#like thinking or walking without being all wobbly has been more difficult than it should be haha

[ratstuckinamarble]

I was hanging up a Halloween garland to get a little more into the spirit of things, when I lost hold of the damn thing and it flung itself against my shelf.

The one with a vase on it. Which immediately got dragged down to the floor.

I could already hear the crash of glass... except it never came. There I am on my stepstool, looking at my scattered dried flowers, absolutely confused as to where the hell that vase went. I thought it had disappeared. Somehow. I was properly befuddled.

...It had fallen into one of my backpacks, which basically swallowed the whole thing up without looking like anything had happened. Thanks for making me think I was losing it dude. At least I didn't have to clean up any glass (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠)

[martuzzio]

The idea of Ren joining the Amputees-Only club sounds so bittersweet... cuz before he knew they were having fun, but also knew that they were allowed to have a bond like that. He never expected to join them.

I can honestly imagine in his first few meetings there's a few times where Ren just cries, poor guy...

Rendog's first Amputee's Only Club Meeting (written under the cut because this one is longer than normal)

Despite what the universe seems to think, Doc is a pretty easygoing guy. Yes, he does look scary as hell and yes, he was a mob boss at one point, but that doesn’t mean he’s a violent person. Well, he’s violent when he needs to be, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. In reality, his favorite moments are all from quiet parts of his normal, boring, daily life as a hermit.

In these everyday moments, Doc likes to process things. He likes to sit in the greenhouse and watch the bio bees work alongside the robot bees. He likes to brush his fingers on the plants and let his half-robotic brain process the data into something that resembles touch. He likes to listen to Grian and Etho chat as they work.

He observes small moments like these because that’s all he really does. He takes in data and processes it. He uses the processed information to judge his surroundings and react accordingly. Sometimes this means that he uses his data to laugh at his friends who make dumb jokes. But sometimes he uses the data to run, hide, or fight back. When all you do is process data to keep yourself alive, it becomes very hard to ignore incoming information.

This is how Doc eventually locates Ren. He wasn’t planning on finding where his longtime friend wheeled off to, much less go searching for him, but Doc unfortunately decided to take a more leisurely route to the bridge and his camera eye caught the slight movement anyway. Doc has to give it to him; the man knows how to hide. The werewolf is in a lesser-used community room, curled into a dusty couch that’s been shoved into the corner. The chrome wheels of his temporary mobility aid reflect off of the window overlooking deep space. Ren has his left leg drawn up to this chest. His stump of a right leg rests on the couch cushion, shunned. Ren’s obviously hid because he doesn’t want to be found, but unluckily for him, Doc was specifically altered to notice things.

Ren’s flinch when Doc claps his hand on his shoulder is almost unnoticeable. Ren looks like he’s either been crying or had a bad allergic reaction to the dust. Doc assumes the former.

“Cub was working on your new parts earlier today. They look pretty sick,” he ventures.

Ren looks like he has the entire universe on his shoulders. “That’s wonderful,” he mumbles. He opens his mouth as if to say more, but instead sighs and slides his eyes shut.

Doc plops down on the couch and slings his arm over the back of the rest. The action makes Ren recoil again, this time more visibly, and Doc pointedly ignores it. Instead, he says, “As much as I want you to come see what Cub is making, you will go to him when you feel like it. There is nothing you need to do right now besides heal.”

Ren barks out a wet laugh. “Bro, I appreciate you so much, but how can stumps heal?”

Doc’s cybernetic hand twitches in sympathy. “You know what I mean, man, and we both know it.” Doc replies. He looks down at the sliver of space between his leg and Ren’s and chews his words. Ren shifts his gaze to Doc’s arm, then to gaze directly at the creeper’s face.

Doc feels uncomfortable in a way he’s never felt before. All of the other amputee hermits were already amputees when they joined the crew. They had time to heal, be angry, and let go in their own ways. He did, too. But now, with Ren sitting next to him, suffering through the same kind of anguish Doc felt when he first woke up from being operated on, Doc suddenly doesn’t know how to act. How do you comfort someone who literally lost a third of their body? As much as Doc knows what that feels like and as much as he wants to help his friend, he might not be able to. He might not ever be able to.

It’s the single most heartbreaking thing that Doc’s realized in a long, long time.

This revelation causes the duo to sit in silence for a long while. Then, Doc gets an idea. His eye shifts to look at his friend. Ren narrows his eyes tiredly but waits anyway.

“The Amputees-Only Club meeting is in a few minutes.” Doc murmurs. Ren is silent, but he plows on. “I think you should come,” he pleads. “I think everyone would be very happy to see you.”

Ren’s throat clicks as he swallows. “I’m sure they would.”

“I would be very happy to see you.”

Ren’s eyelids squeeze together. “I know you would.”

“Then let’s go,” Doc insists as he pushes himself to his feet. He turns around and smiles as much as he can at his friend, still curled up on the couch. Ren gazes exhaustedly back. “I think it would be a good idea.” He wishes his smile weren’t so frightening.

Ren moves to rub his eyes with his hands but remembers he’s missing one of his arms a little too late. The resulting crumpled expression immediately burns into Doc’s deep storage memory. “I don’t know, Doc.” The werewolf manages after a long moment. “I appreciate you trying to help, but…”

Doc understands. Of course he does. When he first joined the hermits, the idea of a weekly club meeting exclusively for amputees sounded farfetched at best and belittling at worst. Hell, he didn’t even think there were enough amputees on the team to warrant a club. Imagine his surprise when three other people showed up to his first session, all excited he was there to hang out with them.

With this in mind, all he can do is repeat, “I think it would be a good idea.”

Ren stares up at him, and in that moment, he looks as old as Xisuma. But then he gently closes his eyes, inhales slowly and shallowly, and motions for Doc to drag his mobility aid closer. Doc complies immediately.

The journey to the meeting room, like every other journey on the Hermit Craft, is long. It’s made even longer because of Ren’s inexperience with his aid, but Doc doesn’t dare to offer his help. They eventually end up in front of the elevator that Doc remotely called beforehand with his brain chip. When the doors open, Doc lets Ren wheel in first.

Ren is silent in the elevator. Doc tries to catch his expression, but his friend’s unruly hair blocks his vision. “We’re playing cards tonight.” He mentions.

“That’s what you do at every Amputee-Only Club meeting.”

Doc shifts his eye back to the elevator door. “…Correct.”

Ren doesn’t reply.

When the duo finally reaches the Club meeting room, Doc pauses outside for a moment instead of directing his brain to open the door like normal. He glances down at Ren again and murmurs, “if you don’t want to go back, or to your room or something, that’s—”

“It’s fine,” Ren interrupts. He sounds defeated. “We walked all the way here, so we may as well go.”

Doc activates the door without another thought.

The door slides open and reveals the club room. It’s small, smaller than the average community space on the Hermit Craft, but it feels warm. The soft yellow color painted on the walls matches pleasantly with the yellow of the couch cushions. Joe definitely was the one to orchestrate that. There’s a small kitchenette in the corner that’s set up to have nice views of outer space. Various game tables fill the rest of the room, a few surrounded by five chairs. Doc wonders if Ren will notice the new chair addition. Maybe he already had.

The most interesting part of the space, though, is the people within it. TFC is bundled up on the couch, snoring pleasantly and covered in at least ten blankets. His usual plate of cookies is already half eaten. Iskall is standing at the kitchen counter, fiddling with a teacup filled with a mysterious bright pink liquid. His outfit has a few suspicious-looking singe marks at the hem. Finally, Scar is sat at the poker table in the middle of the room, crossed legs resting on an adjacent chair. He’s sorting through a pile of yellow and orange chips. To Doc’s continued wonder, the stack of bright blue cards resting near Scar’s elbow have miraculously not been knocked onto the floor yet.

When the doors open, Scar and Iskall look over. Ren immediately shifts at Doc’s elbow. Doc waits a moment to let Ren speak if he wants to, but when his shorter friend remains silent, he clears his throat in a grinding noise and announces, unnecessarily, “We’re here.”

Scar is so excited that his eyes have turned into little slivers of green. “Ren, I’m so happy you decided to tag along!” He kicks one of the chairs out from the table and clonks his foot on it for emphasis. The blue cards wobble on the edge of the table but still refuse to fall. “Sit down! Iskall can get you something to drink. Have you ever played poker?” He leans forward with the question. “It’s difficult, but I think it’s fun!”

