but you turn around suddenly, giving him your best smile in an attempt to distract him from your watery eyes. “I’m fine, H, really. It’s just the feeling of this place making me a bit emotional,” it’s bullshit, you know it, he knows it. “How about we go back to that ice cream place we saw on our way over?”

“Do you not want to go inside the museum?” He inquires, the worry still visible in his features.

“It’s fine, I’ve read it’s mostly a cash grab, anyway,” you let out a dry laugh. You’re trying to make him smile, he can tell. “So, what do you say? Gelato?”

He wants to pry, wants to question you. But he swallows back his words, something he’s been perfecting with you over the years. Holding back his feelings, pretending they’re not there. It suffocates him sometimes, but he knows losing you is not worth it. So he does the same as always, smiling down at you and ignoring the knives on his heart. “That sounds lovely.”

**

There’s no mention of the occurrence at Juliet’s courtyard for the rest of the day. You don’t give him any opening to even bring it up as well, immediately changing the subject as soon as you go through the tunnel again. So Harry just pushes the subject to the back of his mind, in order to enjoy your company.

Eventually, you’re both sitting at a stone bench in front of Peter’s apartment building, waiting for him to come home so you can relax from walking around all day. He had been clear on his texts to Harry as for him not to take you out for dinner, arguing he wanted to teach you his - now improved, in his words - old spaghetti recipe. It’s something that brings a smile to his face, how his friends are so welcoming to you, being eager to meet the girl he rambles about so much.

So as the twilight settles on the sky above, and just in time for when you first complain about your groaning stomach, a loud voice greets the two of you. It makes you jump in your seat, causing Harry to laugh, recognizing his friend’s voice.

Peter greets you with a tight hug, barely giving you any time to get up from the seat. “Can’t believe I’m finally meeting you!” His voice sharp next to your ear. You gaze at Harry with slightly widening eyes from over his shoulder, only to be met with an amused grin as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. Peter pulls back from you, holding into your shoulder as he bends to give you a kiss on the cheek. “Heard so much about you, it’s almost as if I know you already!”

“Good things, I hope,” you chuckle, the earring dangling from his ear catching your attention as it shimmers with the bit of sunlight still glaring.

He reaches for Harry to give him a quick hug, quickly focusing back on you. “As if this man could ever say a single bad word about you.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, watching a blush creep on his cheeks as he shakes his head. “Everyone is out to embarrass me in this country.”

“Spare me of your drama tonight, Styles,” he reaches to lock his arm around yours, guiding you inside the building. “She’s the star today.”

You look over your shoulder to Harry’s face, a grin eminent on his lips as he follows behind. The way up the staircase to the apartment is spent with Peter’s voice echoing around the flat stone walls, babbling about a story of when he used to live in Rome. More specifically, one that involved Harry having too much to drink and rambling to him for hours about you. He doesn’t get to go into much detail, though, with Harry himself interrupting him with warm cheeks and eyes glancing at the back of his friend’s head, refusing to meet yours every time you smirk down at him.

You walk into his apartment and are instantly hit with a small furry cat snuggling against your legs, making you coo as you crouch to scratch behind its ears.

“That’s Romeo,” Peter points, reaching to pull the strap of his bag over his shoulder, throwing it on the couch next to him. “I’m very creative with names, as you can tell.”

“I love it,” you say, murmuring some compliments to the tiny creature before getting up.

“I’m gonna get everything started for dinner, your room is the first door on the right down the hall, you can get settled and meet me in the kitchen for your culinary lessons.” Peter doesn’t leave any room for questions, striding towards an arched entrance you didn’t notice next to you.

Harry starts to follow you as you go to the place Peter had indicated, but as he gets close, he notices Romeo chasing you curiously, trying to reach for your untied shoelace. He crouches down much to play with the cat, not paying much notice to you as you enter the room. The animal pursues his wiggly fingers, as Harry waves them in the air, moving them away in sudden movements every time Romeo get close to catching them.

“Uhm… Harry?” You call him from inside the room, appearing at the doorframe with a frown between your brows. You look in the direction of where Peter had disappeared, lowering your voice a bit. “I think we might have a little problem.”

“What is it?” he gets up, nearing you and stopping next to the open doorway.

“There’s only one bed here,” you step away to give him a visual of the room.

“Oh,” he walks in, taking a look into the small guest room, and just as you said, he only spots a single bed tucked right under the big window. He hadn’t even thought about that detail, “That’s a problem.”

You nod at him, eyes moving back to the bed a frown trying to find a solution for the issue in question. The bed is just simply too narrow for the two of you to even share without one having to sleep on top of the other, and as much as Harry wouldn’t mind that he would never suggest it out loud. So he just follows your gaze, as if staring at it would magically bring a resolution — apart from the most obvious one.

“Is everything okay in there?” Peter’s voice echoes at the end of the hallway once he spots the two of you hovering by the door.

You part your lips gazing at Harry expectantly. “Kind of,” he begins, “Is there only one bed here?”

Peter chuckles, leaving the books in his hand on top of a shelf before making his way to where you stand. “Forgot to show you, sorry about that.” He says, walking past you as he enters the room, leaning forward, he pulls out a mattress from under the bed. “There we go, no need to break your back on my tiny couch, H.”

“Hey!” Harry drags the word out in a dramatic manner, “who said I would be the one on the couch?”

A chuckle leaves your lips, your hand patting his chest playfully, “always a gentleman.”

“I would never let a guest sleep on the couch, Styles,” Peter argues. “As far as I know she is the guest here.”

You smile brightly at his words, bringing your hand up to meet his in a high-five. Harry rolls his eyes at the scene, “I should’ve never introduced you too.”

As promised, Peter teaches you how to make his improved sauce recipe, the kitchen quickly becoming filled with your giggles as you try to follow his instructions. Harry watches you two as he makes the pasta, every so often sneaking to your counter to steal a piece of whatever you’re cutting, earning a playful scolding from you. And soon, the scent of boiling tomato and fresh herbs takes over the air, Stevie Nicks’ voice singing lowly in the background while you chat. It’s such a simple moment, but he just feels so happy he wishes he could live the rest of his life like this.

After dinner, he notices your heavy eyelids and eventual yawns signaling your sleepy state. Still, you insist on washing your dishes, even after Harry persisting on doing it for you. So you stand quietly side by side, washing the plates and humming along to Dreams, bumping occasionally on each other hips. And not long after, you’re finally changing into your nightwear and tucking yourselves in your respective beds. Harry takes the mattress on the floor, not leaving any room for you to argue with his decision.

He can almost feel the sleep taking over his body, the soft sound of his own breathing and the low humming of the small fan tucked in the corner lulling him into slumber.

“I’m sorry for today,” your voice suddenly breaks into the quiet room, making him open his eyes to see you’ve moved to the edge of your bed, looking down at him. The moonlight from outside shines through the cracks of the closed curtains behind you, allowing him to only make out your silhouette, but not quite see your face. His lips part, but before he can say anything you whisper again, “Didn’t mean to cry.”

His face softens at your words, body shifting to get closer to you. “Don’t have to apologize for that,” he reassures, “Never have to apologize for it, love.”

He can tell your smiling, even with the shadow casting on your face. “I know,” you say. “Just didn’t want to be a downer.”

“You’re not,” he says in a heartbeat, “If anything you’re the one who brightens my day.”

You breathe out a laugh, “always a charmer, aren’t you?” You bring your hand to rest under your head. “Don’t have to use that with me.”

“I’m serious,” he props himself up on his elbow.

“Thank you, H,” you reach a hand down, to which he grabs it without a thought, enlacing your fingers together.

The room falls silent again. You stare into the ceiling, Harry’s thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand as he watches you. He watches your chest moving with your breathing; the frown adorning your face makes him want to reach up and caress it away, but he holds it back.

“I don’t think I ever even loved him, you know?” You confess quietly, the words coming out of your mouth quietly but rushed as if you’d been holding them back.

It takes him back a bit, not just due to new information presented to him but the meaning behind it. He lets it linger in the air for a moment, not sure how to respond. It’s the first time you’re even openly discussing your past relationship with him. He hesitates, but feels like it’s best to ask what he’s always wondered, “Why were you with him for so long then?”

“I-” you stop, exhaling when you turn to gaze at him once again. “I don’t know,” it comes out in a whisper, yet he can still sense the vulnerability in your voice. “I guess-” you begin, sighing frustratedly. “I guess I just didn’t want to be alone.”

There’s a familiar pang in his heart at the way you say it, knowing how deeply he could relate to the words but hating it that you had to go through it. He squeezes you hand in a silent attempt of comforting you, “you weren’t alone.” He asserts, “always here with you.”

You squeeze his hand back, “I know.”

He lets the air fall quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours, even in the dark he can still make out the glistening in them as you stare down at him. A part of him wants to question you more, ask why you never told him you felt like that, and then he asks himself how could he not notice it? He can feel himself frowning, his thoughts rushing inside his head. But before he could even begin beating himself up for it, your voice interrupts him.

“Harry?” You say a bit hesitantly, he hums in response, blinking the invasive thoughts away. “I know this might be a bit weird.” Your voice traces off.

“What is it?”

“Do you think-” you gaze down to where your hands are grasped together, avoiding his eyes. “Do you think I could sleep down there… with you?”

His breath hitches on his throat, “Oh.”

“It’s just- I just- Dunno… wanted to be close,” you breathe out a nervous laugh. “God that was weird, I’m sorry, just- forget it.”

You try to pull your hand back but he prevents you from doing so, tightening his hold just slightly. “Hey, stop that,” he shimmers back on the mattress. “not weird at all, come here.”

He lets go of your hand to pull back the thin sheet draped over his body, inviting you in. He ignores the ways his heartbeat picks up when you drape a leg down, allowing yourself to fall next to him, not wasting a minute as you snuggle closer to his body. The citric scent of your hotel shampoo mixed faintly with sunscreen takes over his senses once you lay your head down on his shoulder.

It’s not the ideal position to be in on a warm summer night, the heat of your bodies only enhancing the high temperature. But Harry doesn’t mind in the slightest, only pulling you closer as he fights the urge to press a kiss on your head.

**

Your last day comes with a sorrowful feeling settling itself on Harry’s mouth.

It’s true what they say about time flying by when you’re having fun, the whole week of your stay seeming like had gone through in a blink of an eye for him. The simple thought of having to see you through the screen of his computer, face pixelated due to the poor internet connection, brings an unsettling ache to his chest. And he doesn’t like it one bit. As much as your visit wasn’t nearly as long as he wishes it could’ve been -- granted if it was in his way you would’ve moved in with him since the very beginning. Still, it was enough time for him to grow used to your presence every day. Enough for him to know what it feels like to wake up in his favorite place with his favorite person around. To know how it is to have you wander around the narrow streets of the city, and he fears your absence will just make them look dull in comparison.

He tries not to think about it. To waver off the thoughts of you leaving as soon as they prompt themselves into his mind. But it’s hard not to let reality hit him when he has to watch you pack your bags. Sitting in the old armchair arranged at the corner of your cramped hotel room. You try to make a light conversation, joking around about the number of souvenirs you bought as gifts — most of it being small magnets for your mom’s fridge collection. He only manages to force a short chuckle out of him, focusing back on the small window to watch the movement (or lack of) on the street.

The midday sun was shimmering proudly on top of the sky, reminding him the morning had already come and gone. He had told you the day prior that there was no need to wake up early for the day, telling you to rest so you could enjoy the night out Giorgia had invited you to. You were grateful for the extra hours of sleep, considering the hectic schedule of early rising and walking around all day was already starting to take a toll on you. But you still managed to wake up not so late, wanting to use the morning to pack your bags. Sealing the fact that it was almost time for you to leave him.

“You know, pouting in the corner is not a lot of help,” you say, a smirk adorning your face letting him know you’re just teasing him.

“Not pouting,” he mutters turning his face from you and snuggling further into the chair.

“I can see that,” you giggle, reaching for a cushion from the bad and throwing it at his lap, making him shoot a look at you, a small ‘hey!’ leaving his lips. “C’mon, the sooner I’m done with this, the sooner we can start the day properly.”

With that, he gets up from the chair just to plop himself back down on the bed in front of you. He takes a look at your clothes neatly folded next to him, watching as you grab a sock to wrap around a small statue of Romeo and Juliet so it wouldn’t break on your trip back home. He can’t help the sigh that escapes, “Not much planned til later in the afternoon, though, so you’re good.”

You raise your brows at him, “yeah?” A grin grows on your lips. “No more surprises up your sleeve?”

He breathes out a laugh, “thought I could give you a break on your last day,” his voice is soft, not matching your playful tone. “just want to hang out in my apartment for a bit before we have to leave to meet everyone.”

“Oh, so will I finally get the honor to visit the Styles private residence?” you gasp.

“It’s nothing much, you’ll see,” he says, fidgeting with his nails. “But I do have the slimmest balcony in the world, that we can partially sit on.”

“Well, I better hurry up and finish with this then,” you gather a pile of clothing lying on the bed and place it inside the open luggage resting on the floor.

It doesn’t take you much longer to finish up arranging your clothes back inside your bag, leaving a few pieces out for you to change into when you eventually go to sleep. You don’t bother to pick out a different outfit to catch your flight in the early morning, arguing that you’re not trying to impress anyone at the plane so you might as well just go in your pajamas and make your life a bit easier.

And soon, Harry guides you around the familiar blocks that lead back to his apartment building. Just like he had warned you about, it’s very much a student’s home, the best one he could afford with his savings from some jobs he could get here and there. It’s still more than enough for him to fill the sense of being home after a stressful day. He’s got a few plants around that he bought from a girl in his photojournalism class that was obsessed with botanics. There are a few books splattered around his center table and he realizes he had completely forgotten to clean around before having you here.

“Is Mateo in here?” You ask as he urges you in the direction of his room before you can take notice of the mess in the living room.

“I think he’s out with his girlfriend,” he rushes you in, closing the door behind in once you enter the room. “It’s just us here.”

You hum in response, looking around the place he’s been making his own for months. He reaches for the folded chairs leaning against his closet doors. They’re usually used by him and Mateo during the weekends when they feel like staying home and drinking as they watch the sky turn dark around them. But now he gets to do it with you — except the night sky, considering there are still hours left of sunlight upon you.

“Look at her!” You utter suddenly, causing Harry to glance at you over his shoulder as he opens the glass doors that lead to his balcony. He catches a glimpse of his broken Polaroid camera in your hands — having completely forgotten about it. “Can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Me neither,” he sets the chairs down on opposite ends, but still close enough thanks to the narrow space. “I’ll get someone to fix her soon enough, though.”

“I’m glad,” you set the camera back down to where you found it. Harry leans back on the open door behind him, watching as you snoop around his room.

He can’t contain the smile that rips through his lips when you look at the pictures he had spattered on the wall next to his bed, reaching to touch one of the two of you. It’s a picture from your last birthday before he left for Italy, ironic enough, one that had been taken but your then-boyfriend. Harry had his arms wrapped around your shoulders, chin resting on top of them as you both smiled widely to the camera.

Your back faces him as you keep looking around, preventing him from knowing your reaction. He zooms out for a moment, eyes fixed on a random point of his wooden floor of the quiet room. A gasp from you causes him to break away from his thoughts, jumping a bit with the sudden sound.

You turn to look at him, mouth agape in shock, your hold up a small bottle of black nail polish — something that Harry had completely forgotten about it. “Is this yours?”

“Yup,” he nods. “Peter gave it to me a couple months ago.”

“You’ve never told me you painted your nails!” You shake your face in disbelief. “I’ve never even seen you with your nails painted!”

He chuckles, “Haven’t done it a lot, love, probably just once or twice.” he shrugs, looking down at his clear nails, “I’m proper shit at it, if I’m honest, always get it all smudged.”

“Not anymore,” your grin grows. “You gotta let me do your nails, H.”

“Course you can,” he breathes out a laugh. “When do I ever tell you no?”

A squeak leaves your mouth as you jump to him, giving him a quick hug. “You’re gonna look so good with your nails done.”

Harry simply rolls his eyes, ignoring your comment as he feels a familiar warm feeling on his ears. You motion towards the chair he had prompted on the balcony, bouncing to the other one as he props himself down on it. Crossing your legs under your bum, you take one of his hands, resting it gently over your knee as you bend down to start the process. He stares down at you, appreciating your concentrated features, a frown adorning your forehead, tongue sticking out just barely as you focus on applying a thin coat over his nails. His heart skipping a beat as you peek at him from under your lashes, making him look away quickly, eyes wandering mindlessly through the surroundings.

The apartment is not high enough so you can have a perfect overlook of the city from it, but it’s still a nice view nonetheless. There’s a modest park just by the corner of his street, and from where he sits there’s a perfect view of the greenery arranged around the perimeters. At this time he can discern some families enjoying their summer, some children’s pitched screams as they run around in the small playground echoing through the otherwise quiet street.

“Can’t believe you’ve kept this secret from me,” your voice breaks the silence between you two.

He glances back at you, meeting your eyes as you lean down briefly to blow air at his nails, making him realize that you were done with the hand. He places his other one on top of your knee before you even tell him to switch, arching his brows at your words. “Hardly a secret, told I don’t do it a lot.”

“Well, that’s about to change,” you say as you start to work on the blank nails presented in front of you. “If it was for me you’d never leave your nails unpainted ever again.”

A short laugh erupts from his lips, “if only I knew how to paint them properly.”

You click your tongue, holding his ring finger as you flick the brush carefully over the nail. “Guess I’ll have to move here then,” you joke, looking up with a smirk. “So I can be your personal nail technician.”

He bites back a smile, dismissing the warmth in his chest from the simple suggestion behind your words. “Guess you’ll have to.”

**

Harry’s upset.

And he knows he shouldn’t be. He doesn’t want to be. But he can’t help it.

It’s your last night before you catch an early flight back home, and he’s barely seen you since the moment you stepped in the bar.

And what’s even more upsetting to him is that going out to this place wasn’t even in his plans, to begin with. Originally, he had planned on having a simple relaxing day, just the two of you. To have you sitting next to him on the terrace of his building, feeding you his perfected recipe of bruschetta while you share a bottle of wine. He can almost picture it, the sky a perfect mix of colors as the sun sets behind the buildings, your cheeks flushed and lips reddened from the alcohol. He can see your full smile whilst you exchange stories from the time you’ve spent apart or recall fondly memories of the times you were together as the night flies by without either of you noticing.

But none of that actually happened, of course. All due to his inability to say ‘no’.

Instead, here he is, in a bar he doesn’t even like that much — it’s always way too crowded and the music is way too loud to even attempt on having a conversation.

It was Giorgia’s idea; she insisted you had to experience a night out in Rome, and with her being so excited to meet you he couldn’t find it in his heart to say no. At the time he didn’t even consider the possibility of not being by your side. Thinking it would be nice to go out with you for the last time, expecting to have a fun night drinking fruity shots of unknown drinks. Maybe deep down he even thought about the possibility of being able to have you all over him, knowing how clingy you can get after a few drinks.

But those thoughts were snatched away from him almost as quickly as you were once the two of you stepped into the bar. The girls pulled you from his side to show you around, and all he was left with was a quick glance from over your shoulder before you disappeared into the crowd.

So here he is. Sitting at the table with a bloke he doesn’t even know (he was presented to him at some point, but Harry didn’t really bother to register his name). The man was rambling about something Harry couldn’t really care less at the moment, only nodding along to his words and offering short replies every so often. He’s aware of the deep frown between his brows, his eyes peeking at you every minute or so.

You’re standing near the bar with Giorgia leaning in to say something into your ear. He can see a smile breaking into your face and at this point, he’s aware that he’s staring. Your eyes meet his and for the first time, he doesn’t break eye contact when you catch him watching you, offering a weak smile instead. He can tell even from afar that you notice his grouchy expression, saying something back to the girl next to you before you strut in his direction.

“Are you okay?” You question as you get close to him, your brows meeting in a frown, and your worried eyes meeting his own. “You’ve been a bit distant, what’s wrong?”

His heart flutters in his chest, just the fact that you’re checking up on him is enough to make him feel warm in all the nicest ways. He takes a sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly as he breaks his gaze from you. “I’m fine,” he begins, knowing he would never tell you in a million years what’s really making him so grumpy. “Just not feeling so well.”

You don’t believe him, of course you don’t, knowing him way too well to figure out he’s lying through his teeth. But thankfully for him, you don’t press it further, knowing this isn’t the best place for this discussion. Instead, you place your hand on his knee, rubbing it softly before you lean in. “Do you want to leave? We can go back to your apartment.”

“It’s okay, love,” he reassures, “can’t waste your last night here.”

“Wouldn’t be a waste,” you argue back, so quickly he knows there’s not a doubt in your mind as you say it. “Just wanna spend it with you, doesn’t matter how.”

And now he feels as if his heart could beat right out of his chest, just rip a hole right through it and give itself to you. He feels his bloodstream running through his veins, his whole body warming up to it as if every cell was lighting up with the words coming out of your lips.

He wants to tell you that’s all he needs as well. He wants to tell you how being with you it’s enough for him. He opens his lips to do it, but one look into your eyes just makes his mind go blank. So instead, he just blurts out, “I’m gonna take a wee.”

And just like that, he gets up from the booth, barely giving you enough time to nod in response as he rushes towards the bathrooms. The sound of the shame in his mind for choosing the easy way out is so loud he can almost hear ringing in his ears. He thanks all the outer forces in the world when he finds the man’s room unoccupied, walking into it before closing the door behind him with a shaky breath leaving his lips.

Harry doesn’t know what exactly is making him feel like this. If it’s the fact that it’s your last night with him and he’s barely got a single minute with you. Or if it’s the weight of the unspoken words between the two of you starting to overwhelm him. It’s almost like a game you two play, tiptoeing around the emotions that dare to appear every time there’s a lingering touch or a knowingly look shared between the two of you. It’s those moments of intimacy without necessarily touching each other, when you allow yourself to feel vulnerable with a simple act of sharing words. There’s something overpowering about those moments, Harry thinks. And it’s all coming to him now.

He looks up to meet his eyes on the small dirty mirror hanged on the bathroom wall. There’s nothing much different from the reflection he saw before leaving his apartment to come to the bar, maybe apart from the deep frown still marking the skin between his brows, and his hair a bit messier from running his hands through it so much. His eyes hold back an ache from the thoughts wavering around his mind.

It’s pathetic, really. That’s the best word he can come up to describe how he feels. Being in a grimy bathroom on a packed bar the moment he realizes how in love he is with his best friend. This is not a new discovery for him, of course, he was gone for you since the very first moment you got introduced to each other. But this was a feeling that, as time passed by, he’s learned to overlook for the sake of keeping you close, even if it wasn’t the way he yearned for.

Maybe he perfected his own capacity of ignoring his emotions that for a moment he convinced himself they weren’t there anymore. He scoffs at himself, shaking his head almost in disbelief. Pathetic.

He really thought that the distance it would just eventually dull the longing in his heart, but what he didn’t expect was for it to have the complete opposite effect. Seeing you just lit up this part of him he had buried deep inside of his heart.

There’s no reason anymore keeping him from telling you. There hasn’t been one for months now, ever since your last breakup.

He takes a deep breath, splashing a bit of water on his face as he wishes he could’ve had enough to drink to give him the burst of courage to even face you after this moment of realization with himself. He’s aware of how long it’s been since he excused himself, so with a final look to his reflection he leaves the small bathroom with the same rush he had gotten in.

His mind is rushing with too many thoughts for him to even keep up with as he approaches the booth he left you waiting in. But as soon as the table comes into his vision he freezes in his place, taking in the sight in front of him.

You’re sitting there in the exact same spot you were when he left. What unsettles him is the figure sitting next to you. It’s the same bloke that was talking to him after you left with the other girls - the one he still couldn’t remember the name if his life depended on it.

The man had clearly scooped closer to you after Harry left the scene, his arm conventionally resting on top of your seat. It’s evident on the stupid smirk growing on his face as he pushes his dirty blond locks from his face, his undoubtfully charming Italian accent probably apparent while he chats you up. You don’t seem to be minding the attention either, your lips turning into a smile as your fingers fiddle with the straw of your drink.

It feels like someone punched Harry in the stomach, maybe even the actual act wouldn’t hurt him as much as it does to see you flirt with a guy equivalent of a Hollister model. It brings a suffocating ugly feeling to take over every cell of his being. The words that had been playing in his mind completely disappearing.

It’s at this moment he wishes he could’ve drunk enough to cloud his senses. Wishes he could blame the drinks for his irrational decision of intervening the conversation. But it’s not the alcohol that makes him stride in the direction of the booth, it’s something much stronger - jealousy.

You can feel his presence as soon as he gets close, turning around to look at him with the smile still splattered on your face. He doesn’t even register how your eyes light up, shooting a stern look at the man still leaning towards you. “Harry—”

“We should go,” he interrupts you, cringing as his voice leaves harder than he had intended to.

“Oh,” your smile drops, frowning at him. “Are you still not feeling well?”

“I just--” he softens his expression when he meets your eyes. Looking down, the embarrassment of his thoughtless reaction getting to him as he tries to find an excuse for his request, breathing out in frustration when he can’t think of one. “Just think we should go.”

“Okay,” your voice is calm and causes a pang to hit his heart when you shoot him an understanding smile, not questioning the reasoning behind his words any further.

Soon, after saying your goodbyes, you are walking silently side by side on the sidewalk that quickly had become so familiar for the two of you - the one leading to your hotel. Harry can’t help but beat himself up the whole way back. He mindlessly pokes at his nails - a bad habit of his when he’s too anxious - not even realizing he was chipping the nail polish you had carefully applied earlier.

He can feel you gaze up at him every so often, your lips parting as if to say something but never doing it. And as the lights from inside the glass front doors of your hotel get closer, he can feel the heaviness in his heart weighing down, the guilt of cutting short your last night together settling into his mind. He keeps his eyes glued to the sidewalk as you come to a stop just before you reach the entrance of the building.

It takes him a second to notice you stayed behind, making him stop in his tracks and look up to meet your eyes. The lighting on the street is dim, but it’s enough for him to make out clearly the worry in your expression.

“Harry,” you call him, your voice small but tender. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

His eyes break from yours, focusing on the detail of the exposed bricks behind you, moving to the streetlight a few meters away, looking at anything but you. After his scene back in the bar, he doesn’t even know what to tell you, racking his brain for the right words but whenever he thinks of a way to confessing the truth, there’s something holding him back.

It’s the second time in the night he wishes he had more to drink earlier in the evening. Maybe with a few drops of alcohol on his bloodstream, the words would fly easier from his lips.

From the corner of his vision, he can see you step closer to him. Your hand comes up to caress his cheek, moving his head gently so his eyes are locked on yours once again. “Please, H, I know something is up,” you plead, retracting your hand leaving only the ghost of your touch lingering on his skin. “Don’t wanna leave with this weird feeling between us.”

You’re right, and he’d be damned if he lets you go with this last impression of him. “I don’t think there’s a right way for me to say this,” he says his thoughts out loud, “seeing you again — having you here with me, just made me, I guess, admit to myself something I’ve been holding back for way too long now.” his heart pounds in his chest as he searches into your eyes for a single clue of your feelings.

He can tell you’re confused, your brows arching up as you wait for him to continue, but any other thought going through your mind is a mystery to him, which only makes it harder for him to get the words out.

“I just--” he lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding, fuck it. “I just don’t think I can go another minute without knowing how it feels to kiss you.”

The words come out near to a whisper, visibly taking you back as you widen your eyes slightly at the confession. It takes you a moment to process, his eyes looking desperately into yours in a search for a trace of reciprocity, or rejection, or anything really.

“Harry,” you finally say, after what seemed like an eternity to him. “Is this — does this mean—”

He allows himself to take a step closer to you, this time he’s the one reaching to caress your cheeks. His moves are still hesitant, but once he realizes you’re not pulling back he cups your face, thumbs rubbing lovingly at your cheekbone. “Means I’m in love with you, darling,” he’s done holding back.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, the closeness between you two makes him aware of the tears that poll up on your waterline. “I love you too,” your voice cracks, the word coming low as you swallow back a cry.

He still hears them, though, he hears them just fine. His own eyes well up as he lets his forehead fall against yours, his lips parting in a smile so big it almost rips his face in half. “Oh baby,” he lets out a relieved chuckle, “could get used to hearing that.”

The most beautiful giggle comes out of your mouth, your hand moving to the back of his neck pulling him in. “Thought you said you couldn’t take another minute without kissing me,” you bite down a smile.

He gives you one last look, his eyes so loving it feels as if there’s nothing else in this world apart from the two of you. His hand moves to tangle into your hair when he finally leans down to close the space, meeting your mouths in the middle. The kiss is soft and slow, the nerves behind it still radiating from the two of you, but slowly fading away with the excitement of fulfilling the long-overdue desire shared.

It’s a new feeling to you, knowing how it is to have his lips against yours, but somehow it still gives you a sense of familiarity. The excitement of a new discovery, yet the comfort of the intimacy. But the last thing occupying your mind is the duality of emotions in your heart as his tongue smooths your bottom lip. He steps forward, gently pushing you until you can feel your back against the wall of the long-forgotten building behind you.

Not once does he breaks the kiss, only deepening it when your back meets the exposed bricks. His hand massages the hair on the back of your neck as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you as close as possible — almost as if to convince himself that this was, indeed, real.

You stay like this for a moment, exploring each other’s mouths, getting used to the feeling of being closer than you’ve ever been in the years of friendship. Eventually, he pulls back to catch his breath, pecking your lips softly before he lets his forehead rests against yours.

For a moment, you just stay like this. Looking at the other without being able to hold back a smile. Simple enjoying the exciting bliss surrounding you with heavy breaths and puffy lips.

You decide to break the silence, your voice low. “Would you like to come up to my room?”

The cutest giggle erupts from his lips, “so polite.” He leans to give another peck at your lips. “Of course I would, baby.”

The way up to your room is a bit of a blur. Both too entranced on one another to pay attention to it, sneaking touches on the elevator ride while exchanging knowing glares. You feel like a teenager sneaking with her boyfriend without her parent’s knowledge, both trying to keep their hands to themselves, that is until you open the door to your room.

At the moment your door clicks behind you his lips are back on yours, this time more desperate, not wasting a second as he licks into your mouth. His hands grip onto your waist moving up to rub at the side of your breasts.

You move your own hands to grab at the hem of his shirt before slipping the underneath it, scratching where you know his inked ferns lie upon his skin. He grunts softly into your lips, breaking the kiss to slip the shirt off of him completely.

“Someone’s eager,” you tease, smoothing your palms over his chest as you push him gently in the bed's direction.

He throws the clothing blindly on the floor before reaching his hand on your jawline. A smirk grows on his face, his irises dilated with lust staring down at you. “Been waiting for this for too fucking long, darling.”

Once the back of his knees hit the mattress, he sits back on it, pulling you in by the back of your thighs so you’re on top of his lap. As you relax into him, his hands reaching for your hips to pull you closer, the new position makes you well aware of the growing bulge under his trousers. He leans forward to connect his lips on your neck, spattering kisses down the side of your neck, sucking a few spots on your skin.