“Uh, I haven’t.” Ren replies awkwardly, still at the door alongside Doc. “I’ve never even heard of it before.”

“Yeah, I would be surprised if you knew about it. It’s one of those old-timey games from TFC’s era.” Iskall says from across the room. He is now by the couch and is gently patting TFC’s fluffy hair to wake him. “Don’t worry that you don’t know. We’ll teach you.”

Ren tries and fails to make a pointed noise of interest, but he still seems intrigued. Doc feels the knot in his chest loosen a little. He rolls his shoulders to relieve some tension and moves to sit down. By the time he turns his head to look back, Ren is already wheeling forward to join him but looks lost as to where he should sit.

“Howdy, Ren. Sit next to me so I can teach you, but I’ll only teach if you’re willing to listen.” TFC, now awake, grumbles good-naturedly as he heaves himself off the couch. With his large frame still wrapped in a dozen blankets, he looks like a huge bear compared to Iskall. Which is impressive, Doc thinks, since Iskall is nowhere near frail. TFC’s metal prosthetic clonks on the floor as he walks over to the poker table. As he sits down across from Scar, he says, “There’s no point in just sitting there and gawking at us. Grab a seat.” He uses his leg to nudge the chair to his left.

Ren blinks and maneuvers his aid to let him sit down next to the astronaut. TFC procures a blanket from his pile and offers one to him. Ren, after slowly settling in his chair, accepts the pink fuzzy blanket. Doc accepts a purple one.

TFC lances over to Ren as he saves the blue cards from the edge of the table. “Poker’s good fun. You’ll get it in no time.” He snorts and flicks his gaze to Scar, who is busy stacking the chips into a pyramid. “This one always makes sure we have a great, long game.”

Scar looks up and winces minutely in a false apology. “Sorry about that.”

TFC chuckles. “Boy, I’ve never had better games than when I play with you.”

Scar’s grin almost sparkles. TFC and Doc grin back and Iskall hides his laugh in his shoulder.

“Anyway, ready for your first game with us amputees?” TFC brings the conversation back to Ren, who suddenly looks a lot more uncomfortable.

“I,” he begins, his eyes flicking to TFC, then Doc, before looking down. “I, well, uh…”

The table is silent. Iskall is staring at the table with his hands in his lap. TFC sighs and begins shuffling the cards. Doc, as much as he wants to clear the air somehow, can’t seem to find a way to do so. Scar just looks sad. He looks right at Ren, almost through him.

Ren stares back, eyes wide.

“You don’t want to be here.” Scar says quietly, finally. It’s not a question. Ren’s choked response makes the ex-convex smile slightly. “You can say so, Ren. You’re not going to hurt our feelings. None of us want to be here. But, as much as we may want to, we can’t change what happened to us.” He falls silent again as he looks at a particularly twisted scar on the back of his left hand. He rubs at it harshly with the pad of his thumb before Iskall stops him. “This might be selfish,” Scar continues, softly, “but I’m happy that I at least don’t have to sit in here alone.”

For a long moment, the table is silent. Then, with a rush of noise, Ren makes a sound like he’s dying. In a certain way, Doc thinks, he is.

“I don’t want to be here,” Ren confesses as his open mouth contorts and tears roll down his face. “I don’t want to be here.”

All Doc can do is wrap his arms around everyone else, encasing Ren and his other amputee friends in his embrace, and wish he could do more.

[rcksmith]

You — Five Hargreeves

Request: “Could I get 37 and 63 from the smut prompts with older Five, if you are comfortable, if not then understandable”

Smut Prompts:

37. “I’m so sick of your voice. Why don’t you come over here and put your mouth to better use?”

63. “Could he make you feel as good as i do?”

A/ N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here!!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope it got close to what you wanted. ❤️

Guys, I really understand who doesn't feel comfortable reading or writing Five's smut. But I always say that I only write with him (any genre: romance, fluff or angst) with the notion that Five is 20 years old here. All of my fanfics mention swearing or sex, even if it is a memory or something shallow, but as I am writing with Five as an adult, it is consistent that the fic has aspects of an adult life.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Smut, bad words.

— — — — —

You had dated some guys before, because no one turned 22 without getting hurt a little for love, but no relationship proved as intense (and difficult) as dating Five Hargreeves. If you could describe the 1 year that you were together, you would use only two words: sex and coldness.

Sex because Five had an appetite you've never seen in your life and you loved it. It was strong, intense, hot. He always seemed to want to discount your internal problems by fucking you hard, and you couldn't deny that his raw footprints drove you crazy.

And coldness because Five Hargreeves, as well as being hot in sex, was the north pole in romance. He was dry, very reserved, without any appreciation for physical touch or cutest demonstrations. He did not like to talk to much or participate in frivolous conversations.

He always had a sarcastic or rude argument for his comments about thinking that the two of you should act more like a couple and not like nymphomaniacs. And as time went by, you got tired of feeling that you didn't have a partner but a sex disk.

That's when you finished it all. It ended because you liked affection and love and not just fucking. It ended because you thought you deserved more and you didn't want to build a life with someone so cold.

That was the purpose of a relationship, wasn't it? Wanting to build a future with someone. And when you didn't see yourself building a future with Five anymore, you just finished. It was difficult, obviously. It shattered your heart, because in the end you still loved him, but it hurt more to know that there was no way to fix it.

And that's why you found yourself here, in a crowded nightclub, at 2 am, dancing with your friends and kissing any man just to try to forget Five. It had been three months since you two broke up, and staying in your room crying and eating chocolate didn't seem to be helping you get over it. So when your friends asked you out, you went. You went because you wanted to get drunk, kiss some cat guy and forget that your heart was in pieces.

And that was why you were kissing that guy, squeezing the back of his neck while his hands went down around you waist and squeezed your ass. He didn't have the intensity and electricity of Five, but he was a handsome, so... it would have to do.

As soon as you separated from him and started dancing with your friends again, enjoying the deafening music and what the drink did to your head and body, you felt more numb from the pain.

“I need another drink.” You warned one of your friends, almost screaming to try to make yourself heard with all that deafening music.

As soon as she nodded and you started walking among all those huddled bodies, you arrived at the counter a few seconds later, sitting in the only vacant seat.

“Vodka, pure.” You didn't want anything sweet, too soft. You wanted something rough, strong, that would mess with your system.

You needed something stronger than the pain you were feeling.

After turning the first shot, swallowing and closing your eyes for a second, trying to hold the grimace and the strong taste, you were going to ask for another when a voice came up behind you:

“Nothing more for her, thanks.”

You froze. Your heart failed and then shot to alarming levels. You knew that voice, you knew it better than your own. Suddenly, whether by drinking or by the presence behind you, your body started to get hot, shaky and wobbly. If you tried to get up now, you would surely fall.

That bastard wouldn't dare ...

“Hello, stranger.”

Yes, he would dare.

You turned to Five, amazed. Suddenly, you have never felt so sober in life, rigid, with heightened senses. And that was what you were talking about too. Whenever Five was involved, you became someone you didn't like. You were much more attentive to any intonation or half words, searching for hidden meanings for him sentences.

You hated that. You hated having to look for clues when in fact the person should say with word what he felt. You hated having to analyze syllable by syllable to know the true feelings. When all a dating should bring was honesty, calm, peace and complicity.

“What are you doing here?!” You were not smooth, because any situation involving Five was already exasperating for you.

“Is it forbidden to go to a nightclub?” The same condescending tone, the hands in the pockets, the smug look, the smirk.

Five was beautiful as sin, it was the definition of superb, but outer beauty was not you its weakness. So, as much as he looked like a God under those flashing lights, you just rolled your eyes.

“As far as I can remember, you called places like ‘Waste of time’ or ‘Ridiculous places Klaus goes to’ or, ‘Am I better than these places’ ” You were acidic, turning back to the front and asking the waiter for a shot again.

Five wouldn't tell you how much to drink.

“How skittish are we?” But turning forward was a bad idea, because Five leaned in behind you, breathing in your ear, in your neck.

You held a gasp, pressing your thighs together and trying to focus on anything other than the intense presence behind you.

“You are so skittish” then the voice continued under your skin, and you felt some fingers from it take your hair off your neck. “You used to be so obedient...”