You tangle your hand into his hair, pulling at it with a small whine when he bites into the one spot under your jawline. He grunts into your skin, sucking on it again this time causing an actual whimper escape from your throat.

“Christ, baby,” he pulls back to look up at you, his rosy lips forming a cocky grin. “You’re a fucking dream, aren’t you?”

You just giggle in response, drawing him in to connect your lips once again. His hands move on your back as if he’s trying to touch you everywhere at once, settling themselves on the straps of your dress, playing with it for a second before pulling it down your shoulders. What he’s not expecting is to be met with your bare chest underneath, nipples hardening from the exposure.

He breaks the kiss to look down shamelessly, hands moving to the side of your breasts. “Fuck—” he mutters under his breath, bringing his thumb to hover over your nipple, barely touching it. “Trying to kill me, angel?”

Harry’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in so you arch your back towards him, almost seeming like an invitation. To which he gladly accepts, leaning now to envelop one of your buds with his mouth. He sways his tongue over it, the warm feeling enhancing the sensitivity of it. You don’t hold back the moan that escapes your throat, grinding your hips down at his in a quick movement. This makes him pull off with a groan, spattering open-mouthed kisses along the valley of your breasts.

“Arms up, babe,” he says, pulling back to look at you as you oblige, holding your arms above your head. His hands fiddle with the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head so quickly you barely register the piece of clothing leaving your body.

Once you’re almost naked apart from your simple pastel pink underwear, he wraps an arm around your waist once more. This time, however, instead of pulling you close, he turns his torso, making a move as if to get up, but only switching positions so that you’re lying on the bed. You back hits the covers maybe a bit too harsher than he had intended too, but you don’t mind one bit, the roughness in his actions only contributing to the growing damp on your core.

He stands at the end of the bed, shifting off of his trousers as he looks down at you. It’s not simply a lustful gaze, from having you laid out in front of him — a thought he had entertained himself with for years. It’s more than anything a loving gaze, his darkened eyes glistening at you as he gives you the sweetest smile, causing his dimple to mark his cheek. He takes a moment after getting rid of his pants to just take your sight in, just for a second. You get shy under his eyes, but before you can even think of hiding away from it he’s crawling towards you.

Once he gets to your eye level again, hovering above you, silver cross hanging from his neck, he kisses you. But unlike the other hungry filled ones, this time it’s tender, his mouth moving so slow it makes you melt under his touch. “You’re so beautiful, baby,” his lips brush against yours. “The most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

You chuckle, pulling back to look at him. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s true,” he spatters kisses along your cheek before bringing his eyes to meet yours. “Reckon I could hang your picture on the walls of a museum, let everyone see how beautiful you are.”

There’s a blush creeping on your cheek, the warmth taking over the back of your neck as you feel goosebumps rising on your skin due to the low tone of his voice. You’ve always known Harry for being a sweet talker, knowing he could charm anyone with his words. But something about hearing him say it to you in such an intimate moment, voice raspy as he mutters in your ear, makes your heart stutter in your chest.

You wrap your legs around his ass, pulling him down so his crotch meets yours above the fabric of your underwear. He grinds down slightly, grunting down as he lets his head fall on your shoulder, mouthing down at your neck.

“Wanna taste every inch of you,” he moves to kiss the corner of your lips.

His lips start to move down, peppering kisses along your jawline, but you only let him get as far as the base of your neck, pulling at his shoulders to prevent from moving further. “Later,” you whimper when he brings his hips down to meet yours again, the action only building up the desire bubbling at the pit of your stomach. “We have all night for that.” He looks at you with arched brows, “just need you close.”

“You have me,” he says, his words somehow seeming like much more than just lustful thinking.

His hands hold on to your thighs, digits digging into your skin. He sits back on his calves, leaning in to suck into a spot on your stomach before straightening his posture so he stands tall above you. There’s a moment of teasing when his fingers waver over your skin, the ghost of his touch sending chills down your spine straight to your damped center. It makes you whimper with anticipation, raising your hips upward.

“Someone’s eager,” he repeats your words with a smirk, bringing his fingers to meet the waistband of your underwear.

You lift your hips when he begins to pull the material out of your body, raising your legs so he can pull it off completely. His breath noticeably hitches once he takes a look down at your glistening folds, your arousal beginning to pool.

“Shit, baby--” his fingertip brushes over your core, gathering some of the wetness. You inhale sharply, moving to support your body on your forearms, looking down to watch his moves. “Fucking drenched for me, look at that,” he breathes out.

He eases two fingers into you, without much of a warning. The easiness to which you take him makes him mutter a ‘fuck’ under his breath. He starts with a slow but steady rhythm, stretching you out. There’s a needy moan that leaves your lips once he brings his thumb to nudge at your clit, hands grasping the covers. The sound makes him snap his eyes at you, crawling back to hover above you without stopping the movement of his digits inside of you.

You move your hands to clutch at his hips when he’s in your eye level again, nails digging into the skin as you try to bring him down, but he’s restricted by the position of his own hand between your thighs.

“Harry,” you cry out, opening your eyes you didn’t even register had been closed. “More, please—” you grip at his hips again as if to assert your request.

His fingers pull out of you completely, you clench around the emptiness, sighing in frustration. He makes a show of bringing them between his lips, sucking into them and letting out a satisfied hum. Your eyes keep locked in his, nails clutching at his briefs, trying to pull them down.

He supports himself above you with one arm moving the hand that was previously in his mouth to meet your desperate one grabbing at his underwear. He shifts awkwardly as he removes the last piece of clothing separating you two. His cock slaps back at his stomach, a line of precum already accumulating at the reddened tip.

You hold your breath when he wraps his hand around himself, giving it a few pumps. He lets out a pleased breath, smiling cockily as your hips buck towards him impatiently. A few strands of his hair fall charmingly against his forehead when he looks back at you, lips puffy when he leans to give you a peck.

“Ready?” He rasps, lips brushing against yours. You nod almost desperately, trying to bring him closer. “Let me know if you need me to stop, okay?”

Your head falls back on the cushions once you feel him glaze his tip between your folds, circling it at your clit before he finally nudges his hips forward. A gasp escapes from your throat as his length fills you in, his forehead falling against yours with a low moan. He pushes it all the way in, allowing you a moment to get used to it. He reaches for your hands, enlacing your fingers together and lifting them just above your head.

“God,” he chokes once he’s fully inside, thrusting his hips involuntarily when you clench around him, earning a low mewl from you. “Feel that, baby? Feel me all the way in your belly?”

You whine his name, “So good, please--” you grind your hips in a silent plead to get him to move.

He doesn’t waste another second, pulling back only to thrust in again. You let out a high moan this time, hands gripping tighter on his, noses brushing. He drives his hips down at your in a slow but hard pace, the sound of your skin slapping mixing with your whimpers in the hot air surrounding the two of you. With each thrust, there’s a delicious burn between your thighs, only helping to heighten the rush of pleasure taking over your body.

“So good— Feel so good around me,” Harry groans, quickening the pace in which his hips meet yours. “Thought about it for so long, baby. — fuck, needed you for so long.”

“You have me,” you let out a sharp pant, cursing his name when he hits a spot inside of you, toes curling on the back of his thighs. You repeat with a quiet moan, your mind hazy with desire. “You have me.”

“I love you,” he says with a sharp grunt, and you feel like your heart might hammer right out of chest at any moment. “Christ, darling, hear that? So wet around me, gonna make me slip right off.”

His words only intensify the bubbly feeling taking over your stomach, your walls pulsating around him. He swears with a pleased moan, rhythm faltering. One of his hands untangles itself from your fingers, moving down to rub swift circles over your clit. You cry out, arching your back, feeling an electric bliss consuming every cell of your body.

“Cum for me,” he pleads, only increasing his movements when you feel you burst under him, riding out your high with sloppy thrusts, feeling his own orgasm creep at the pit of his stomach.

“Harry,” you let out a mewl once you come down, the sensitivity becoming almost overwhelming.

It doesn’t take much longer for him to quiver above you, his cock twitching inside of you. His face buries on your throat, a drawn-out whine vibrating on your skin as he releases his orgasm.

You stay like that for a while, a mess of sweaty limbs, trying to catch your breaths. Your mind is still cloudy from the bliss, trying to wrap itself around what just happened. With a pleased sigh, you unwrap your shaky legs from around his waist, letting them fall limply on the covers.

With that, Harry shifts his body with a tiny grunt, weakly rolling on his back so he’s lying on the spot next to you. You turn on your side to face him. There’s a tender smile painted on his face when you lock eyes, his arm wrapping around you to pull you closer, pressing his lips on the top of your head.

“Maybe they’ll delay your flight again,” he jokes, but there’s a hint of hope sweeping in the back of his mind. “So you can stay longer.”

“Shh,” you bring your hand to caress his cheek, poking out your thumb to line at his bottom lip. “Let’s not think about that just yet.”

“Okay.”

And for a moment you two just stay there, admiring each other without saying a word. There are a thousand unanswered questions waving around the room, but none of you feels like going into them. So instead, you just enjoy the other, your breaths still a bit heavy and chests fluttered. But melting into each other's touch.

Harry’s fingers are gentle as they smooth on your cheek, the feeling so soothing it makes you close your eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he pleas, his voice just above a whisper. “Don’t want this to be over.”

Your smile is tender and warms his heart in the most beautiful ways, your eyes fluttering open as your hand reaches up to move a strand of his hair from his forehead. “It doesn’t have to be.”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 14: Love Keeps The Monsters From Our Door] [Series Finale]

A/N: Thank you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, rants, screeches of anguish, and unapologetic thirsting for “sexy undead Italian man” Joseph Francis Mazzello. I hope you love this conclusion more than Baby Swan loves pineapple pizza. 💜

Series Summary: Potentially a better love story than Twilight?

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. (The #1 song I associate with this fic!)

Chapter Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs​

Mercy

We have to stay in the Vladivostok palace until her transformation is complete, and I hate it.

The floors are cold and sterile and every clang of noise ricochets off them like a bullet. The earth outside is stripped bare and hibernal. There is no green to interrupt the bleakness of the sky, the cruel absence of color: no spruces or hemlocks or bigleaf maples, no evergreen forests, no verdant fields, only a grey that bleeds from the sky in sheets of hail and driving rain. This land is a stranger. So many of the faces, too, are strangers, although they try. Honora sits with me—her large dark eyes, like mirrors of mine, polished and wet with aching pity—and braids my hair. Morana invites me to bake homemade bread with her. Austin tries to make me smile. Cato visits me as much as he can, because he feels responsible; or maybe he would do it anyway, maybe lessening suffering is as instinctual to him as bloodshed is to so many of our kind. And when Cato is with me, I do feel a little better, like my story might belong to somebody else, like it’s a name I can’t quite remember, like it’s a transitory moment of déjà vu I can catch glimpses of but never touch. And yet, still, I send him away.  

I don’t want to be with Cato. It’s painful for him to be around me, I can see that. It’s painful for Rami, and for Ben, and for Joe, and for Lucy and Scarlett. It’s even painful for the Irish Wolfhounds that Cato found locked up for safekeeping in Larkin’s study; they skulk around the palace vigilantly but leave great swaths of uninterrupted space around me like open water. So I conjure up a mask of brave, hopeful acceptance and wear it everywhere I go.

Joe says very little, never leaves the girl he calls Baby Swan’s side, dabs her scorching skin with washcloths soaked in ice water and murmurs in sympathy when she screams through the unconsciousness, from beneath the ocean of fire we all know so well. He nods off sometimes, snatching minutes of sleep like fireflies in a jar, before jolting awake to make sure her heart is still beating. When Ben isn’t checking on them, he’s with Cato, helping to draw up plans for the future, reminiscing about the past with slick eyes and clinking midnight glasses of whiskey. Scarlett sprawls across the desk in what was once Larkin’s study and spends hours on the phone with Archer as she gazes up at the ceiling, telling him how to care for the farm animals and the garden, reassuring him that we’ll be home soon, whispering things to him that I try not to hear; and I know she wouldn’t want me to anyway. Lucy weeps delicate, ceaseless tears as she perches on the staircase landing and Rami entombs her in his arms, never having to ask what she needs from him. And I wander meaninglessly through the echoing, unfamiliar hallways like a moon without a planet.

I know what they all think about me, perhaps even Rami, for I keep it buried as deep as all skeletons should be: that I’m irrevocably kind, effortlessly forgiving. That I’m as incapable of bitterness as I am of aging. But they’re wrong. It’s a choice, and it always has been, ever since a late-November dusk in 1864 when madness eclipsed mercy. Every day I choose whether to surrender to the beckoning, malignant hatred that lurks in the back of my bedroom closet, in the dusty and ill-lit loft of the barn roped with cobwebs, in the twilight tree line of the western hemlocks crawling with shadows that whisper through fanged teeth. Every day I decide whether to become a monster. And it has never been harder to remember why I don’t.

My future is unimaginable. The nights are endless. I feel black, razored seeds of what I am horrified must be bitterness burrowing beneath my skin and taking root there. I am consumed by infected, fruitless questions that I can’t silence: Why Gwilym? Why Arthur? Why Eliza and Charlotte? Why is it always fire?

The first words that Gwilym ever spoke to me, as I unraveled from unconsciousness under a grove of sycamore trees with smoke still clinging to my unscarred skin, rattle around in my skull like windchimes beneath thunderous skies. His voice was colored with an accent I couldn’t place, and yet it sounded like home: You’re in a dark place right now. But you don’t have to stay there.

That might have been true once. That might have been true in the ruinous autumn of 1864. But now I can’t find my way out.

Seventy-three hours after our arrival in this barren corner of the world, Charlie Swan’s daughter  wakes up as a vampire. Her heart is perfectly still, her skin faultless, her senses sharp, her mind as impenetrable as ever; at least, that’s what Lucy says when she finds me. And Lucy tugs at my hand, wearing her first smile in days, insisting that I have to come meet the newest member of our coven, to welcome her. I don’t know how to tell Lucy that I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to love this girl, that I don’t have it in me to love anyone but ghosts. And yet—compliantly, yieldingly, expecting nothing but disappointment in the monster I have become—I follow her.

The door is already open to the Swan girl’s room; chattering, beaming vampires flood in and out like the tides. I step inside. And I see the way that Joe looks at her, the way that Ben does; and all those seeds that I had feared might be bitterness blossom into nothing but open air.

It’s Not A Fucking Wedding (A.K.A. 13.5 Months Later)

The ocean is a universe. Its arms are not ever-expanding, spiraling galaxies of suns and planets and nebulae and black holes, this is true; its belly is not a vacuum of inhospitable oblivion, its bones are not invisible strings of gravity, its language is not a silence older than starlight, older than eternity. But the ocean is a universe nonetheless, its borders tucked neatly around the seven continents, slumbering there until the next hurricane or tsunami or ice age comes conquering; and inevitably equilibrium is restored—like defibrillator paddles to a heart, like naloxone to an addict’s blood—and our two worlds can coexist side by side once again.  

The ocean’s arms are sighing waves, bubbling and brisk, grasping and retreating in the same breath. Its belly is swollen with life from immense blue whales down to swarming clouds of single-celled, sun-hungry phytoplankton. Its language is ancient whispers; not parched and blistering and brittle sounds like the desert’s but cool, serene, supple, engulfing. And I can hear them all, if I listen closely enough. I can hear the sentient whistling of orcas, the breaking of waves against rocks, the scrabbling of sand crabs beneath the earth, the gruff distant barks of sea lions, the rustling of evergreen pine needles in the breeze. And I understand now why it was always so easy for vampires to be introspective, to lapse into thoughtful, unhurried silences. I could imagine spending decades just sitting here with my knees tucked to my chest and my hair whipping in the brackish wind, watching the seasons roll by like a wheel.