So you were transported to the millions of memories of the times he fucked you. The millions of times he made you scream and obey his every command. Yes, you were a good girl for Five. And that sucked.

“Five.” Your voice was a warning, and when the waiter served your shot, you turned without thinking twice or without Five daring to intrude. “Go away”

You got up from the chair, trying to dodge his touch. Because you knew that if he touched you, you would give in, and if you gave in, you would end up in his bed, and if you did, your heart would be even more broken the next day.

Five frowned, questioning, his gaze fixed on you. Then all that intense energy was replaced by an angry wave.

“Is it because of him?”

His?

Now you frowned, but in a confused expression and you were beginning to wonder if Five had gone mad.

“Who…”

“Don't be innocent, I saw you with him today, just now. Rubbing on him like... like... ”

So Five was close to you again. The height of him making you lift the chin to look at him, the smell of man invading your nose... God, his are a fucking handsome and...

Focus!

"Whose are you talking about?" Five was still looking at you angrily and now with a hint of irony.

And that's when you realized who he was talking about. The guy you just kissed.

“For God's sake, Five!” You answered, incredulous. “It’s not ‘how are you, Y / N?’ Or ‘how have you been, Y/N?’ No, this is always your possessiveness of not losing your toy to someone else! But you know, big boy, your train left a long time ago.” You looked at him as if Five were your biggest enemy, and turned your back on him.

You needed to get away, needed to keep as much distance between you as possible. You already felt the grip in your throat, your eyes burning. God, this guy had an overwhelming power over you. You still love him, much, holy fuck!

Then you crossed the nightclub again, past the sea of ​​dancing bodies, hoping that, luckily, Five would lose sight of you in the crowd. But you no longer needed songs, dances or drinks, your mind was pounding so much that you just thought about being alone, at least for a second.

You continued to advance between the bodies, and when you reached the other end of the club, now far enough from the bar, you entered the ladies' room. The deafening sound of the music was drowned out when you closed the door, and only then did you manage to release the breath you were holding.

You was put both hands on the sink, taking a moment with your own thoughts before looking ahead and seeing your reflection. You weren't as bad as you felt, some mascara had out. The mirror said you should go home, but you didn't know if you could face those people outside with the possibility of seeing Five any second.

Lowering your head once more to turn on the tap and wet your hands to rub the back of your neck, you sighed deeply when the sensation of the cold water hit your hot skin. But all the sense of relief was gone when you looked in the mirror again and saw Five.

You gave a startled scream, turning to him in a burst and resting your hands on the sink behind you.

“What the fuck, Five!” Your heart was still pounding, but you were beginning to suspect it was because of his little smile.

Five was strode toward you, and he didn't stop until your body was trapped between his and the sink. It was hot. Five seethed like hell and smelled of sin, and you began to feel the pulse of it. It was unbearable how much power he had over you. But the truth was that you would always be a moldable dough in the hands of Five. Worse, he knew it.

He knew because you could see it in the way he looked at you, the way his hands went up from his your thigh to his neck, the way he leaned into your ear and murmured:

“You can't run from me, cute.”

And if you were a molding dough before, now you were clay on his fingers. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath through and pressing your fingers into the sink behind you.

“You were never a good liar.” He continued, the velvet voice from hell seducing you "I can feel your excitement from here."

Now you were on fire. Your core pulsed for him, your body burned and the desire became so strong that you felt like crying.

“Five...” You wanted to tell him to walk away, to leave. But your body begged you to willingly accept what he was giving you. The truth was, you wanted more.

“My good girl” now his thin, white fingers were on your neck, running the tips over your heaving skin.

Five Hargreeves was the wrong way and you were going willingly. You wanted to leave, but your whole body was begging you to let him touch you some more. Just a little more…

“Look at you…” Five's voice was still hoarse and seductive, his right hand wandered from your neck to the side of your body, outlining all your curves as if it were a goddamn treasure “I barely touched you and you're already excited.”

You wanted to say that it was ridiculous, that he was very arrogant. But you would only dig your own grave, because the truth was that you were excited. Much. And lying to a fucking genius was almost always impossible.

"Could he make you feel as good as i do?" If he hadn't been a presumptuous arrogant before, now he was.

His hand sank between your legs, and you groaned loudly when you felt the cold finger touch the core of your burning panties. You tilted your head back, leaning against the mirror as you closed your eyes in a silent groan.

“I bet you don't” now kisses landed on the skin of your exposed neck, heading towards the neckline “But I want to hear you say it.”

You could not. Because his fingers were playing with you and his mouth was all over the pulp of your breasts. It was too much, too much stimulus for your poor body that would be satisfied with just one kiss.

That's when the thought of the kiss brought you back to Earth orbit. Kisses have always been very intimate and romantic, and you remember that Five almost never kissed you much. It hurt you. It hurt because it looked like you were good enough for him to fuck you, but not good enough for him to think about being more loving and fighting for your relationship.

“Five…” Five lifted the mouth of your breasts, looking at you intently. “ I can't.”

"Why not? We had fun a loot before. ”

“Because this... this is not healthy. We will regret it tomorrow. ”

Five frowned, his hand motionless between your legs.

“Is there someone else?” His voice was low.

“Oh my God, no!” It was absurd how he only cared about that “You don't care about me! Only if someone is fucking me! ”

“God, Y / N!” Five was amazed “ What do you think I'm doing here?!"

You looked at Five as if him were crazy, and looked down at the position of their bodies and looked back at him, signaling very well what was happening.

Five laughed, perplexed, and took his hands off you immediately. He took a few steps back, the shadow of bitter laughter still bordering his mouth.

“Do you think I came here just to eat you?” Five's vocabulary could always be very dirty when he wanted to, and that secretly always turned you on. “Holy God, Y / N!”

“You think this is what ?!”

Then he came to you. And long hands held your face with intensity. There was despair in that touch, passion... and a very overwhelming desire.

“I want you. Ardently.” His voice was not soft “I came here to meet you and try to talk, because I want you back so much. Because I love you. But when I saw you in that little dress... kissing another one... Ah, Y / N” Now he stoked you with the words, each syllable beating against your lips “ I wanted to fuck you in front of everyone for them to see to whom that bitch belongs.”

You sighed loudly. You didn't want to, but it was involuntary. You should want more. You should want him to apologize out about the things he did, ask you back. But the truth was, the desire rumbled through your veins and you didn't want to wait any longer. For now, that would do.

You kissed him. With intensity, despair and savagery. Five reciprocated like a hungry animal and put his hands on your thigh, propelling you up and sitting you in the sink. You were hungry animals that used each other as food.

You thought a sex of reconciliation would be loving and intense. But Five always showed you that sex with him would always be rude. He was didn't make love to you, he fucked you, hard.

Five clutched your body with all his fingers, marking yoyr skin with purple ten digits. He pulled you close as if he could merge with you, and the panties you wore were brutally torn when he went to take them off.

When Five touched you, where you wanted it most, and pushed two fingers brutally into you, you screamed loudly and whined afterwards like a kitten.

"Oh, I will destroy you.” It was not a promise, it was a warning, a reminder of what he would do to you seconds later.

“Five!” You clasped your hands on his shoulders, shifting your waist around he fingers “please... please...!”

“Please what?!” Now he was rough, the fingers coming in and out of you aggressively, hitting your aching walls “Please, Five, fuck me? Or, please, Five, make me come?”

You groaned loudly, the words matching his aggressive rhythm.

“Fuck me! Fuck me, now! ” You stirred up more “Fuck me hard, Five.”

Suddenly, his other hand clung to your face, pulling you by the chin to look at him.

“Command, no! Begging, yes, it's cute, now commanding is unacceptable!” It was a clear, fierce warning. And when you whimpered and agreed to submit, Five tightened your jaw “I’m so sick of your voice. Why don’t you come over here and put your mouth to better use?”

Then him hand that was on your chin went to the nape of your neck, holding your hair tightly and bringing you closer. He removed his fingers from you, and come close at your mouth. You obediently opened it and took his two fingers. He didn't have to tell you to start sucking, running your tongue over all the mess you had made on his fingers.

“My dear good girl.”

His approval was followed by a friendly pat on your face, removing his hand from the back of your neck and unfastening his own belt. Five didn’t give you time to think before entering you, sinking deep into your core.