Joe was coming back from the gravel parking lot. I turned to watch him: red U Chicago hoodie, messy dark auburn-ish hair, a pizza box clasped in his hands. The GrubHub delivery driver was returning to his car with the toothiest of grins.

“Buon appetito!” Joe announced, dramatically presenting me with the pizza box. It had become our post-finals tradition each semester: pizza at La Push beach, half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.

“Grazie, sexy undead Italian man. Your accent is getting so good!”

“I know, right?! I’m on a twelve-day Duolingo streak. I can’t let that little green owl dude down.”

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. I gotta brush up on my Welsh. Why’s the GrubHub driver so cheery?”

“I tipped him $500.”

I smiled, opening the box and lifting out a semi-warm slice of pineapple pizza. Elastic strands of mozzarella cheese stretched like rubber bands until they snapped. “Aww, really?”

Joe plopped down onto the cool, damp sand beside me. “No. I lied. We’re actually having a torrid love affair.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “How could you possibly have time for all that?” Between school, business ventures, family activities, and me, Joe was very rarely unoccupied. And he preferred it that way.

“I’m so glad you asked. I’m very speedy, if you recall. And that’s just one of the exclusive services I offer. I am a man of many talents. I make people’s wildest dreams come true. Who am I to deny the GrubHub delivery man the wonderland that is my spindly, annoying body?”  

“You are the fastest,” I said, winking.

“Oh shut up! I mean, uh, uhhh, silenzio!” He pointed his slice of pepperoni pizza at me reproachfully. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not the fastest at everything.”

“Whatever you say, mob guy.”

He lunged for me, pinned me down in the crumbling sand, both of us laughing wildly as the crusts of our pizza slices bounded off and were snatched up by diving, screeching seagulls. He growled with mock savagery, braced his hips against mine, kissed his way from the corner of my jaw to my lips. That oh-so-familiar commanding, craving ache for him came roaring to the surface; and now there was no bittersweet edge to it, no inescapable backdrop of lambent numbers ticking down from five or ten or fifteen years to zero. Now there was only the calm, unurgent promise of forever.

“Joe—!”

“You have besmirched my honor, Baby Swan. I am left with no recourse but to refresh your clearly flawed memory and prove you wrong.”

“Public indecency? That’s illegal, sir.”

“Okay, you gotta stop stealing my catchphrases. It’s extremely difficult for me to come up with new ones. I’m almost a hundred years old, you know.”

“Alright, I guess you’re not bad in bed for a basically-centenarian.”

He smiled down at me, his dark eyes alight, the wind tearing through his hair, one palm resting on my forehead, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just really glad we’re a thing.”

“You better be. You’re kind of stuck with me now. You’ve stolen my virtue, you’ve made me fall in love with your entire demented family, you’ve forced your torturous immortality upon me. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you ever stop funding my pineapple pizza addiction, of course.”

Joe chuckled as he climbed off me and took my hand in his, pulling me upright. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Your insistence on being a sort-of vegetarian. It’s embarrassing. You’re the wimpiest vampire ever. You’re a disgrace to the coven.”

“I eat animals!” I objected.

“Yeah, when you have to.” And Joe was right: I steered clear of flesh outside of the two or three times a week when I hunted. For environmental sustainability reasons, I mostly consumed deer or rabbits; although the very occasional shark was my guilty pleasure. Joe gnawed on his second slice of pizza and peered out into the overcast, dusky horizon, wiping crumbs from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. “We only have one more of these left,” he said at last, a little sadly. “One more finals season at Calawah University. One more celebratory dinner at La Push.”

“We’ll just have to get used to a new view. Pizza by the Chicago River, maybe.”

Joe looked over at me, thoughtful again, smiling. He had received his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago three weeks ago. I got mine eight days later. “It won’t be hard for you to leave Forks?”

“It will be. Once upon a time I didn’t think that was possible, but I will miss Forks. And not just because of Charlie and Archer and Jessica and Angela and all the Lees. But it was hard to leave Phoenix, and I’m sure one day it will be hard to leave Chicago. Just because change is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Joe nodded introspectively. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“Don’t quote classic rock songs at me, mixtapes boy.”

“You love my mixtapes,” he teased, circling his left arm around my waist, pulling me in closer, touching his lips to my forehead. Mint and pine and starlight sank into my lungs like an anchor through the surf. “And that saying actually goes all the way back to Seneca, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still philosophizing in some cloudy corner of the world somewhere.”

“Not to my knowledge. Although that’s an intriguing thought. We need more famous vampires. Caligula would have made for very interesting conversation. Lincoln, Napoleon, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dante...I guess it’s possible that anyone is still around. Maybe we should turn Meat Loaf. You know, for the good of posterity.”

“Is it not enough that they’re already cursed with student debt and global warming?”

Joe cackled, took my face in his palms, kissed each of my cheeks one after the other, then nudged my nose with his. “You ready to go, Baby Swan? I suspect we’re expected to participate in some holiday festivities tonight.”

“I’m ready,” I agreed. We threw our leftover pizza to the seagulls, disposed of the grease-spotted cardboard box, and walked back to my 1999 Honda Accord with our pulseless hands intertwined.

The evergreen trees along Routh 110 fled by beneath a sky freckling with stars. Sharp winter air poured in through the open windows. And I could feel that it was cold, in the same way that I could feel the warmth on Forks’ rare sweltering days; but there was no discomfort that accompanied that knowledge. Pain only came when the sky was unincumbered by thick clouds churning in off the Pacific, and then it felt something like staring into the sun had as a human. Sunglasses helped, but the surest remedy was avoidance, was surrender. And what an inconsequential price to pay for forever.

“Wait,” I said, spying the mailbox that marked the start of the Lees’ driveway. “They still deliver mail on Christmas Eve, right?”

“Uh, I think so, why...?” And then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, let’s check!”

I pulled up beside the mailbox and Joe leaned out, returning to his seat with a mountain of Christmas cards and business correspondence and advertisements from Costco and Sephora. He sifted through them until he found a single white envelope from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. It was addressed to a Mr. Benjamin August Hardy. Joe held it up to show me as we drove down the driveway, the Lee house coming into view and ornamented with a frankly excessive amount of multicolored string lights and inflatable reindeer.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, drumming the steering wheel.

“You want to be the one to give it to him?”

“Are you serious?! Yeah, can I?”

Joe passed the envelope to me as I parked my geriatric Honda, which Archer had pledged to keep alive as long as physically possible. In return, Ben let him and Scarlett borrow the Aston Martin Vantage no less than once a week. I dashed out of the car, up the steps of the front porch, and into the house that bubbled over with the sounds of metallic kitchen clashes and frenetic voices and Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Ben?!” I shouted.

“Hi, honey!” Mercy called from the living room, where she and Lucy were putting the final touches on Scarlett’s gown. Scarlett was playing the part of semi-willing victim, wearing gold heels and an impatient smirk and her hair out of the way in a milkmaid braid; her train of vivid red lace billowed across the hardwood floor. From the couch, Archer and Rami were playing Mario Kart on the big-screen tv and nibbling their way through a tray of homemade gingerbread cookies.

“Oh wow,” I said, clutching the envelope to my chest, mesmerized. I kept waiting for Scarlett to start looking like a normal person to me, and it never happened. Tonight, in the glow of the flameless candles and kaleidoscopic Christmas lights and draped in lace the color of pomegranate seeds, she was Persephone: a goddess of resurrection, a face that death himself could not pass by unscathed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy. Seriously.”

“One day I’m going to get you out of those thrift shop sweaters,” Lucy threatened me, placing a pin in the fabric at Scarlett’s waist.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when that shows up in one of your visions.”

“Bitch,” Lucy flung back, snickering, knowing how improbable that was. I still appeared in her visions extremely infrequently, and then only when I happened to be standing next to whoever the premonition was actually about.

“Language, dear,” Mercy tutted, inspecting the hem of Scarlett’s gown.

Joe arrived beside me, his arms still full of mail. “ScarJo, I almost didn’t recognize you! Why do you have, like, no cleavage or fishnets or thigh slits?”

“Why do you have like no eyelashes?” Scarlett replied. “See, I can ask unnecessary and invasive questions too.”

Joe frowned, wounded. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Lucy, darling, I think it’s just a tad uneven on this side,” Mercy said, showing her. “Maybe by half an inch...?”

“No, seriously, what’s wrong with my eyelashes?!”

Mercy replied distractedly: “Nothing, honey, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Mom!” Joe groaned.

“It really is gorgeous,” Mercy marveled as Lucy flitted around her to investigate the hem situation. “And so Christmasy. So perfect for the season. Scarlett, dear, you were right after all, and I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’d just never heard of a red wedding dress before.”

“Mom, it’s not a fucking wedding!” Scarlett exclaimed, for probably the thirtieth time since Thanksgiving. “It’s a nonbinding, informal celebration of an egalitarian romantic partnership. Will somebody please inform this woman that it’s not a wedding?!”

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” Mercy conceded dreamily.

Joe pointed to Archer. “Isn’t he supposed to not see the dress until the day of or something?”

“What a great question!” Archer replied, still deeply invested in Mario Kart. “You see, that would be the case if this was a wedding. However, I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that it is most definitely not.”

Scarlett grinned triumphantly at Joe. “There you have it.”

She might snap petulantly, and she might complain, but Scarlett wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to; we were all intimately familiar with the futility of trying to force Scarlett into anything. The not-wedding, as improbable as it seemed, had been her idea from the start. And she wasn’t doing it for herself. She wasn’t even doing it for Archer. Scarlett was doing it for her mother.

The first six months had been hell for Mercy. She didn’t resent me, as I had feared she might; Mercy made that clear, and Rami confirmed it. But she was gutted. She wouldn’t speak of Gwil, wouldn’t listen to us talk about him, locked every photograph of him away in dark drawers, wandered around with a remote, uncanny, unseeing smile until she walked straight into walls; and then she would blink inanely up at them, as if they had dropped out of the sky rather than been built by her own hands. She baked hundreds of cakes and almost never slept. She told us she was fine every time we asked, which was more or less constantly. But on the very rare occasions when she was left alone, Mercy would unfailingly end up in the field behind the Lee house, gazing out into the forest of western hemlock trees with tears snaking silently down her cheeks, the muted light of the cloud-covered setting sun flickering red and furious on her face like wildfire.

And then one afternoon, a package had arrived from Arviat, Canada, where Cato and the rest of the surviving Draghi had relocated shortly after the rebellion at Vladivostok. It was five feet tall and another three wide, and what we found after carefully peeling away all those layers of foam padding and packing tape was a portrait of Gwilym so skillfully painted that it could have been mistaken for a photograph. Mercy had stared at it for a long time—ignoring Lucy’s attempts to guide her away, deaf to any of our concerns—until she at last picked up the portrait herself and said, quite evenly: “I think we should hang it in the living room, don’t you?”

Things had been better since then—very, very gradually, and yet unmistakably—and Gwil’s portrait remained mounted above the living room couch like a watchman, his eyes sparkling and blue, his faint smile stoic and fond and omniscient. But even in the wake of Mercy’s continued improvement, none of us kids were about to risk another agonizingly despondent Christmas. So the solution was obvious. We would keep Mercy preoccupied with what thrilled her more than absolutely anything else: the pseudo-weddings of her children. Rami and Lucy had already secretly volunteered to go next year...and after that, who knew? And there was one other thing that was making Mercy’s burden a little lighter these days.

Charlie sauntered into the living room, wearing an apron covered in cartwheeling Santas and wiping white dust like snow—powdered sugar? flour? baking soda?—from his ungainly hands. He was palpably proud. “The sugar cookies are officially in the oven. And I managed to fit them all on one baking sheet, isn’t that great?! Cuts down on dishes!”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does!” Mercy said, alarm dawning in her eyes. Had my beloved father placed the globs of dough too close together? Would we end up with one hideous, giant monster-cookie? Only time would tell. Providentially, Archer and Joe could be counted on to eat just about anything.

Joe sniffed the air, his forehead crinkling. “What’s burning?”

“Nothing should be burning,” Mercy replied, almost defensive, forever protective of Charlie and all of his profound, incurably human imperfections. Sometimes I thought that she preferred him that way, that he was a link to a simpler world in the same way I had once been, that he was a puddle of memory she could drop into, that maybe he wasn’t so unlike her first husband Arthur. “Not yet, anyway. The cookies need at least ten to twelve minutes at 350.”

“Wait, 350?!” Charlie exclaimed, horrorstruck. “I thought you said 450!”

“Oh, this is tragic,” Scarlett said.  

“I can fix it!” Mercy trilled buoyantly, breezing off to the kitchen as Charlie followed after her with a fountain of apologies. She shushed them away affectionately, patting his chest with her soft plump hands, chuckling about how luckily they had fire extinguishers stowed away in almost every closet just in case. And there were other reasons for that besides Charlie’s perilous baking attempts, but he didn’t know them. Now the record player was belting out Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas.  

Archer lost another round in Mario Kart and exhaled a great, mournful sigh. “Hey, Baby Swanpire, can you do something about this guy?” He nodded to Rami. “This is criminal. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. He knows every freaking time I’m about to toss a banana peel.”

Rami smirked guiltily up at me from the couch, not bothering to deny it.

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” Rami replied. “I want to show this loser I can beat him even without the benefit of mega-cool extrasensory superpowers.”

“Rude!” Archer cried.

“So rude,” Scarlett agreed, smiling.

“Okay, here we go.” I sat down beside Rami, still holding Ben’s envelope in my right hand, and laid my left against Rami’s cheek. And I felt a fistful of numbness—like instant peace, like milk-white Novocain—pass from my skin into his, rolling into his skull, deadening whatever telepathic livewires had been ignited there in the August of 1916. The effect would last anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours; and it worked on every vampire I’d met so far.

“Whoa, trippy,” Rami murmured. “It’s still weird, every single time.” He peered drowsily around the room. “It’s...so...quiet?! You guys really live like this? No one is constantly bombarding you with sexual fantasies or romantic pining or depressive inner monologues? How do you function?! Now I’m alone with my own thoughts, that’s actually worse!”

“Hurry up and beat him while he’s all freaked out and vulnerable,” Scarlett told Archer.

Archer laughed, picking up his Nintendo 64 controller, radiant with the promise of vengeance. “Yes ma’am.”

“Any good mail?” Lucy asked Joe.

“Yeah. Coupons and a ton of Christmas cards from random people. The vet sent us one with alpacas on it, so that’s cute. Oh, and here’s one from our favorite Canadians.”

Joe held up the card so we could all see. The picture on the front showed Cato and Honora sitting on a large velvet, forest green couch with a hulking Christmas tree illuminated in the background. The others were arranged around them: Austin, Max, Ksenia, Charity, Araminta, Akari, Morana, Phelan, Aruna, Adair, Zora, Sahel, and a few new faces I couldn’t name yet. They were all wearing matching turtleneck sweaters. And every single one of them was smiling.

Joe cleared his throat theatrically and read the text on the inside of the card:

“Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

(Oh, and Scarlett, congratulations on your not-marriage.)

- Cato Douglass Freeman”

“That bastard,” Scarlett muttered.

Rami offered me his controller. He had just slipped on a banana peel and rocketed off a cliff. “You want a turn?”

“No, thanks though. I have to talk to Ben. Is he around?”