You screamed, pressing his fingers to your mouth and closing your eyes with intensity. But Five didn't give you time to breathe, his rhythm was constant, raw, arrogant, he was pushing hard inside you and you couldn't help but let out loud moans.

Five used the hand that was not in your mouth to grab your left thigh, releasing a loud, cracking slap when you squeezed it inside. You tried to keep sucking his fingers, but the intensity he put in you was so strong that your head was spinning.

“Do you want to come, little girl? Do you want to come for me?” He withdrew his fingers from your mouth, dissatisfied.

"Yea! Yes, please!"

Now you were begging. Begged in a pure and submissive way, and Five loved it. His pace increased, the thrusts became strong and steady, and his limb beat so deeply that you lost your breath. You were close, so close. felt herself being pushed into a giant, endless chasm, held by a thread that would soon break.

“Come to me, little bitch!” And that was cutting the wire.

You came. Intensely. You squeezed him inside as if your life depended on it and was rewarded with the hot, strong liquid filling you to the brim. You two were both panting, sweaty and satisfied. And you whimpered when his member was gone and the cum dripped from its pulsing core.

Five stared at the scene, mesmerized, letting out a loud sigh of satisfaction and kiss you again, now soft and lovin

"Welcome back." and you laughed, pushing his shoulder at the stupid joke.

[rebrandedbard]

could I get 49 for the prompts pleaseeee? (:

*weeping* Em, I love you, defending my honour, giving me a way out. You’ve spared me my dignity.

49. “Well this is awkward ...”

WC:  2106

Tidings and Tarradiddles

Jaskier returns to Posada and his path crosses with Geralt’s once more after the unfortunate affair on The Mountain™

-

How was it? Truly, how was it that of all places on the great, wide Continent, Geralt should come to take a contract in Posada, at the farthest of reaches, after months and months of separation, on the one day Jaskier should be in town? And how was it that he’d come the only hour Jaskier had lingered for a drink? It was too great a coincidence, and Jaskier would not give Destiny the credit. She’d not earned the right to claim it. Jaskier scorned her and had stripped her of the right to interfere in any of his further adventures. After all, Geralt had blamed him for her follies—follies which, by rights, Geralt had brought upon himself in the first place.

Even so, he could feel Destiny’s audaciously long and twitchy nose poking about his business the moment Geralt walked through the tavern door. Jaskier huddled in his corner, hoping the shadows were darker than they had been the day he’d found Geralt hunched beneath them. He ought to have known better than to come in the first place. There had been a whole flock of magpies in the middle of the bridge leading into town—a tiding of magpies. Detestable harbinger of tidings, foul and fair. They’d startled at the sight of him and alighted once more on the tavern roof. But he’d ignored their superstitious warning.

Of course the shadows were of no use to him. The moment Geralt stepped inside, Jaskier saw him twitch, cocking an ear his direction. Probably heard the familiar grinding of his teeth: an annoying habit he so often complained of. Jaskier curled up against the wall, trying to make himself smaller to blend in with his surroundings.

For once, it was not so difficult. He’d grown out his hair, had even maintained a healthy bit of scruff on his face in keeping with the stylings of his fellow tavern-goers. He was tired and worn, but above all, he was plain. He no longer wore bright colors, standing out like a beacon in the dark of night. He wore his linen dyed a plain, sensible, muted green. The jerkin on his back was brown and of a practical fit. Altogether, it did not so much scream of sensibility as it mumbled. If he kept his head low enough, he might pass as just another local come in for a pint.

But he was not just another local.

Geralt stopped before his table, standing at Jaskier’s elbow. The click of metal upon the table made Jaskier look up from his drink. It was a coin, spinning round and round. It wobbled and fell on its face, the etching of a worn coat of arms before him.

“Will … will you sing for us, bard?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier stared at the coin. His ears began to fill with cotton, a faint ringing in them. A flash of hot blood coursed through him and he ground his teeth to a halt. He knew this was Geralt’s way of easing into things, working towards something, whether or not an apology was waiting at the end. He knew this was Geralt offering him an out. It was distant. Impersonal. But even in the depths of his rage, Geralt had called him by name. To call him bard and toss a coin to him like some stranger now … it flamed something red and barbaric to life under his skin. He was so deafened by the blood in his ears, he did not hear the approach of the figure standing at Geralt’s side.

“Well, this is awkward,” Jaskier sneered. He picked up the coin, twiddling it between his fingers. Putting up an impassive mask, he juggled the coin over his knuckles in his best impressive manner, as if it were nothing but a worthless toy. “You see,” he said, “I’m not a bard.”

Geralt was quiet a moment. Jaskier could feel his eyes roaming over him. It raised his hackles to know what Geralt must see: the dark circles under his eyes, the lines of age now more pronounced with exhaustion, crow’s feet so defined they might as well have been dug by the claws of vultures. And then, Geralt must have taken notice at last. Gone were the bold silhouettes and blinding colors, gone were the perfumes and oils—but there was one thing more important than all the rest that was missing.

“Your lute,” Geralt said.

There it was. “Gave it up this very afternoon,” Jaskier replied. He slapped the coin down on the table and leaned back, snatching up his half-empty mug. “I travelled a long way to return it home; Filavandrel has it now.”

He took a drink, still avoiding eyes contact. He continued, mumbling over the rim of his mug. “Had a visit. They’re doing better than they were when last we met. I helped them dig rocks from their crop fields for an hour or two. Figured as long as I was shovelling things, I might as well master the art. Use it productively.”

He was being petty. He knew he was, but by the gods, he’d earned it.

When at last he looked up, he did so because he saw a hint of blue beside the table. The potmaid had been wearing a blue dress, and he thought he now saw his escape. He slid his mug to the edge of the table and lifted his head to ask for it to be taken away when he saw a familiar pair of green eyes looking back at him.

“Cirilla?” he asked, surprised. He blinked at the princess, who looked down at the table as his eyes fell upon her. He remembered her as someone taller, regal head held high, smiling, her hair half up in decorative braids and twists. This was not a princess before him, but a girl: her hood casting shadows upon her hollow face. It seemed wrong. She had always been a girl, but a girl with a name. This creature before him stood as a reflection of himself, a thing wishing to hide away, nothing more than a shell.

She glanced up at him, then down once more. Slowly she raised her hand to the table and placed it over the coin. She pushed it towards him with a quiet slide, then dropped her hand once more. “He said you sing wonderful,” she muttered, as if she had not heard him singing in Cintra’s court nearly every midsummer since birth.

Jaskier’s voice stuck in his throat. The memory of a song sat heavy on his tongue. “I … I don’t sing anymore,” he grit out. He turned to look away again, staring at the crack between his bench and the wall. “Can’t sing without music anyway. Might as well be poetry.”

Having no music left him exposed. There was nothing to lift him up, nor anything to hide behind. He could sing among the crowd and raise his voice to join a drinking song, but there was something vulnerable about singing alone. Who sang among bar patrons without some barrier? Even the drunks had their drink to shield them.

He saw Geralt shift out of the corner of his eye. Something new slid across the table, stopping just short of his hand. He looked and saw one of his old notebooks.

“You write good poetry,” Geralt said.

Jaskier scoffed and picked up the notebook. “If there were anything in this worth keeping, I would have remembered to bring it with me when I went down the mountain.” He flipped through the pages, then let the notebook flop back on the table. “You obviously have poor taste,” he huffed.

Without warning, Geralt picked up the notebook and thwacked him on top of his head with the cover.

“Gah! Hey!” Jaskier shouted. He stood up and snatched the book back, smacking Geralt’s arm with it. “What in fuck’s name did you do that for, you brute!”

But he’d looked at Geralt, forgetting to snub him if only a moment. And Geralt plucked the book from his hand with an upward quirk of the lips. “It’s worth keeping,” he said. He handed the book to Ciri, who clutched it tight to her chest in agreement, but still, she looked at Geralt with a stern expression.

“That wasn’t what you were supposed to say,” she scolded.

Geralt’s eyes rolled back and he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Not to me.”

Geralt opened his eyes. He looked at Jaskier, opening his mouth to speak once more. But the look on Jaskier’s face stopped him. Instead, he turned to the door, stalking quickly across the room, words aborted on his tongue.

Jaskier gaped.

“Geralt!” Ciri called. “Where are you going?”

“Just wait here.”

“Geralt!”