Rami shrugged ruefully. “I would help, but my brain is temporarily broken.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, taking a gingerbread cookie from the tray and biting into it as Lucy batted crumbs from the red lace dress, exasperated. “I think he’s out in the hot tub.”

“Cool. I shall return.”

Joe took my spot on the couch as I departed, shoveling cookies into his mouth, seizing Rami’s controller and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I opened the door to the back porch, and frigid December air rushed in like an uninvited guest. The field was coated with a thin layer of snow, the animals safe and warm in the barn, the garden slumbering. And in the spring and summer, when blossoms of a dozen different varieties came open beneath the drizzling grey skies, Mercy’s calla lilies didn’t bother my allergies at all. Nothing did anymore. Ben was indeed in the hot tub, puffing on his vape pen, wearing only a beanie hat and swim trunks.

“What flavor is that cartridge?” I asked as I approached. “Gummy bear?”

“Close. Strawberry doughnut.”

“Ohhhh, yum!” Ben passed me the vape pen, and I took a drag as I kicked off my boots and sat near him on the rim of the hot tub, slipping my bare feet beneath the steaming, roiling water. Then I handed his vape pen back. “So. Guess what I have for you.”

“Uh.” He glanced at the envelope. “Jury duty.”

“Better.”

“Someone I hate has jury duty.”

I flipped the envelope around so he could see the University of Chicago logo on the front.

“Oh god,” Ben moaned.

“Don’t you want to see what it says?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grimacing.

“Come on, Ben. Open it.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?!”

Ben sighed. “Look, if I open it and it’s bad news, it’s gonna make Christmas weird. Rami will know. They’ll all know. They’ll all feel bad for me and it’ll be pathetic and depressing and awkward. You can look if you want to, just don’t tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” I said, tugging at the floppy top of his beanie hat. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling grudgingly.

“You have positively no way of knowing that. Unless Lucy’s had a vision I’m unaware of.”

“She hasn’t. You know she never sees anything important.”

“She saw you coming,” Ben countered.

“She saw human-me and Joe in love and gobbling down pretzels at a Cubs game. So I’d say there were at least a few minor details missing.”

“There’s no way I got in,” Ben said, his green eyes slick and fearful and now fixed on the envelope. “We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I’m far from genius. I’m just obsessed with the ocean.” I’d written my senior thesis on the feeding habits of Pacific angelsharks, and my advisor was still trying to figure out how I, an amateur scuba diver at best, had managed to get so many quality photographs with my underwater camera. The secret, of course, was superhuman agility and not needing to breathe.

“I fucking hate calculus. The MCAT wrecked me. I got a 517.”

“And their median score is a 519, so I’d say you still have a fighting chance. Plus you have like eight million volunteer hours.” Ben had spent the vast majority of the past year either in class or at the hospital. The psychiatrist-in-chief, Dr. Siegel, had been more than happy to take one of Gwil’s foster children under her wing. Every human in Forks except Archer believed that Dr. Gwilym Lee had drowned in a tragic boating accident while he and Mercy were on vacation in Southern California, and that his body had never been recovered. The town had held a wonderful remembrance ceremony and dedicated a free clinic at the hospital in his honor. “Now open it.”

“You do it,” Ben relented finally. “My hands are wet. Go ahead, open it up and tell me what it says. And then kindly euthanize me to end my immortal shame.”

“That wouldn’t work,” I pointed out, tearing open the envelope. I pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper inside, flattened it against my thighs, and read the typed black text.

“...Well?” Ben pressed, vaping frantically.

I looked up and smiled at him.

“No way,” he whispered.

“I hope you like pretzels and bear-themed baseball teams, grandpa.”

And for a second, I thought he might bolt up out of the hot tub, hooting victoriously, splashing water all over the back porch as he danced around bellowing that he’d gotten into one of the best medical schools in the world, that he would be following me and Joe to Chicago. But that wasn’t Ben. Instead, a slow smile rippled across his face: it was small, but perfectly genuine. Pure, even.

“Goddamn,” he said, watching me. Venom doesn’t just resurrect or ruin; it forms a bond that is simultaneously intangible and yet immense. It’s an evolutionary adaptation, a way to facilitate stability and the building of covens in an often violent and ruleless world. And now that he had turned me, Ben had family here in Forks in more ways than one.

“Gwil would be so proud of you, Ben.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The back door of the house opened, and Joe stepped outside. He studied Ben for a moment, and that was all it took for him to know. “Benny!” he shouted, elated.

“I know, I know. Fortunately, I look amazing in red. Thanks, supermodel genes.”

“This is going to be so fun!” Joe said, sprinting over to wrap Ben—who was characteristically lukewarm on this whole physical displays of affection business—in a hug from just outside the hot tub. “We’re going to go furniture shopping, and eat deep-dish pizza, and find apartments right next to each other, and mail home Chicago-themed care packages, and get you hooked up with some gorgeous Italian woman...or whatever you like, I guess I shouldn’t assume. Women. Men. Gang members. Marine mammals. Jessicas. Whatever. There are options.”

Ben laughed as he playfully shoved Joe away. “Sounds like a plan, pagliaccio.”

“Oh my god, stop learning Italian without me! You realize you have to tell Mom now.”

“I will,” Ben agreed, with some trepidation. “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”

“It’ll be hard for her,” I said. “But she knows it’s what you want. She knows it’s what’s best for you. So she’ll get through it. I think it would be worse for her if you didn’t get in, if she had to see you unhappy.”

Ben nodded, exhaling strawberry-doughnut-flavored vapor, gazing up at the stars, Orion and Auriga and Lynx and Perseus reflected in his thoughtful jade eyes. “She’ll still have Rami and Lucy and Scarlett here with her. And Archer. And Charlie.”

“Especially Charlie,” Joe said, grinning.

Mercy would have to leave Forks eventually, of course. The Lees had already been here for nearly four years; they could stay another ten, perhaps fifteen at the absolute maximum. And there had been a time when ten or fifteen years seemed like quite a while to me, but now it felt like I could doze off one afternoon and wake up on the other side of it, like swimming a lap in the sun-drenched public pool back in Phoenix. We would find a new home somewhere after Joe and I finished our PhDs, after Ben finished medical school, maybe Vancouver or Buffalo or Amsterdam or Edinburgh or Dublin or Reykjavik. Wherever we went, I hoped it wouldn’t be far from the sea. But Mercy couldn’t bear to leave Forks yet. It was the last home she had shared with Gwil, the last house they would ever build together, and leaving it would make his loss all the more irrevocable. She would be ready to leave someday, but not today.

In the meantime, there would still be visits for breaks and holidays. Scarlett and Archer had the shop to keep them busy, a brand new eight-car garage that held a virtual monopoly on both the Forks and Quileute communities. Lucy had opened a bohemian-style clothing boutique downtown, which confounded most of the locals but attracted more adventurous customers from as far away as Seattle. Rami was interning for a local immigration lawyer and entertaining the possibility of applying to U Chicago’s law school in another few years. And Mercy had the farm; and she had Charlie. He had asked her for cooking lessons to try to help rouse her a few months after Gwil’s death, and it had grown from there. If it wasn’t romantic just yet, I believed it would be soon. And there were moments when I thought my father might have figured something out, when his eyes narrowed and lingered on me just a little too long, when his brow knitted into suspicious, searching lines, when the hairs rose on the back of his neck and some innate insight whispered that we weren’t like him and never could be again. But then he would chuckle, shake his head, and say: “You’ve gotten weird, my gorgeous, brilliant progeny. But Forks looks pretty good on you.”

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Joe asked me suddenly; and did I see restless nerves flicker in his dark eyes? I thought I did.

“Sure,” I replied, climbing down from the hot tub. “Ben, are you coming inside? My dad is trying to bake Christmas cookies and failing miserably. It’s pretty hilarious. Not that you should be the one to critique other people’s kitchen-related accidents.”

“I do enjoy your company a lot more now that I don’t want to murder you and slurp you down like a Chick-fil-A milkshake,” Ben said. “Yeah, give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” And as Joe and I headed into the house, I saw Ben pick up the acceptance letter that I’d left on the rim of the hot tub and read it for himself with incredulous eyes, grappling with the irrefutable fact that it was his name on the opening line, that he had somewhere along the way become the sort of man who dedicated his immortality to saving lives rather than ending them.

In the living room, Scarlett was back in her yoga pants and absolutely brutalizing Archer in Mario Kart. Rami and Lucy were entwined together on the loveseat, murmuring, giggling, feeding each other pieces of gingerbread cookies. In the kitchen, Charlie was leading Mercy in a clumsy waltz to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love, and each time he fumbled his steps or mortifyingly trod on her feet she would cry out in a peal of laughter brighter than the sun she had learned to live without. Joe spirited me up the staircase, into his bedroom—which, honestly, was more like our bedroom now, in the same way that my room in Charlie’s house had become Joe’s as well—and closed the door.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “Your dad totally ruined our song. Now I can’t hear it without thinking about some moustached guy in plaid trying to seduce my mom.”

“It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Meat Loaf is vanquished. Oh, just so you’re aware, Renee and Paul are getting an Airbnb and coming up for New Years.”

“Cool. Do they still think I have a super embarrassing sunlight allergy and will break into hives and asphyxiate and that’s why we can’t visit them in Florida?”

“Yup.”

“Spectacular. Also, can you please tell me what’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“They’re just a little sparse, amore. But I still like you.”

“Well, I am only moderately attractive, you know.” Then Joe steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Uh oh. He was definitely nervous. I still couldn’t believe I had the power to make him that way, but here we were. “So I get that we’re doing presents with the whole family tomorrow morning, and you do have some under the tree, so don’t worry about that. But there’s one I wanted to give to you alone. You know. With just us. Without an audience. Or whatever.”

“...Okay...?” A secret gift? A naughty gift? “I hope it’s a new vibrator.”

“Shut up,” Joe begged, laughing. “Here.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand—our nightstand—and produced a small blue box topped with a turquoise bow. It wasn’t a ring, I was sure of that; I didn’t feel especially attached to the idea of marriage, and neither did Joe to my knowledge. How could rings or papers seal commitment when you already had eternity? I was right: the mysterious present was not a ring. When I removed the lid and emptied the box into my palm, what appeared there was a small plastic airplane.

“What is this?” I asked, amused but puzzled.

“Are you not college educated? It’s a plane.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. But it’s also like two inches long.” I scrutinized the plane. “Are you magically transforming me into a tiny, tiny, little plastic person? Is that my gift? Because I actually got you something good.” And I really did: there was a collection of vintage Chicago Cubs photographs from the 1910s and 20s downstairs under the Christmas tree, packaged in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wrapping paper.

“We’re going on a trip,” Joe said, grinning. “The day after Christmas. It’s just a short trip, nothing huge, don’t get too excited, we’re not going to Mt. Everest or Antarctica or anything. I think you’ll still like it. But I don’t want you to know where we’re going until we’re there.”

“How will that work? Considering the tickets and signage and pilot announcements and obnoxiously noisy other passengers and all.”

“ScarJo’s going to fly us.”

“Really?!” We were taking the jet. We almost never used the jet. “What’s in it for Scarlett?”

“She found out that Archer’s never had In-N-Out Burger before and is very much looking forward to initiating him into the cult of deliciousness.”

“Oh nice. I could go for a vanilla milkshake myself, now that Ben mentioned them.”  

“Obviously I’m gonna buy you all the milkshakes and animal-style fries you want. Bankrupt me, bitch. But we have to get one other thing taken care of first.”

“So it’s somewhere they have In-N-Out Burger...” I pondered aloud. California? Texas? Las Vegas? I felt a brief but unambiguous pang of homesickness for Phoenix. But there was nothing there for me anymore.

“Stop,” Joe pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much. Please forget that. Get a traumatic brain injury or oxygen deprivation or something.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather indestructible at the moment.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

There was laughter downstairs in the living room. I could detect the aroma of a fresh batch of sugar cookies baking in the kitchen, mingling with the cold night air and pine trees and peppermint candy canes. I loved Christmas. The entire world smelled like Joe. The U Chicago décor, classic rock posters, and Italian flag were now interspersed with National Geographic pages and photos of the two of us together. The Official Whatever You Want Pass hung in a small, square picture frame on the wall above Joe’s bed. Our bed.

“How real is it, Joe?” I asked quietly. I climbed onto my tiptoes, linking my hands around the back of his neck with the tiny plane still tucked between my fingers. “Seriously. The wishes thing.”

“The world may never know. Akari never met me as a human, so she wouldn’t be able to say. But if I had to place a bet...” He shrugged, grinning craftily. “Kinda real. Kinda not real. Just like vampires, I guess.”

“I am alarmingly glad that you’re real, mob guy,” I said, abruptly somber. “I never thought I’d meet someone who saw me as remarkable, who could make me see myself that way. And it’s miraculous. And it’s terrifying too, honestly. Being a thing with you. Falling for someone you could have for centuries and lose in a second.”

“It’s the scariest thing there is,” Joe concurred, taking my hand to lead me back downstairs.

Joseph

Scarlett looks like a goddess, and she knows it. But she’s not one of those magnanimous, fragile, harp-plucking, pastel-colored goddesses. She’s ferocity and wildness and crimson like blood, and that’s exactly why Archer loves her. And as they stand in front of the Christmas tree with their hands clasped together—ivory on bronze, snow on sun—with matching sprigs of holly in Scarlett’s hair and pinned to the jacket of Archer’s suit, reciting truths but no promises, I can’t help but watch the other faces in the room: Rami, Lucy, Ben, Charlie, Mom with her beaming smile and shining eyes, the woman I met sixteen months ago and now can’t fathom life without. And it occurs to me for the first time that love, in its cleanest form, isn’t something that changes people as much as it allows them to become who they truly are.

On the evening of December 26th, as soon as the sun dips beneath the western horizon, we board the jet in the Forks Airport hangar. It’s much easier for Scarlett to fly at night; otherwise she has to wear two or three pairs of sunglasses on top of each other, and even then it’s still painful, it still feels like blinding needles burrowing into the jelly of her retinas. That’s not a wrench in my plans or anything. It needs to be night where we’re going, too.

Vampire hyper-acuity notwithstanding, FAA regulations require Scarlett to have a copilot, so Archer joins her in the flight deck with his newly-minted license and spends most of the journey flipping through the latest issue of Motor Trend. As we begin our descent, he peeks back at us and teases: “It’ll be your turn eventually, guys. Scarlett and I did our time. Rami and Lucy can go next year. And after that...unless Ben happens to find someone worthy of a not-wedding...” He wiggles his black eyebrows.

“Bring it on,” I reply casually. “Fake wedding are my jam. It’ll be ocean themed. Or Roaring ‘20s themed. And we’ll all do the Cha-Cha Slide in the living room and shame Ben as a bonding activity.”

“Mercy can set up a mashed potatoes bar,” Baby Swan adds.

“Yeah. With pineapple.”

“No. Not on potatoes.”

“Yes on potatoes.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Too late,” I tell her, touching my lips to the knuckles of her cool, steady hand.

We touch down at a small noncommercial airport just outside the city, and Scarlett and Archer stay back to secure the plane as Baby Swan follows me outside. And she realizes where we are as soon as the wind hits her, as soon as her eyes soak up the sand and cacti and cloudless night sky like rain swallowed up by parched earth.

“Phoenix,” she whispers, smiling like a child.

“But wait, there’s more!” I announce in my best Billy Mays voice. I take the little glass bottle from my pocket, walk across the runway to the naked desert, crouch down when I find a suitable spot, and fill the bottle with dry, sandy earth that crumbles in my palms. Then I seal the bottle with a tiny cork and bring it back to give it to her.

“I know what it’s like to have to leave home,” I say. “You’ve had to say goodbye to Phoenix, and soon you’ll have to say goodbye to Forks, and next will be Chicago, on and on forever. You’ll always be leaving the places you learn to call home. Every five or ten or fifteen years, we start over again. Like a snake shedding its skin, like a hermit crab swapping shells. Like the water that travels from rain to seawater to mist and then back again. But now you can always have a little piece of home with you, and maybe that will make it easier.”

She takes the glass bottle and shakes her head in disbelief, in wonder. Because this is exactly what she wanted, what she needed, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Joe...how did you...?”

“What’d I tell ya? I’m a talented guy. Now you have to dance with me.”

She laughs. “Oh no. Hard pass. I don’t dance.”

“When we’re alone in my bedroom you do. So just pretend we’re alone now. In, like, a really really spacious, sandy bedroom. With probably some lizards.”

“Fine. But only because I’m willing to degrade myself for milkshakes.”

She slides the glass bottle of Arizona earth into her pocket and takes my hands. She’s still a pretty terrible dancer, honestly. She hasn’t lost that. And I love that about her. I love damn near everything about her. And it took me a long time to figure out what exactly her subtle yet peerless cocktail of fragrance is, because it wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been. The scent that drifts from her pores—the scent that now lives in my bedsheets like a shadow or a ghost—is sunlight and heat and clarity and resilience and wisdom older than the pyramids. Her scent is the desert.

Now she’s mischievous, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the Milky Way and the full moon and the stars that are dead and yet eternal, just like us. “So what, you think you’re Vampire Boyfriend Of The Year material now or what? Some dirt and In-N-Out Burger? That’s the height of your game? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my perpetual existence? I totally should have pursued that polyamorous triad with Scarlett and Archer when I had the chance—”

“Yeah,” I say, very softly, smiling, tilting up her chin to kiss her beneath the universe and all its eccentricities. “I love you too.”

[coollyinterferes]

Character Interview || Repost, don't Reblog

NAME  :   Robert Edward Orville Speedwagon

NICKNAME  :  Boss, aniki, “bastard!”/"that son of a bitch!” (usually from rival gang members, so the insult varies sometimes lol), Rob (used by a few friends), derivatives of his last name −Speebs, Speeds, Speeb, Speedy, etc− but these he will only accept them from certain people, otherwise he will do his best not to cringe on the spot or will do it inwardly. Uncle Speedy and etc later on (as in once George and the rest of the children come into his life, more specifically~).

AGE  :   25 in the main verse (may vary depending on the verse)

SPECIES  :  Human/Stand user in the main/time-travel verse | Vampire in the vamp!verse | Werefox in the monster!verse

—— Personal! ♡

MORALITY  :      lawful   /   chaotic /   good   /   neutral   /   evil  /   true .

RELIGION  :   Non-practising catholic (was raised as Catholic, like most other Victorians, believes in God, but that’s pretty much about it)

SINS   :     greed   /   gluttony   /   sloth   /   lust   /   pride  /   envy   /   wrath  .

VIRTUES :     chastity   /   charity   /   diligence   /   humility   /   kindness   /  patience  / justice.

KNOWN LANGUAGES :   English is his first language. Conversational Spanish, Italian, French, Portuguese, German and some more. Some conversational Mandarin Chinese as well (this one thanks to Li −canonly known as Kenpo, his Ogre Street friend−) and bits of Irish (this one thanks to Tattoo, his other Ogre Street friend). He can read and understand some Japanese (kana and some okurigana/kanji) but can’t really speak or write it. Same case for some other languages that he can also recognize and more or less understand bits of them but can’t really speak them. As you probably guessed, he’s learned most of these through his many journeys around the world.

SECRETS  :  All of the stuff in regards to the stone mask and all the events and incidents that came out from that (it was stated that the only ones who know everything about it from start to end are Jonathan and Speedwagon, the others who might know a great deal of it would be Straizo and Master Tonpety). He also tries to keep a low profile in regards to his homosexuality whenever he’s out of the slums to save himself some trouble due to the stigma at the time and the potential legal consequences, going only for the gay codes of the time (long hair, cleanly shaven face, colorful accessories, etc) so I guess that could count? Other than that, and in the verses that it applies, his stand mayhaps?? That’s what allows him to leap through timelines in the time travel verses (it possesses other abilities and skills but, since Robert doesn’t even know about his stand’s existence yet, he hasn’t trained with it and thus he doesn’t know about any of it’s abilities, not even about the time travel oof).

—— Physical! ♡

BUILD :     scrawny   /   bony   /   slender   /   fit   /   athletic   /   curvy   /   herculean   /  pudgy  /   average   .

HEIGHT  :   5’11”, close to the 6’ mark (181 cms)

SCARS   /   BIRTHMARKS  :    The most recognizable one is the scar marring the left side of his face (going from the top of his nose to his jaw), but he has plenty more scattered all over his body, some more visible than others, some larger than others. Most of them come from fights and his general criminal lifestyle, some of them even come from some of the torture sessions he’s endured as part of that (so it isn’t surprising that they were either caused by knives, gunshots, burns, shards of glass and etc). Most of his scars are located on his chest and arms, some more on his hands/wrists and fingers (hands/wrists and fingers mainly from when he was learning to use his buzzsaw hat), though he has a few more on his legs/thighs, lower abdomen, and a couple more on his back. In the main verse (usually set in the late stages of PB), he will have a few more from the events in PB −burn scars on his hands from the fire at the Joestar mansion, one on his shoulder from the attack he received from Jack the Ripper, an ice burn across his abdomen from thawing Zeppeli’s arm, and a couple more and not so visible ones on his arms from minor injuries (cuts) he got while fighting and fending off zombies−. Most of the “PB scars” aren’t too visible thanks to Jonathan (he used his hamon to heal Speedwagon’s injuries shortly after).

ABILITIES   /   POWERS  :  He’s able to tell an evil person from a good one by their smell alone. He’s a resilient man and quite a strong one, too (stronger than the average guy, as he was shown killing zombies using his brute force only and a sledgehammer). He's good at hand to hand combat, he’s also good at using knives and guns, and at wrecking shit with a sledgehammer. I also hc that he's capable of creating veeeeeery small amounts of hamon (this as a result of Zepp's "accidental" slip) if he really puts his mind into it. Due to his current limitations with it, his hamon can’t be used for fighting, but it does enhance his healing process, making it slightly faster than that of an average human (with some proper training, chances are he might be able to do more with it, tho). His stand, in the verses where he has it, can perform time travel, which happens at random at first (he gradually gains control on his stand once he learns about it and starts training with it). Due to stands being a reflection of sorts of their user and their fighting spirit, and as an extension of Robert’s own hamon healing abilities, his stand also possesses healing abilities that can be used both on himself and on others, though this requires some training prior, as the healing relies entirely on Speedwagon’s own life force and can be fatal for him if used carelessly at first (once properly trained, it won’t represent a real danger for him to use). Much like Robert himself, his stand is also capable of packing some punches and causing serious damage on it’s opponent despite his stand being more of a “support” stand rather than a fully combat based one.

RESTRICTIONS  :  He's mostly a regular human in the main verse, so he’s at a great disadvantage against stronger supernatural beings such as vampires and pillarmen, for example. As stated above, the amounts of hamon he can currently create are small and, thus are difficult −almost impossible− to use for combat (again, this can change if he gets some proper training). His lack of knowledge on his stand’s existence can also count as a restriction for the time being, as he doesn’t know about it or it’s abilities and, thus, can’t use it at his will for now (it operates mostly in an “unconscious” level at first, usually after getting triggered). He also tends to wear his heart in his sleeve when it comes to the few people he truly holds dear and considers special to him, so that can be used against him if he’s not careful enough.

—— Likes / Scents! ♡

FOOD  :    He isn’t really picky with food since he grew up in absolute poverty and sometimes went for days without a single bite of food or eating stale (sometimes even moldy) food so like… he’s cool with pretty much anything nowadays. He’s also an adventurous man, so he’s always open to trying new and even “exotic” stuff. Other than that, pastries are one of his top fave things ever (creamy ones mainly but not exclusively).

DRINK  :   Tea −citrusy/fresh types mainly like lemongrass, same with berry teas−. He doesn’t mind sweeter teas but, since he usually has them with the pastries, he prefers something more “sour” to balance things out. He also likes coffee, liking it strong, kind of sweet, and hot (just how he likes his men lol). As for alcoholic drinks, he’s all for beer and gin. He also enjoys some of the sweeter ‘posh’ wines Jonathan normally has at his home.

PIZZA TOPPING  :  As far as I know, pizza toppings weren’t as creative and “crazy” in the 19th century as they have been over the last few decades, so he’s only used to more ‘traditional’ stuff like variants of Pizza Margherita, for example. However, in the time travel verses/modern!AUs he will definitely try all kinds of pizza toppings (yes, this includes pineapple pizza as well as entirely sweet pizza toppings and so on) and actually likes some of them.

COLOUR  :    Purple (shades like those of his waistcoats i.e.), pink, greeeeeeenvert, black.

MUSIC GENRE  :    More than a genre itself, he enjoys and appreciates music that can make him feel something. Toss some pub songs there for obvious reasons lol.

BOOK GENRE  :     General fiction mostly. He also enjoys reading some romance novels every now and then whenever he gets the chance to get his hands on a gay romance one, either featuring two males or two females (he doesn’t find the appeal in “traditional” ones for a variety of reasons).

MOVIE GENRE  :    Non-applicable in the main verse. Time travel verses −if he even gets the chance to watch a movie− and even in a modern!AU, his go to genres would probs be similar to his book genres, lol, just add some comedy there but like, not the ‘cheapest’ and cringey kind of comedy.

SEASON  :     Autumn and Winter (harsh winters are a pain in the ass in Ogre Street, but he can handle them fairly well overall)

CURSE WORD :   Fuck / Shit / Bloody and variants of it (like Bloody Hell) / Arsehole / Wanker / Damnit / Bollocks, Ballocks and all of it’s variants / Bastard / Motherfucker / Zounderkite (victorian for “idiot” but with even harsher and ruder connotations than just using “idiot” lol) / Beardsplitter (one of the victorian words for “penis” xd). There are plenty, plenty, more but those are the ones I can think of rn. He comes from the darkest pits of the slums after all, so yeah... Lots of cussing can be expected.

SCENT ( S )  :    Sweet and masculine musky scent, mainly, with an occasional subtle note of gunpowder and/or tobacco depending on whatever tf he’s been doing. Maybe a vague note of blood if he just got out of a fight. Some vague vanilla too but that one only around the time when he lands a temporary job in a bakery in London.

—— Fun Facts! ♡

BOTTOM OR TOP  :   Top leaning verse. He only bottoms occasionally for serious/long term boyfriends that he genuinely trusts, partly due to how being a bottom was (wrongly) perceived as being submissive by most people, and how dangerous being seen as such can be in a place like Ogre Street if the word gets out (not to mention that there’s been people there who have given him shit just for being gay), and partly because he also prefers to top and likes it better, lol.

SINGS IN THE SHOWER  :   Yeah. He started doing it as a child as a way to keep his mind distracted from how cold as fuck the water he’d wash himself with was (he usually bathed in rivers or washed himself with buckets of water some maid forgot outside of a household and that he managed to steal). He’s become a lot more used to cold baths over the years so a distraction is not necessary anymore, however, he still sings or hums sometimes whenever he has a song stuck in his head or if he’s particularly happy about something (this continues later on in life as well,even after cold baths are no longer part of his life, so it’s a habit that he never actually leaves).

LIKES PUNS  :    He loves them! Lame ones, good ones, cheesy ones, silly ones, witty ones, dirty/vulgar ones, etc. Heck, even dad jokes can be found in his repertoire! Chances are that, if you come to him with a pun or joke, he will give you one or two (maybe even more) in return.

------------------------------

Tagged by: @le-princesse-chevalier​​ (( thank you so much for the tag!!! ♡♡ ))

Tagging: @historias-multorum @jojoingjoseph @gazelessmenagerie @usfv @featherchan @kindersturm @iiguess @storiedocs @quirofiliac @rotrioted @breatheflcra @emcraldsxchcrrics @arrhythmiiia @mechahero @voltagecrow @promiseled @joesrparchive (tagged your main but the tag applies to any and all of your muses that you might want to fill this for >:D) @rzrbite​ @mistymiddiana (if you’re up for it) & also tagging anyone and everyone who wants to give this a shot! Just take it and say i tagged you~ Multis and peeps with 2+ muses, feel free to do this for as many of your muses as you wish!

#;dash games #;canon #[and also] #;headcanon #[ cause there be bits of both O: ] #;scrapbook (( speedwagon - headcanons )) #;basics #[didn't tag personals since the game doesn't apply] #[but please let me know if you have ocs or smth and i will gladly tag you guys!] #[also didn't tag peeps who are on hiatus as not to clog their notifs ;v;] #;long post

[surveysonfleek]

1617.

1. What’s the last thing you ate? turtle chips in choco churros flavour, a new fave!

2. What’s your favourite cheese? triple cream brie omg

3. What’s your favourite fish? raw salmon

4. What’s your favourite fruit? bananas

5. When, if ever, did you start liking olives? i hate olives

6. When, if ever, did you start liking beer? never lol. i dont mind fruity ciders though

7. When, if ever, did you start liking shellfish? i guess as a kid?

8. What was the best thing your mum/dad/guardian used to make? filipino food

9. What’s the native specialty of your hometown? we dont have anything great here haha

10. What’s your comfort food? a whopper. i know, its bad

11. What’s your favourite type of chocolate? i love lindt lindor

12. How do you like your steak? medium rare

13. How do you like your burger? a bit red in the middle and just the classic tomato, lettuce and onion with a bomb burger sauce

14. How do you like your eggs? scrambled

15. How do you like your potatoes? beer battered

16. How do you take your coffee? i love iced coffee

17. How do you take your tea? i prefer earl grey with a dash of milk and 1tsp of sugar

18. What’s your favourite mug? this cheap game of thrones one

19. What’s your biscuit or cookie of choice? subway cookies! particularly white choc and macadamia

20. What’s your ideal breakfast? a big breakfast - bacon, sausage, eggs,mushrooms, tomatoes and hash brown with a side of pancakes lol

21. What’s your ideal sandwich? tuna salad is good enough for me tbh

22. What’s your ideal pizza: meat lovers

23. What’s your ideal pie (sweet or savoury)? im happy with an apple pie from mcdonalds lol

24. What’s your ideal salad? greek salad

25. What food do you always like to have in the fridge? the usual haha

26. What food do you always like to have in the freezer? idk lol

27. What food do you always like to have in the cupboard? these questions are boring lol

28. What spices can you not live without? salt, pepper, galic and onion powder and of course all the usuals

29. What sauces can you not live without? tomato sauce and bbq sauce

30. Where do you buy most of your food? coles, woolies and aldi

31. How often do you go food shopping? every week

33. What’s the most expensive piece of kitchen equipment you own? fridge

34. What’s the last piece of equipment you bought for your kitchen? knives

35. What piece of kitchen equipment could you not live without? microwave or stove

36. How many times a week/month do you cook from raw ingredients? hmm maybe 4

37. What’s the last thing you cooked from raw ingredients? chicken curry

38. What meats have you eaten besides cow, pig and poultry? i’ve tried moose, turtle, lamb, crocodile, kangaroo

39. What’s the last time you ate something that had fallen on the floor? idr

40. What’s the last time you ate something you’d picked in the wild? haha this doesnt rly count but prob an avocado from our avocado tree

41. Arrange the following in order of preference: Italian, Mexican, Chinese, Indian, Thai, Sushi. sushi, chinese, italian, mexican, indian, thai