“Dinner. I’ll be back in the hour.”

Ciri threw up her hands and dropped onto the opposite bench. She slammed Jaskier’s notebook down on the table and crossed her arms over it. She groaned in frustration, then turned her head to look out at the tavern floor.

“Have you had dinner yet?” she grumbled.

Jaskier looked between her and the door, feeling quite at a loss. “No,” he replied.

“Then you can eat Geralt’s share.” She rummaged in her cloak and pushed a little drawstring bag into his hands. “Here, he left me his purse.”

“And left you from the look of things. Shall I charge him for babysitting?”

“Do. And order another drink.”

Jaskier snorted. “Trying to get me to stay?” He wasn’t so irresponsible as to leave a child alone, even with the threat of Geralt’s return. He didn’t need to be persuaded.

“No. Punishing him for running out; you get his drink into the bargain. Think of it as sending him to bed without supper.”

“I’ll drink to that. It’s the least of the punishments I could inflict.”

They both chuckled mildly at that. A bit of the dense atmosphere lifted and they shared a look. Jaskier cleared his throat and waved for the potmaid. He ordered fare for the two of them, a mug of ale for himself, and a cup of small beer for Ciri. Once they’d both had a bite, they began talking. They traded stories: how Ciri came to Geralt’s care, and what Jaskier had been doing since the separation. Though the conversation was tense, it felt … good … to have a bit of company. He’d been worried since word of the fall of Cintra had reached him. At least Destiny had brought Ciri to Geralt safely. He hoped Destiny would be kind to her where it had failed him.

Jaskier startled when Geralt returned. He’d crept up so silently. Jaskier had been listening to Ciri describe her most recent success in outdoor cooking and hadn’t noticed the movement beside him. Geralt set the lute on the table in front of Jaskier’s empty plate with a sudden thunk, not a word of explanation. He stood there silently, holding the lute upright by its neck.

No one spoke.

Jaskier simply stared at it, felt Geralt stare at him. But this time, he refused to look up. Slowly, Geralt lay the lute down on the table, then slipped away. A minute passed, everything still and quiet. Then, Jaskier peeked out of the corner of his eye and saw Geralt nudge Ciri, nodding his head toward the door.

Ciri looked at Jaskier, her brow anxious and furrowed. She clutched her cup, nearly finished, her plate barren. He could see her mind at work, trying to find an excuse to stay. But she set her cup down obediently. As she turned to stand, she left the notebook behind. Eyes downcast, she slumped to her feet. Geralt held out his hand for her, no longer looking at Jaskier. The moment Geralt’s back was turned, Jaskier felt a cold panic run through him.

“Wait!” he said, fumbling to his feet.

Geralt froze, turning his head back slightly to listen.

But for what? Jaskier reached out, hesitating. He picked up his lute, finding the coin beneath it. The noise made Geralt turn back and Jaskier met his eye. He’d never seen Geralt look so blank, completely unreadable.

Jaskier slung the strap of the lute over his head. He pushed the coin deliberately into his pocket and braced his hands on the strings. When he looked at Geralt again, there was the barest crack in his armour, and hope shined dimly through. Jaskier smiled. It was a timid thing, but he still remembered how it was done.

“You asked for a song,” he said.

-

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[curiousconch]

Chase You/Chase Me (Pt. 4)

Part 4: The truth will never lie to me

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Trapped in a conference, Gabe and Alex bask in the afterglow of their interrupted moment by the lake. But before Alex can fully comprehend how she felt, she unravels a truth that may cease the chase altogether.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 1.8k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / alcohol consumption, language, implied sexual content. Reader discretion advised.

Author's Notes: Surprise! Yep, it's an early release! I made revisions to fit the ongoing narrative and ended up breaking it down into two parts. Also, this series may span longer than I originally intended it to be, not wanting to rush things. It will probably extend until Part 7, depending on what happens at the finale. I do hope you'll still stick around. If not, I'll totally understand. 😉

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

Late night, Boston

Shoe laces, cool wind and the darkness of the forest enveloping them. His breath shuddering with how close her lips was. His throat running dry.

Wanting, longing.

Just a little taste to find out how intoxicatingly delicious those cherry lips would be in his mouth and to feel the heat of her body against his.

And then a splash.

Gabe blinked as he felt ice cold liquid pouring over his crisp white shirt. He wasn't sure if he was having déjà vu.

"Oh, sorry mate," a man standing nearby had bumped into him, making the glass of scotch he was drinking shake and spill into his impeccable suit. He forced down the tasteless curse words forming in his mouth, groaning in frustration at the dissipating sensations from what he had been imagining.

His mind was stuck in an endless loop, replaying the romantic encounter with Alex just the night before. But very much like after Beau's dive into the lake, his consciousness whipped achingly back to reality.

Gabe was leaning on the mobile bar, set in the middle of the conference reception. Did he just lose himself in a daydream like a fool? He wondered, murmuring through his madness.

The time alone with her provided him a glimpse of what could be between them. And oh how euphoric it had been to have her so near, to watch his body respond to her like no other.

It left him just craving for more.

He was lying to himself if he continued to deny that he has feelings for Alex, and how deep he was already in for her. But he knew it wasn't meant to be, at least until after he admits the truth. Until then, he had to pull away.

Easier said than done.

For now, he settled for a view of her, his eyes scoured the room for the subject of his fancy. When he found her, Gabe couldn't stop his smile and the fluttering of his heart, or the warmth growing between his legs.

There she was, in the far side of the room, shining brighter than any star that they had seen in the night sky. Her audience completely captivated as he was with her.

The sight of her in that blue dress swept Gabe back into his fantasies, and how infuriatingly near he was to giving into them. He had to clench his fist around his tumbler, suppressing any trace of his earlier wild thoughts.

Apparently sensing the weight of his gaze, Alex turned to him, their eyes meeting in silent conversation. He watched as she excused herself before making her way towards where he sat.

Half-smiling, Alex's confident expression as she approached him made him swallow hard.

Gabe summoned all his willpower to rein himself in as she got closer. He plastered his usual cocky smile, once again putting up a wall of professionalism. They were in a conference, he reasoned.

"Still watching your wards, old man?" Alex chuckled as she reached a seat beside him.

"Working the room like a pro like that? Very hard to ignore," Gabe interjected, shaking his head. "Had to say Alex, I'm impressed."

"Glad you noticed," she smiled, clearly enjoying the compliment.

"Frankly, you charming the top tier lawyers were hard to miss," he said, with lips quirking into a grin.

"Were you watching the whole time?" she asked.

"Difficult not to, seeing how you're the best-dressed lawyer in the room," he continued, savoring the easy conversation.

She scoffed before turning around, grabbing a napkin from a bartender. Alex offered it to him, pointing at the light stain on his clothes.

He finally muttered a curse, realizing he had been too distracted not to notice the result of the spillage from his own drink. This was one of my best suits.

Gabe almost jumped when Alex started to wipe the front of his suit.

His eyes narrowed, unable to process what was happening. On impulse, he reached out to her, encircling his palms around her wrist. Alex snapped her head up at the touch, the intensity of her gaze enchanting him.

It took all of his strength to break free from it. He cleared his throat and looked away, before grabbing the napkin from her grasp without warning.

It had always been like this. At first, there was this fluidity, a natural attraction between them while they interacted. Then another goddamn minute passes and it all becomes downright complicated.

Gabe wasn't having it.

He briefly shut his eyes closed and released the breath he was holding. When he opened them, he focused his attention on wiping the stain from his jacket, avoiding Alex's questioning gaze. He decided to divert the conversation, robbing her of any opportunity to re-capture him in a trance.

"Don't worry, I don't judge potential partners solely on congeniality. Though I can't speak for Sadie." He then turned and discarded the cloth on the bar. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll have to speak to a friend who I'm sure will be thrilled to know I'm now a partner."

He finally dared to look at Alex with almost apologetic eyes, before swiftly walking away towards a sea of unfamiliar faces.

Alex was left gaping at his hasty departure, uncertain how it all went south so quickly. She wanted to grab his arm and pull him to her so badly, to pick things up from where they left off last night. From that moment when his lips was inches away from taking hers, before they were interrupted.

Her body ached to be near him. Then again, that's not how she usually operates, so she let him be.

She had never thought her idol was such a tease. Or perhaps, traditional? Alex snickered. Oh how I'll make you beg, Gabriel Ricci. She exhaled, the sultry thought of the man on his knees in front of her suddenly hiking up the temperature in the room. Alex had to fan herself to cool down.

Along with the idea of finally spending some alone time together, conjuring the image of waking up beside Gabe excited her. Well, if ever this chase between them actually culminates to something.

But why was she following this trail of thought? In all her conquests, she had never stayed for what came after. She had that with Julian, and look how that ended. For her, it was always just for the fun. So why does she suddenly liked the notion with Gabe? She shuddered. Ugh, weird.

Maybe it's because it's taking the long game with him? Alex didn't want to know.

Leaving that for now, she resorted to ordering another shot of patron to drown the remnants of her heated thoughts. On her third glass, Alex heard a familiar voice ordering a shot of bourbon. She swiveled towards it and caught sight of Lina Reyes, the opposing lawyer from the Willow case.

"Fancy meeting you here," Alex smiled lazily, remembering how temptingly attractive she was. She also recalled the offer of a hook-up, which she politely declined out of courtesy.

But now, seems like she's getting another chance. And with Gabe being annoyingly hard to get, Alex had to have fun somewhere else. It's not like she and Gabe was committed, right?

Lina scooted closer to her, smelling of a heady mix of alcohol. "Speaking of fancy, damn. You look more incredible than I can remember, Alex," she teased, provocatively arching her brows at her.

Alex quickly picked up Lina's attempt to flirt, stoking her bruised ego. "Gotta be dressed to impress, right?" she waved her fingers as if in curtsy. "Enjoying the conference?"

"At this point, things tend to devolve quickly. But I do plan to have a nightcap back in my room," Lina smirked, Alex feeling the heel of velvet pumps brushing along her bare leg. "Maybe you could join me?"

The woman wasn't exactly subtle, though Alex had to give props to her for her confidence. She liked that in anyone. So Alex returned the gesture, letting her fingers hover an inch over her arm while batting her eyelashes. Two can play that game.

"I think we should stay here."

Wait, what? Did she just say no? Subconsciously? Did hell just freeze over? Or did her brain left her head?

Both women blinked, unable to determine who's more mortified between them. They were both quiet, until Lina broke the awkwardness by a chuckle.

"Had to try, didn't expect I'd be turned down twice," she said consuming the rest of her drink in one gulp. "Worth it though." she shrugged, ordering another round for herself.

Alex struggled to compose herself, brows furrowed in confusion by how that went down.

"Oh don't be so bothered, you're not my first rodeo." Lina poked at her jokingly, clearing up the air. Alex thanked her, and the conversation went smoothly from there.

Several more drinks in, the two women chatted on, venturing into a variety of topics in law and in love. It didn't take long before Lina started to slur in her words, to which Alex found amusing.

"Looks like someone didn't pace herself," she observed as she sipped her cocktail.

"Ah don't mind me, had to cleanse my palate after all the boring sessions earlier," Lina toasted her glass on hers, wobbling as she shifted to face her. "We are a rare breed, us fighters," she leaned towards Alex, lowering her voice to a whisper. "We like-minded women should just stick together, you know?"

Alex was relieved she turned her down the second time. Barely listening to her, she started to drift off as Lina continued rambling on, turning around to face the crowds as her eyes tried to locate that handsome man. Alex smirked when she found Gabe's sexy outline.

"Lot of ungrateful dipshits being freed from prison, even after we work our asses off proving they deserved an earlier release. Khan, Kozlowski, those celebrities involved with the Ivy League admission scandal? Hell, even small town criminal Cornell was released in the last five years alone!"

And with that last statement, Alex froze. "Say that again?"

Confused, Lina stuttered as if she can't remember what she was saying. To Alex's annoyance, she went silent, apparent that more humiliation was on the way. Lina abruptly stood, covering her mouth with her hand as she sprinted to the bathroom. Alex let her pass.

Assured that she'll be fine with her colleagues flanking her, Alex started to obsess over Lina's last sentence.

Was that just the patron? Or am I getting too drunk and starting to hear things? She asked herself, bewildered at how randomly Lina mentioned a Cornell.

With an exasperated sigh, she decided it wouldn't hurt to check. She pulled out her phone from her purse and fired up a search engine, where she typed in the godforsaken name. Alex tapped enter.

As soon as the results loaded, she felt the world crumble beneath her.

No, no, no, no, no. This fucking didn't happen.

She clicked on one of the articles from a local news outlet. The picture beneath the headline shoving her nightmares front and center. There it was, the title written in bold stated loud and clear: Cornell Son Gets Early Release.

Alex bit her lip as she fought to gather herself together, speed reading through the article. This was definitely a surprise, but what really got her reeling was the figure of a man walking behind Maximilian. She'd pick up who that was from anywhere within a mile radius.

Alex tried to keep herself rational, but the shock rippled through her, enough to shake off the alcohol in her system. And why did her stomach churned like she was punched in the gut a hundred times over? Why did she felt fucking betrayed?

Unexpectedly, she knew it wasn't discovering Cornell was now walking freely in the streets.

Deep down, Alex was aware it was because Gabe Ricci was involved. Either way, it looks like her high and mighty boss has some explaining to do.

Her blood boiled, a myriad of questions went through her mind. Resolute, she wanted those damn questions answered. Tonight.

She downed her drink and slammed the empty glass on the bar, sending a text to draw Gabe's attention.

She looked over where he stood, watching the frown in his face as he read her message. She clicked her head, beckoning him outside.

Even he can't fathom the fire storm that was about to come his way.

Author's Notes 2: Thank you for your continued reading! 💖 How do you think things will go down next? Let me see your reactions on your comments and reblogs!

Tag list: @adiehardfan @pixelnutrookie @starryjieun @latinagiraffe @sarcastic01lily @spookycolorpeanut @ophrookie @suitfer @thegreentwin @mkatschoicesblog @made-of-roses @lillijill

@choicesficwriterscreations

[trulymadlysydney]

Scorpio Season: Two

Harry is the ghost that haunts the sorority house, Misty is the only one who can see him, and Scorpio season is far too short.

tw: Death, brief mentions of sexual assault, lots and lots of filthy smut

(This is also 26.k words so like... be prepared for a long read)

Read Part One Here

***Do Not Repost Without Permission***

It’s Halloween, and Misty is drunk.

Okay, so perhaps she isn’t quite drunk, but she’s getting there, and Harry is doing his best to take care of her.   (And his best isn’t exactly good enough, considering she’s the only one who can see him.)

It takes him fifteen minutes to get her attention, and he lets out a sigh of relief when he finally sees her walking towards him- dressed head to toe like the devil (if the devil were, of course, sexy and wore a skin tight red dress and fishnets).

When she reaches him, she smirks, and he doesn’t know why.   “What?” She asks, raising her eyebrows challengingly.

For the sake of Misty’s pride, Harry turns away before anyone can see her talking to nothing.  “Follow me,” he says, nodding over his shoulder and leading her into the hallway.

They turn the corner into her bedroom, and Harry gently closes the door behind them. When it’s just the two of them, Misty grins.  “What’s up, buttercup?”

Harry smirks. “You doing alright?”

“M-hm!” Misty says with a nod.  “You want a drink?”

“Can’t, love.”

Misty’s smile slowly fades into a frown.  “You mean ghosts can’t let loose? Have a little fun?”

“Who says I’m not having fun?”  

Misty considers his words and offers him a shrug.  “I mean you’re just watching a bunch of drunk college kids in stuipd costumes get even more drunk and make out with each other.  That isn’t really my idea of a good time.”

“And yet here you are.”

Misty giggles.  “You know what I meaaaan.”

“I’m watching you,” Harry says smugly.  “That’s all I need.”

She laughs again, turning away so he can’t see the tinge of embarrassment on her face.  “Don’t watch me,” she says.  “Creep.”

“Not a creep,” Harry insists, plopping onto her bed.  “Just want you to take care of yourself.  That’s all.”

“I wish you could take care of meeee,” Misty says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively and punctuating her sentence with a half-hiccup, half-giggle.

Harry doesn’t know if Misty meant to say that, or if she even meant it in the way that he’s taking it,  but he knows that if he had a beating heart, it would be racing at her words.   He brushes it off, smiling at her softly.  “M’taking care of you right now, aren’t I?”