42. Arrange the following in order of preference: Vodka, Whiskey, Brandy, Rum. whiskey, rum, vodka, brandy

43. Arrange the following in order of preference: Garlic, Basil, Caramel, Lime, Mint, Ginger, Aniseed. garlic, caramel, basil, ginger, mint, lime, aniseed

44. Arrange the following in order of preference: Pineapple, Orange, Apple, Strawberry, Cherry, Watermelon, Banana. banana, watermelon, pineapple, orange, apple, strawberry, cherry

45. Bread and spread: nutella is my fave

46. What’s your fast food restaurant of choice, and what do you usually order? kfc, fried chicken and coleslaw

47. Pick a city. What are the best dining experiences you’ve had in that city? haha i couldnt choose

48. What’s your choice of tipple at the end of a long day? what

49. What’s the next thing you’ll eat? some sort of snack at work

50. Are you hungry now? no

51. Do you eat your breakfast everyday? nope

52. At what time do you have breakfast? maybe 7am if i have it

53. At what time do you have lunch? 11

54. What do you have for lunch? changes everyday

55. At what time do you have dinner? 7pm

56. What do you have for dinner? changes everyday

57. Do you light candles during dinner? no lol

58. How many chairs are there in your dining room and who sits in the main chair? 6 but we hardly ever have dinner together as a family lol

59. Do you eat and drink using your right hand or the left one? right

61. Mention the veggies that you like most: i legit like all veggies

62. What fruit and vegetable do you like the least? any sour fruits

63. You like your fruit salad to have more: rockmelon

64. You prefer your vegetable salad to contain more: avocado

65. What’s your favourite sandwich spread? nutella

66. What’s your favourite chocolate bar? kitkat or malteasers

67. What’s your favourite dessert? waffles

68. What’s your favourite drink? vanilla coke

69. What’s your favourite snack? idk lol

70. What’s your favourite bubble gum flavour? spearmint

71. What’s your favourite ice cream flavour? hazelnut

72. What’s your favourite potato chip flavour? salt and vinegar

73. What’s your favourite soup? clam chowder

74. What’s your favourite pizza? meat lovers

75. What’s your favourite type of dish? a hearty meal

76. What food do you hate? spicy food

77. What’s your favourite restaurant? theres way too many to name

78. Do you eat homemade food, or food delivered from outside? both

80. Who cooks at home? we all take turns

81. What kind of diet (e.g. low-fat, high-fiber, high-carbohydrate, balanced diet etc.) do you have? i dont follow one

82. How do you keep yourself fit? minimal exercise lol

#survey #surveys #quiz #bored #questions

[kaetastic]

Mafia Aside

pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

summary: Despite being part of the criminalizing life in the mafia, Luca Changretta needs the surprise birthday for his girl to be perfect. Needs- all letters capitalized. [requested: @imaginesbymk]

word count: 3.2k

warning: halted smut, fluff, slight angst? angory luca

note: thank you so much @imaginesbymk for this request!! I hope this is alright! I felt like Luca was OOC though 🥺🥺

Luca’s eyes fluttered open from the rather merciless jab of the morning light. It was an unfair battle of swerving swords as he had just charged up his engine. A sigh brushed his lips when his back muscles sprinkled happiness at the finally fulfilling sleep which he had been promised at the end of the week. Six days of enduring work when you don’t want to; six days of sleep, if all hours of slumbering had been added up, would be equal to a day of working. To summarize it all up, Luca had been the dangling bait teasing himself over the warmth of his bed.

Now that it was finally the weekend he had been longing for for far too long, he couldn’t help but smear the aching muscles with the good news. The good realization which almost sounded fake. Almost as if it was a too-good-to-be-true sort of dream. However, with a pile of evidence and the remembrance of the promised day, every single tendon in his body melted into the warm bed. The warm bed he had his overnight breath plastered all over.

“Mhm.” The woman who had been hogging his body into hers hummed, annoyed at his excessive movements. She knew he was beginning to stir up; she hated it. Time was sure to be purchased for them to rest in bed. Y/N wasn’t surprised he had woken up at such an early hour in the weekend, it had been the same time he would get up of bed for work. The torturous hours of work had implemented the time to wake up in his head.

Luca groaned, his left side sore and numb, sleeping from the weight that had rested on his arm overnight. Pulling his arm away to feel shivers crawl up his skin from the lack of response, his numbness was overlapped by Y/N’s irritated sigh. With a huff she flipped to her other side, her back facing him, “Go back to sleep.”

The words fell off her lips in an exhausting trail, a string as evidence of spending a whole day at her future mother-in-law’s home to learn Luca’s favourite meals. While Luca busied himself with work, there was barely anything to do at home when he was away. Sure, Y/N could sweep some dust that reverts to its original home despite her relentless wiping; don’t even mention the number of times she had organized and reorganized the fridge. Her daily routine was so monotonous. It was dull and grey when she’s stuck in the walls of the home alone. That was until Luca would come back.

“I’m wide awake now.” He chided, pushing his body up to the headboard of the bed, eyes never leaving her resting body. Y/N groaned. It should’ve been a day of resting and possibly, a lot of cuddling in bed. His warmth was always there for her when her eyes were shut tight. Lately, work had been the blade grazing his back. In other words, it had been a pain in the ass. The corners of his lips crept up as she now faced him, eyes still glued shut. 

“Just close your eyes.” Although her lips were mumbling the words, each syllable lingered in the air for less than second, Luca managed to make of what she said. The Italian chuckled, his fingers brushing her hair. 

“How can I? It’s morning.” Finally snapping her eyes open, she beamed at the man who wore his signature smirk. The infamous quirk of his lips. Rolling her eyes at the obvious observation, she shifted closer to the radiating heat of his bare chest. As her nose caressed his pillow, the scent of him warming up her lungs, she snuggled into the smell. The smell that would only plaster against the side of his bed with a diluted tone after he had left to do work.

“Thank you for informing me, Mr Changretta for I would be lost without your great insights.” He chuckled, head shaking as his fingers hovered over the jar of matchsticks on his bedside table (something Y/N had pestered over years). With the wooden stick pressed against his bottom lip, he nudged it with his tongue. The redhead of the match rolled from left to right.

“What do you want for breakfast? I’ll cook.” 

Y/N quirked her eyebrows, “Oh, are you the chef for today, Mr Changretta?” Luca said nothing, the curled corners of his lips speaking for him. “Quit talking ‘bout breakfast. From now on, everything that requires going out of bed and is related to morning activities, are banned. We are cuddling.” 

His string of laughter quivered through her draped arm that rested on his bare chest, sparking tingles of his husky voice. The woman didn’t bother to meet his eyes as her lungs were warmed of the addicting scent of him, “Cuddling is part of our morning activities.”

The Italian’s eyes didn’t quiver from her intense gaze as she pushed herself up to straddle his hips, her knees pooled into the mattress of their bed, “We haven’t cuddled this whole week,” Luca had to ponder for a second if what she stated was true. Despite his squeaking gears on replaying every day of the previous week, he was curious to how she could remember so. “There are other stuff we can do that remains in our... regulations.”

“Your regulations,” Luca chided, his matchstick pointed at her direction. “What do you have in mind?”

There was a glint in his eyes. The glint that Y/N had been so familiar with. The glint she had missed ever since Luca had wrapped his body around sheets of work. Tilting her head in lost of thoughts, she hummed while his hands were splayed against her thighs, “Not sure, it might take up the whole day...”

Every muscle in Luca’s body was pulled taut, dipped in frozen ice. Y/N didn’t notice. She didn’t pick up the way his chest went rigid, his chest barely moving a centimetre to respire, her focus heavily placed onto his reaction. As her fingers danced on his bare chest, thumb grazing over his recovering scars, Luca’s head stung of rapid thoughts. And that was when her body went flying back to her side of the bed. Scrambling to stand in the middle of the room, chest out in the open with a loose trouser around his hips, the Italian’s mouth parted. Mouth left wide open, she watched as he scurried to find the right words, “I have some... work to do.” 

Luca nodded at his own words as if he was convincing himself to the new plan, liking the idea. Leaving Y/N all alone in their bed.

“What the fucking shit is this?” The Italian spat out. Well, the words and the saliva-covered crumbs of the cake that left an unpleasant aftertaste. The ceramic plate slammed into the wooden table, singing an echoing song before it was met with a splat from the fallen sample of the cake that was to be the birthday cake for his girl. How could such a shitty flavour be the cake for his girl? Everybody would choke and die if he was to accept the third sample he had tried for the day. The third sample. What a joke. 

The first two was no different. It would just take a caress of his tongue against the crevices of his teeth to find the remaining residues of the previous samples. A man whose familiar with the taste of lingering iron would have a loaded gun in his hand. There was no way Luca would bring a cake that tasted like iron for a birthday party. A surprise birthday party at that one. The Italian hoped it remained unknown for he knew how some of his sisters could get a bit... mouthy. 

The man who owned the bakery quivered in fear, hoping the warmness that streamed in his pants was not what he thought it was. Although his sister, Rosa, had assured him that the bakery had made countless unforgettable cakes for her and her love for throwing parties, Luca could not find a sole point that would match to his sister’s descriptions and her high set experience with the bakery. Or, maybe it was due to the fact that Luca had only wanted the best of the best. Usually, it wouldn’t be that hard to find the best firearm that suited him. But cakes? He had to pour a gallon of patience to hold himself back from storming out. Should’ve just asked mamma to make the cake.

“It’s pineapple cake, straight from Hawaii, sir-” Luca grunted out, shutting up the stuttering man. Fingers pressed into his temples, the Italian attempted at the silly advice of counting down, given by his youngest sister who had claimed Luca had wavering moments of temper. It worked. 

“You know what? I’m not spending another hour shoving your cakes down my throat. I’ll take the chocolate, two layers, and put some fucking decorations on it, like sprinkles or some shit. Looks bland, whose funeral are we going to?” No one spoke up. Who would? This was the man who had strutted up and down the streets with his infamous patted suits. 

“Luca,” Matteo called out, scurrying after his boss who had just splat a wad of cash. Why does it sometimes feel like he’s always chasing after a little boy who had just thrown a tantrum? “Where are we going now?”

“The party hall.”

“What does it take for you people to fucking get my words through your heads?” The running veins along his neck bulged, grazing to the surface of the air in pulses. Today must be a joke. Everything had tested him. It was as if someone was playing a game to see how short of a temper he has. Occasionally, he would be composed; he wasn’t one to spring to the bullet, head-first. Planning events was not rolling of dices. 

Bodies quivered, shivering at his scolding as if a flock of wind had engulfed the warmth they once sheltered in. Luca had been mistaken as a cold man multiple times. It wasn’t hard for a stranger to take a glance at his posture and his gait, to not portray him as the wolf stalking through their buildings. That was what he was. If only they had done it right, they wouldn’t have to face the consequences. The line of men who had been assigned to the arrangement of the tables were abruptly yanked to stop their last-minute adjustments. To only be scolded as if children. Despite the growing orb of seething anger they had for being the stock of embarrassment in the room, they couldn’t do anything. So, they directed to a more acceptable choice, swallowing the fury down into an abyss, a void. Because who was mental enough to oppose what the powerful man said?

“Put that fucking table there, and move those three back.” With his fingers as the direction informant, the string of men dispersed without any mumbling. Not even one had slipped under their breath as the risk had been too high. The room had fallen into a defeaned silence, present eyes were stuck on those who had been responsible for the arrangement of the tables. However, with a quick glance from even his known bodyguard, Matteo, there were no longer on-lookers for they had resumed with their work. 

Just four more days before it was the big day. A sigh of relief, mixed in with gratitude and joy fell from his lips, “Finally. See? It is better now.”

The intense whirlwind that had descended down from the ceiling had evaporated, vanishing into thin air. The heavyweight sitting on their shoulders were no more as sunshine glittered through the windows which had been protected with velvet curtains on the sides. They could even hear birds singing a song. A victory of a battle song. Except, the smiles on their faces had been wiped off when the man demanded, “Pass me the liquours we’re serving.” 

Oh lord. Matteo felt as if his job was no different to clinging onto the clanking chains of a wild dog. The splatter of the whiskey he had allowed to smear a small area of his tongue was gushed back into the cup. His bewildered eyes and his furrowed eyebrows had been enough to scare the man who brought a sample of the whiskey, “Did you scoop up sewer water?” The terrified man shook his head, lips shut tight. “We fucking distribute alcohols and you got yourself the shittiest one.”

With a quirk of his eyebrows, the man scurried to the kitchen for another bottle. It was indeed going to be a long day. 

“Did none of you write down what I said?” Luca’s eyes blared onto his accompanying men. All they could do was swing their jaw, eyes never meeting the man who had directed his anger towards them. Except for Matteo and Frederico. It seemed it was always them who had the courage to do so. Maybe it was because they had been used to the Italian, and his... personality. “Carlo, is there something missing?”

The brunette who held his fedora to his chest craned up his neck, young eyes landing dead-centre of Luca’s electrifying gaze, “The balloons and flowers?” 

“Good, and where are they?”

“Luca, we still have four days.” Matteo spoke up when he noticed the man who was about to be Luca’s punching bag could not find the answer in his head.

Hair prickling like a dagger, it grazed Luca’s forehead as he reverted his focus towards his henchman, “I’ve been planning this shit for months. We have four days left? Everything should’ve been ready by now.” Fingers digging into the lapels of Matteo’s suit, Luca stared down, his figure towering prominently. There was a glint that sparked a bonfire in his eyes. 

“Antonio, go with Carlo to check up on the balloons. Make sure there are two and a half dozen. You better fucking count each and every one.”

Antonio, followed by Carlo scurried out. The roaring noise of an engine faded into the distance. Luca cleared his throat, “Great. Let’s check up on the flowers.”

“Luca! Could you just shut up? Your presence is not needed.” Elena huffed out, the muscles in her arm urging for her to grab the nearest sharpest tool to remind her oldest brother he was as annoying as a screeching seagull. Her gaze craned down from his shadowy figure to the flowers in her hands. The task of flowers was given to Elena, the middle child of five, just three years younger than Angel. Luca glared at the bundle of mess.

“It clearly is. What are you doing with pink and blue?” Defeated, she leaned her back into her chair, her lazy eyes (not from her hard-working efforts but from the fact that her brother had ruined her mood) followed his fingers as he brought a pink and peach coloured flowers into a pairing. “See? So much appealing to my eyes.

Knowing her brother with his stubborn character trait, she could only roll her eyes and followed the man’s instruction. Luca stalked towards the balcony, the purple sky caressing his skin. Everything was going to plan.

“Where are we heading off to?” It might’ve been the hundredth time she had asked the driver, but it didn’t hurt to inquire. Maybe it had been for Matteo’s ears which had been throbbing with agonizing pain from the clueless passenger. Questions floated in his head: why had he been the one to be assigned to driving her to the party- surprise party? “Are we getting closer?”

His grip around the driver’s wheel tightened, the uncut nails dug deep into the polished wood. Matteo snapped his neck, a deathly noise popped into the air. It answered Y/N’s question. Even though all he wanted to do was scream for her to remain quiet, he had to remind himself that this was Luca’s girl. He would not come out alive at the end of the day if the Italian finds out about the mistreatment. The echoing voice in his head that called out the nearing to the party hall, Matteo wanted nothing but to halt the car. He feared he would swerve into a tree that would end the torturous journey. Just round this corner.

Matteo had been slightly difficult to get closer to, despite the counting years of Luca’s and Y/N’s relationship. Befriending Frederico was simple, sure, the man had been collected and quiet, but it was more tolerable than the hot-headed Matteo.