“S’not what I meaaaaan,” Misty says, through another giggle, and now Harry knows exactly how her sentence was meant to be taken.

He laughs.  “Sunshine why don’t we get you some water, hm?”

“I like it when you call me that,” Misty says, sauntering clumsily towards Harry.  “‘Sunshine.’  Makes me happy.”

“I like making you happy,” Harry replies softly.  “Now, will you make me happy by getting yourself some water please?  I would get you some myself but, you know.”  He gestures vaguely with his hands.

“You can’t!” she says, tittering to herself.  “Cause you’re a ghost.  I know that.”

Her words sting just the tiniest bit, even though Harry knows she doesn’t mean it in a negative way.  He laughs them off anyway.  “You’re stalling, Misty.”

“I’m not stalling!” Misty says.  “I wish I could stay in here with you all night.”

And God, Harry wishes that too.

“And miss all the fun of the party out there?” Harry asks, eyeing her as she wobbles a bit around the room.  “I saw the way those guys were looking at you.”  He wiggles his eyebrows, and laughs as she gags.

“Ew,” she says, face twisting up in disgust.  “They’re the worst.”

“You didn’t like their flirting?  I thought that the trick the one guy did with the beer can on his head was very appealing. Especially with him dressed like a Greek God and all that.”

“You’re stupid.”

Harry grins.  “Water, Misty, “ he reminds her.   “You need to get yourself a glass of water.”

“Alright alriiiiight!” Misty holds up her hands in surrender. “You’re so neeeeeedy.”

Harry giggles, rising to his feet just in time to steady her a bit when she wobbles.  She laughs softly at the feeling of his cold hands against her hips, turning in his arms to face him.

“You smell good,” she says, her face mere inches from his.  “Have I ever told you that?”

Harry realizes that he’s held his hands in the same spot for just a tick too long, and he quickly drops them to his sides.  “No,” he says,  “Never told me that.  What do I smell like?”

“Like…”  Misty sniffs the air dramatically.  “Like cinnamon.  You’re laughin’ at me but it’s true!  Smells really good.”  She frowns up at him, as if a new thought just crossed her mind.  “What am I gonna do when you’re gone?”

Now her words really sting, and Harry struggles to just laugh them off this time.  Still, he knows tonight isn’t the time for sadness, and he doesn’t want to ruin Misty’s buzz.  So he grins.  “Buy a cinnamon candle?”

Misty pouts.  “Not the same.”

Harry laughs, booping her nose with the tip of his finger.  “Now I know you’re stalling.”

“Is it working?”  Misty grins mischievously up at him, and Harry shakes his head.

“No,” he says through another laugh.  “You little sneak.”

Misty giggles.  “But you’ll stay with me, right?  All night?”

“If you want me to.”  Harry nods.  “Yeah.  You can’t talk to me though.  Unless we’re in here.”

Misty frowns.  “I know.  Sucks.”

She turns like she’s going to leave finally, but then stops again.  “Why can’t you show yourself in front of everyone?” she asks, as if the thought just dawned on her.

Harry sighs, because as much as he knows she’s stalling, it is a valid question.  “I suppose I could,” he says, “If I really wanted to.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Not really, no.”  Harry offers her a half hearted shrug, and when he sees her face drop he quickly tacks on, “Not that I don’t want to be able to openly spend time with you, of course! You know I do. It’s just difficult.”

“Why is it difficult?” Misty cocks her head to the side like a curious child, and it’s so cute Harry could burst.

“It’s exhausting,” he explains.  “As ghosts we only have so much energy. And it’s affected by the energies of others in the room as well. Manifesting takes up a lot of that energy, especially when you’re manifesting in front of a lot of other beings.”  He smiles, pausing to allow her to process what he’s just said before continuing his explanation.

“When it’s only you who can see me, the amount of energy I’m putting forward is far less than, say, the amount it would take for me to manifest in front of everyone else.  On top of that, being around all different energies-- feeling them interact with your own-- you sort of adopt those energies as well.  You take them upon yourself.  I don’t like doing it.  It doesn’t feel good.”

“Oh.”  Misty frowns.  “That sucks.”

“It does suck,” Harry says, nodding his head.  “Especially since I can’t walk around tonight and show you off the way you deserve.”

Misty giggles shyly, and Harry beams at her before continuing.  “Now if you don’t go and get yourself some water, I’m going to have to expose myself to everyone.”

Misty’s laugh is louder than it usually is, and Harry has no choice but to laugh along with her.  “Okay!” she says.  “Sorry! God.”

Misty makes her way over to the bedroom door with Harry close on her heels. He holds his arms out just in case she needs extra stabilizing.  As soon as the door opens, she’s met with a loud cheering from the people in the hallway.

Harry recognizes Rosie and Greg, but there are two other guys there that he’s never seen before.  And by the looks of their cheers, they’re super happy to see Misty.

“Mistaaaaay!” One of the guys, who is dressed as a lifeguard, shouts.  “What were you doin’ in your room all alone?”

Harry scrambles to come up with an excuse for Misty, when she surprises him and comes up with one all on her own.

“My little sister was calling me, weirdo,” Misty says. “She forgot our parent’s wifi password.”  She glances over her shoulder and shoots Harry a very subtle wink, and honestly Harry’s impressed.  He chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

“Quick thinking there, sunshine.”

Misty ignores him but her smirk does not go unnoticed.  Her attention is quickly pulled, however, when the original guy speaks up again.

“You’re lookin’ good tonight, girl.  You know Josh is looking for you?”

And just like that, Harry’s ears are perked and his stomach is sinking.

“Yeah?” Misty asks, completely uninterested as she tries to push through the crowd. “Well I’ve been here!”  She almost seems to sober up, and Harry is intrigued as to why.

“You should go see what he wants.”  Lifeguard wiggles his eyebrows, and Harry takes a protective and unintentional step forward.

Misty rolls her eyes, seemingly unbothered.  “If it’s really that important he can find me.”

Lifeguard whistles.  “Damn, Misty, alright!   Not interested?”

Misty spares a quick glance in Harry’s direction.  “I’m not, no.”

It should make Harry feel much, much better.  It really should.  But it doesn’t.

Misty, of course, offers no time for explanation-- which she shouldn’t, Harry knows, but still. She only continues to push through the crowd, with Harry close behind-- and he tries to ignore the random shivers from the people he accidentally walks through.

“Misty--” He says quietly.

“It’s fine.”  It’s barely audible, and of course Harry can’t blame her for that; for fucks sake, she can’t look like she’s talking to herself.

Misty stumbles a bit as she enters the kitchen, opening the fridge and reaching inside for a jello shot.  Harry keeps a close eye on her-- not because he feels he has to, by any means, but mostly because it’s getting to the point in the night where things are starting to get a bit nutty.  The boys are becoming handsier, the girls are becoming more giggly and loud.  In his lifetime, Harry had been to quite a few parties-- so he knows exactly the direction this night is headed.

Misty is about to close the fridge when Harry offers her a pointed look.  “Forgetting something?”

“Water!” Misty says out loud, without thinking.  “Duh! Sorry.”

She reaches into the fridge just as a voice comes from behind Harry.  “There you are, babe! Who are you talking to?”

Harry and Misty turn at the same time to see who the voice belongs to, and Harry immediately frowns.

He comes to the conclusion (based on little to no evidence) that this must be Josh-- just by the way he’s eyeing Misty like prey.  He’s dressed like Tom Cruise from Risky Business, only he’s left the shirt unbuttoned far enough that his abs (or lack thereof) are visible.

Misty speaks, confirming Harry’s thoughts.  “Hi, Josh.”

She sounds less than thrilled to be seeing him, and she goes stiff when he throws a hand around her waist and pulls her in for a hug.  He leans in to kiss the side of her head, but Misty quickly ducks away, regaining her distance from him and opening her water bottle.

“Not happy to see me?” Josh pouts.

“No, I am,” she says, unconvincingly.  She opens her water and is about to take a sip when Josh scoffs.

“You’re drinking water?  Lightweight.  Thought you were gonna get lit with us!”

“I am!” Misty insists. “Just don’t want to end my night with my head in the toilet.”

“You know I’d take care of you babe,” Josh says.  “What’s in your cup tonight?”