Y/N’s lips parted open to let out another question, but the screeching of the tires cut her short, “Here we are.” The driver didn’t even bother to crane his neck as she got out of the vehicle.

Y/N knew that she and Matteo had not exactly passed acquaintance. But, she did not expect him to zoom down the street, leaving her alone. She watched as the vehicle fade into a faint fog, her eyes blinking at what had just happened. Averting her gaze to the building he had dropped her off at, she couldn’t help but gulp. Associating herself with the mafia had meant a whole list of issues that could place a potential problem. Some normal things she could’ve done as a normal citizen were cut off, all for her safety. Well, that’s what Luca would say. 

The corners of her lips curled down at the mention of the Italian. Even though he had promised her, assured every second he could- saying that he had planned something for her birthday, the distance between the two on the special day had only allowed her head to gush of overreacting thoughts. Y/N had tried her best to convince herself that Luca might’ve just been busy with work, while she had stumbled upon his other men enjoying their times in pubs. No matter her efforts in opposing the consuming thought, there was just evidence that something might’ve happened between the couple. She had even run her mind whenever she had occupied herself with work to think of what she could’ve possibly done to push him away. Did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong? But, nothing. 

When she had returned home from a leisure walk in the park, although, it was quite stressful for Y/N as she knew she had been sauntering on the green path with at least (to what she could see) three familiar men- Luca’s men, she laid her eyes on the box with a silk ribbon tying it, a note encased under the small bow. Wear this. Matteo will honk at seven. 

Shoving down the idea of a trap, Y/N managed to grab all her courage and barge through the doors, “Surprise!” Frozen in time, all sorts of colours blinded her eyes; names of faces she could only recall if she walked slowly in deep contemplation.

“Buon compleanno, amore mio,” (happy birthday my love) The too familiar voice of a husky Italian whispered against the shell of her ears, the warm puffs from his lips grazing across her skin in shivers of coldness. “You thought I forgot? Never.”

#luca changretta #luca changretta x reader #luca changretta oneshot #luca changretta imagine #luca changretta oneshots #luca changretta imagines #luca changretta fluff #luca changretta angst #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta ff #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders angst #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots

[trashyswitch]

The Puppet, The Bee, and The Secret Lee

Part 2 of Stuffed and Sewed with String

Golden Freddy slowly starts learning how to interact with the other animatronics. But amidst an ice breaker exercise, Marionette meets a tiny bug that reveals itself to be an absolute menace. With her animatronic parts being set up with only 1 entrance/exit, Marionette is left screaming as the bug buzzes around inside her animatronic body.

The request for some sort of part two, was suggested by thelightofdarkness (AO3). Thanks for the prompt!

Marionette and Golden Freddy had been friends for at least 4 years now. They became inseparable since the day Freddy encouraged Marionette to come out so long ago, and the two shy animatronics had created a friendship like no other. Things slowly got more interesting when Golden Freddy was convinced by Marionette, to talk to more people. Golden Freddy was very hesitant and refused to hold long conversations with anyone save for Marionette. But, Marionette was getting to a stage where she wanted to see Golden Freddy react to more people. So, she worked her magic and persuaded to give the other animatronics a try!

So here he was, awkwardly listening to Chica ramble about pizza. What a RiVeTiNg conversation.

“If you could try a pizza flavor, what would you try?” Chica asked.

Freddy smiled and started clapping his hands. “Oh oh oh! Meat lovers!” Freddy replied.

“Classic Pepperoni for me!” Bonnie replied.

“Italian garlic! Everything in me harrt, tells me to try garlic.” Foxy admitted.

“Is it wrong to put steak on a pizza?” Golden Freddy asked.

Marionette looked at him with a smile. “No, it’s not. That sounds like a good idea!” She replied.

“What about you, Marion?” Toy Freddy asked.

Marionette smiled and brought her fingers together. “Hawaiian is my sort of pizza.” She said as she imagined getting a hawaiian pizza at the pizza place.

“Hawaiian?” Bonnie asked.

“Well! We have a Hawaiian over heeerrre!” Foxy reacted.

“That’s the pizza that has pineapple on it.” Golden Freddy added.

Marionette smiled and nodded.

Suddenly, all the animatronics stopped talking and just stared at her. Marionette looked over at the animatronics, and immediately grew uncomfortable. “Uuuuuh...What? Is pineapple on pizza really that weird?”

Freddy pointed to the puppet’s head. “Uuuuuh...there’s something on you.” he told her.

Marionette tilted her head and quickly froze. Her mind had immediately identified the thing by the sound it was making:

BzzzzzzZZZZZZZZzzzzzz…

“BEE!” Golden Freddy yelled.

Marionette looked at the black and yellow bug as it flew around and brought itself in front of her mask eye holes. Eager to get it away, Marionette clapped her hands to kill it.

“Did you get it?” Freddy asked, opening her hand. But the bee wasn’t in her hand. It must’ve flown away. But Marionette wasn’t relieved. She remained frozen and refused to move.

BZZZZZZZZZzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzZZZZZzzzzz…

“AAAAAAH! GETITOUT GETITOUT GET IT OUT!” Marionette shouted, holding her head and sprinting around.

Golden Freddy stared at her with pure confusion on his face. What was even happening?!

Suddenly, Marionette started smacking her own head and shaking it around. Golden Freddy widened his eyes as he finally realized what happened: the bee had managed to get stuck inside Marionette’s head!

“Hold on! I’m coming!” Golden Freddy ran up to Marionette and reached his hand into her eye to try and get the bee out.

Marionette SCREAMED and slapped Goldie in the face!

“HEY! I’m trying to help!” Goldie yelled at her.

“By SHOVING YOUR HAND IN MY EYE?!” Marionette shouted back.

Marionette reached her own hand into her mask shield and tried to get the bee out of there. But feeling cornered, the bee decided to fly down into the endoskeleton to get away from the threatening hand.

Marionette removed her hand. “I can’t find it!” She reacted. “Where could it-”

BzzzzzzZZZZzZZzzzzzZZZZZzzzzzz

Marionette suddenly squealed and struggled to scrunch up her shoulders. “EEEEEHEHEHE!” Marionette started scrunching up her body and covering the mouth on her mask. It looked like Marionette was being possessed by something super bendy and elastic.

All of the animatronics were staring at her in pure confusion and worry. Only Golden Freddy was capable of even speaking up at this point. “Uuuuh...Marion?” he asked.

BzzZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZ-

“IHIT’S STUHUHUCK IHIN MY NEHEHEHECK!” Marionette shouted through bouts of laughter.

Golden Freddy widened his eyes in pure surprise, while the others just burst out laughing! “The bee is tickling her!” Bonnie reacted.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a ticklish lassie!” Foxy reacted.

“WHAHAHAT DOHOHO IHIHIHI DOHOHOHO?!” Marionette asked.

Golden Freddy shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know! Kill it? Squish it with the metal in your neck?” Goldie suggested half-hazardly.

Marionette ran around the room, flopping her arms and stomping her legs up and down like a crazy person. The bee itself didn’t tickle. It was the buzzing sound it was makind that was tickling her so badly! The bee seemed to stay in her neck for a bit, before moving down further to find a way out.

Suddenly:

BzzzzZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzzZZZZZZ

Marionette shrieked and spazzed her body to the right side. She flopped her body onto the floor, and started laughing and snorting uncontrollably! “AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *snort* NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE! AHAHAHA- *snort* NOHOHOHOHO *snort* NOHOHOT THEHEHERE! *snort* PLEHEHEHEHEASE!” Marionette started rolling around left and right.

Golden Freddy ran up to her and started to feel around with his thumb. “I can feel the buzzing, but where’s it coming from?” Goldie asked.

“AHAHAHARMPIHIHIHIHIHIT!” Marionette screamed back.

“Armpit? Like this one-” Golden Freddy immediately stopped talking as he felt the strong buzzing feeling through her left armpit. “Ooooooh! Here it is!”

Marionette threw her head back and cackled! “OHOHOFF MEEEEEHEHEHEHEHE!” Marionette screamed, snorting up a storm immediately after.

Golden Freddy just laughed. “How did our friendship manage to last for four years before finding out you were ticklish?!” Golden Freddy asked.

Marionette growled. Now as NOT the time for teasing. “GEHEHEHET IHIHIHIT OHOHOHOHUHUHUT!” Marionette shouted at him.

“Now how in the heck am I gonna do that?! I can’t shove my hand into your eye again. You’re gonna scream and get angry at me!” Golden Freddy reacted.

“DOHOHOHO SOHOHOMETHIHIHIHING!” Marionette begged.

“If you say so!” Golden Freddy started skittering his fingers on the puppet’s very thin waist. Immediately, Marionette arched her back and squealed super high-pitched like a bat. She threw her arms absolutely everywhere while she snorted and cackled wildly under her best friend.

“*snort* NAHAHAHAT THAHAHAHAHAT! *snort* OHOHOHOFF MEHEHEHE *snort* YOHOHOU *snort* EHEHEVIHIHIHIL BEHEHEHEHEHEAR! *snort*”

“Oh, I’m the evil one?” Golden Freddy reacted. “After 4 years of being the one attacked and tickled, I’m the evil one?!” he asked.

“YEHEHEHEHEHEHEHESSSSSS!” Marionette shouted back.

“Well:” Golden Freddy felt the upper chest, right around where her few ribs would be. “Look who just earned herself a raspberry!” Golden Freddy blew a big raspberry onto Marionette’s ribs and just about lost his hearing as a result. Marionette screamed super loudly, and super high pitched to the point of pain! If his hearing was damaged, then this would definitely be the thing to blame.

Despite the potential hearing loss, Golden Freddy was loving every second of this. Marionette going from barely giggling for 4 whole years, to laughing almost madly in 5 seconds?! Hell yeah! And now, Golden Freddy never wants it to end! If he can keep her laughing forever, he probably would!

“Doesn’t it feel good to laugh?” Golden Freddy asked her as he tickled her waist with a single finger.

“TOHOHOHO MUHUHUhuhuhuhuch!” Marionette told him.

BzzzzzzzzZZzzzzzzZZZZzzzzzzzzzZZzzzzz

The bee’s buzzing was starting to lessen and was starting to move around all over again. Whether it buzzed on her socked skeleton cover, or it buzzed on her endoskeleton: Marionette would laugh and snort through all of it. The animatronics had no clue just why Marionette could be tickled in such a way. But there was one thing what they knew for sure:

It was HILARIOUS TO WATCH!

Growing worried for the puppet, Foxy ran towards the back office where the security guard would be. He was about to pop in, but the door was closed and Foxy completely face planted the door.

Ow! How dare!

“Hello?” Foxy yelled, knocking on the door with his hook. “We need help! Marionette needs help!” Foxy yelled at the security guard.

Jeremy widened his eyes and raised both eyebrows. It...talks?

Jeremy slowly clicked the door button, and let it slide open. Foxy peeked his head into the room and went to the tablet. “Looky here.” Foxy told him, showing him the tablet with the camera on the stage room. Jeremy lifted an eyebrow in confusion as he watched what was happening.

Marionette was...laughing and rolling around on the floor???

“What kind of joke did you tell her?” Jeremy asked, trying to figure out why she was laughing so much.

“We didn’t tell her no joke! A beeee got into her system and it’s buzzin’ inside her.” Foxy told him.

“...She’s laughing...because a bee is buzzing inside her…” Jeremy responded, not believing his words for a second.

“Like this:” Foxy walked over and placed his left thumb on his side. He started vibrating his thumb really quickly and moving his thumb around.

Jeremy widened his eyes and doubled over, squealing and clutching his stomach to hide the vulnerable spots. “Stahahap thahahat ihihit tihihicklehes!”

Foxy removed his thumb and let Jeremy put the puzzle pieces together. Jeremy straightened himself out, and widened his eyes. “Ooooooh...Wait, animatronics can be ticklish?!” Jeremy asked.

Foxy groaned and grabbed his hand. “Come on, ya dummy!” Foxy dragged Jeremy out of the office and pulled him all the way down the hallways. Jeremy protested and yelled at him to let go, but soon gave up the fight. FIghting foxy was like trying to fight The Hulk: Not even worth attempting unless you wanna injure yourself.

Finally, the boys made it to the back of the stage. Foxy let him go and showed him the Marionette puppet. She was starting to grow mentally tired from laughing so much. She could feel her systems starting to overheat a little. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE HEHEHEHELP!” She begged.

Jeremy widened his eyes and knelt down to the ground. “Alright, alright. I think I know what to do.” Jeremy admitted.

He looked around for a button to remove the head and the waist of the suit. It didn’t take long for him to find the first button to remove the mask. Jeremy removed the mask and placed it down. But he immediately widened his eyes and stared at her endoskeleton skull. It was...very creepy, nonetheless. Ironically enough, Marionette would be less scary with the eyeless mask on rather than off.

Jeremy tried to work with Marionette’s wiggling and laughing as he looked for a button to undo the waist part. This was a little harder because there was no clear button on the puppet like there was for the mask.

But thankfully, Golden Freddy decided to help him out. Golden Freddy walked up to Jeremy and clicked the 2nd puppet button on Marion’s chest. Amazingly, this made a clicking sound and unlocked her waist piece. “Thank you Goldie.” Jeremy told him.

“No problem.” Golden Freddy replied, patting the human’s back lightly.

Jeremy removed the waist and sure enough: a black and white bug flew right out of the puppet’s middle. To be specific: it was thin and wasn’t furry like a bee normally be. It was an asshole bug: a wasp.

“Frickin’ wasps...” Jeremy muttered. Jeremy took off his hat and used the cap to carefully lead the tiny but evil bug towards the door. He opened the door, and let the wasp fly right out to its freedom. “There. It’s gone. Now it can’t terrorize you anymore.” Jeremy told them.

Jeremy walked back up to Marionette and helped clip her waist plate back onto her middle. The puppet’s endoskeleton was warm to the touch, and it looked like there was a small amount of smoke coming from the small engine in her lower torso. It looked like it had overheated a little. Jeremy decided to put the middle cover down, and put the mask onto her first to cover up the SUPER creepy metal skull underneath.

Jeremy clipped the mask on. “Feeling better?” Jeremy asked.

Marionette nodded. “Thank you.” She told him.

“No problem.” He replied.

Jeremy let her torso engine cool down in the cool room behind the stage, and clipped the waist plate back onto her middle when the engine stopped smoking. Jeremy helped the animatronic up after that.

“You feeling okay now?” Golden Freddy asked.

“Yeah, do you feel overheated?” Foxy asked.

Marionette giggled and pointed at Golden Freddy first. “Yes, I’m okay.” She pointed at Foxy next. “I don’t feel overheated anymore.”

“That’s good.” they both said, somewhat overlapping each other.

Later on, Marionette would end up becoming friends with Foxy. Though their relationship would never be as close as Marion and Goldie’s relationship, it would still be a little more than a friendly friendship. Soon, Golden Freddy started to respect Foxy and his thoughts on life. He would compliment his slightly stereotyped accent, his hook that seemed to get sharper and sharper every time he saw him, and would poke him and treat him like a pushy kind of brother.

Before they knew it, Foxy was a proud ally to the shy duo of friends. He became a part time third, who also spent time with the Freddy Fazbear band! It was cool to see different animatronics interacting with each other in the same building. Jeremy and the other security guards after him, would grow to hope this friendship would last forever with little fights.

#ticklefic #ler!bug #literally just a random bug #ler!goldenfreddy #lee!marionette #slight lee!jeremy #male-female friendships #platonic male/female relationships #platonic male/male relationships #fluff