Misty takes a few long sips from her water bottle, eyeing Harry pointedly, before she speaks.  “Uh.  I don’t know exactly, Kennedy made it for me.”

“Hell yeah,” Josh says, eyeing her glass.  “You’re runnin’ low though, want me to get you another?”

Before Misty can even answer, Josh has taken the cup from her hands.  He’s walking over to the stash of various liquors on the counter, and Harry immediately moves to stand beside him.  He watches carefully as Josh pours the liquor into Misty’s cup.

“Heard you talkin’ in here,” Josh says.  “Who were you talking to?”

“What?”  Misty and Harry share a quick glance before she speaks.  “Oh.  No one.  I was talking to myself.”

“Yourself?”  Josh scoffs, still pouring vodka into Misty’s drink.  Harry has to stop himself from reaching out to stop him from pouring.  “You’re a little weirdo sometimes, Misty.  You know that?”

Harry lets out an annoyed sigh, wanting more than anything to put Josh in his place. Misty only smiles passively.  “I know.”

“Quite a bit of fuckin vodka he’s putting in there,” Harry says.   “He’s trying to get you drunk, love.”

“I know,” Misty repeats, both to Harry and to Josh.

“Hot little weirdo though,” Josh says, adding only a tiny splash of cranberry juice before turning around to offer Misty her cup again.  He pauses, just as he’s about to hand it to her.

“Did it suddenly get cold in here?”  he asks, glancing around him.

“I could kill him,” Harry states, emotionless.

Misty has to fight a giggle, reaching forward to take her drink from Josh.  “No, I don’t feel anything,” she says.  She takes a quick sip, immediately regretting her actions when her esophagus is burned with the taste of vodka.

Misty shivers and gags, coughing in an attempt to get the horrible taste out of her mouth.  “Jesus, Josh, what did you put in this?”

“Vodka cran baby!” Josh says.  “Know you like those!”

“Vodka with a fuckin’ shot of cran,” Harry adds.

Misty coughs, putting her cup down on the counter.  Josh frowns.  “You don’t like it?”

“No,” Misty chokes, “I mean it’s fine but… fuck, dude, how much vodka did you put in there?”

“Nothing you can’t handle, Misty!” Josh steps forward, hip checking Misty and nearly knocking her over.  “You’re a tough little girl aren’t you.”

“I really could kill him,” Harry adds.

Misty clears her throat, finally done with coughing.  “You need to work on your bartending skills, Josh.”

“Yeah?”  Josh puts his cup down, moving in on Misty.  Before she even has time to react, he has her pinned against the counter, with both his arms trapped on either side of her. She leans her head back in an attempt to get further away from him.  He, completely oblivious to social cues, only grins.  “Maybe I do.  But I know of one skill I don’t need to work on.”

“Josh—“ Misty couldn’t lean any further back if she tried, and she glances at Harry out of the corner of her eyes.

Josh leans in, pressing his lips to Misty’s neck. “C’mon, baby, you know what I’m talking about.  Don’t you remember how good it was?”

Harry takes a step forward as Misty manages to get her hands unpinned and shoves them weakly against Josh’s chest. “You’re drunk,” she says.

“And you’re not?” Josh licks his lips, trying to kiss Misty again. “Take another sip then.”

Harry has never felt so helpless in his entire existence, and he doesn’t even think twice before reaching forward to yank Josh off Misty. Misty coincidentally pushes at his chest at the exact same time, sending Josh practically toppling over.

He regains his balance after a moment,, glancing at Misty with a confused look.  There’s a thick silence in the air, and Harry instinctively takes a step between Josh and Misty.   Josh glances around, as if searching for whatever just yanked him, and Misty shoots Harry a nervous look.

A menacing grin spreads slowly across Josh’s face, and he swipes his teeth with his tongue. “Damn, girl. You’re strong.”

Misty blinks back at him, swallowing. “Josh,” she says slowly. “I’m not interested.”

“That’s not what you said last time.”

Harry feels like his insides are on fire with anger, and Misty rolls her eyes.

“Yes, it is actually.  Interesting how you don’t seem to recall that.”

“Say the word and I’ll kill him,” Harry says.

Misty rolls her eyes, which goes completely unnoticed by Josh as he continues his tirade. “Look, I know you’re just being stubborn and I get it! I do.” He picks up Misty’s abandoned drink, sloshing the cup around in his hand. “Why don’t you just finish this drink I made you and then come find me when it hits you and you stop being such a prude?”

Harry can’t hold back any longer, and he doesn’t even think twice before he moves in- slapping the cup and tilting it all over onto Josh’s skin and his stupid white shirt.

Josh shrieks, and the look on his face is a mix between shock and confusion. He eyes the now empty cup in his hand as if he can’t believe he just spilled it all over himself. Misty scoffs quietly to herself.

“Wow Josh, you might want to lay off the drinks.”

“Fucker,” Harry adds.

“I’m not that drunk!” Josh insists, raising his voice and taking a step towards Misty.  Harry immediately steps between them once again, ready to push him away at a moment’s notice.

It’s at that exact moment that Kennedy walks in, saving the day.  She instantly notices the tension in the room, and her eyes dart between Misty and Josh.  She laughs when she notices his spilled drink.

“Woooow,” she says.  “What happened here?”

“I stumbled,” Josh laughs, trying to regain his composure and play the situation off.  “Misty saw it, huh?”

Misty shoots Kennedy a glance before muttering, “Yeah.  It was crazy.”

“Mm,” Kennedy says, and it’s obvious that she seems to have an idea of exactly what happened. She doesn’t like Josh, that much is obvious. Harry is immensely grateful for her, knowing that she’s going to take care of Misty in a way that he can’t.  “Well you should probably get that cleaned up, huh?  And maybe lay off the drinks a bit.”

Kennedy immediately walks to Misty’s side, and Harry can tell Josh knows his game is over by the look he gives. Neither Kennedy or Misty hint at being upset, and Misty shoots Harry a thankful look.

“I’m not drunk, Kennedy,” Josh lies, a smile on his face that makes it very obvious that he’s offended.

“Okay,” Kennedy scoffs.  “How bout you, Misty?  Need another drink?”

Misty’s eyes dart from Kennedy to Josh to Harry, who watches her with helpless and sympathetic eyes.  Misty wants more than anything to curl into Harry’s side, but she knows she can’t, and she’s thankful for Kennedy for stepping in when she did.

“Uh,” Misty says, clearing her throat.  “Yeah, actually, I do.  This idiot here spilled mine.”

Kennedy rolls her eyes, but it’s apparent she knows about the situation with Josh.  “What a douche,” she teases. shooting Josh a look as if to say she’s not actually teasing-- she means what she’s saying.  “Why don’t you go clean yourself up.  Misty, I’ll make you another drink.”

Josh rolls his eyes, scoffing as if he can’t believe what just happened.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Alright.”  He winks at Misty, shooting her an overly confident “I’ll see you later” before exiting the kitchen.

Kennedy, Misty, and Harry all watch him exit most ungracefully before Kennedy turns to Misty.  “You okay?  Like, actually.”

“Yes,” Misty lies.

“No,” Harry adds.

Kennedy rolls her eyes as she gets to work making Misty another drink. “He’s a fuckin douche canoe. I can’t believe he even still thinks he can talk to you.”

“I know.” Misty grabs a paper towel to clean up the bit of the drink that spilled onto the ground. “I don’t either.”  

Harry watches Misty, continuing to feel helpless— almost as if he’s butting in on a conversation he shouldn’t be. But he doesn’t move. He remains still, almost frozen in place as he watches Misty clean up the mess he made.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I should’ve planned that better.”

“It’s okay,” Misty says, both to Harry and Kennedy. “I’m fine. He didn’t do anything.”

“He wouldn’t have given up though,” Kennedy says, pouring the actual correct amount of vodka into Misty’s cup. “He’s a creep.”

Misty sighs. “He is. But—“

“No buts.” Kennedy and Harry both say this at the exact same time, and it takes Harry a moment to process.

“God I hate him,” Kennedy says. “Don’t let him intimidate you.  Here.”  She finishes mixing the drink in Misty’s cup and hands it to her. “Stay with me, yeah?”

Misty smiles gratefully at Kennedy. “Thank you.”  She glances over at Harry, a soft grateful smile directed in his direction as well.

Kennedy and Misty make their way out of the kitchen, and Harry once again feels helpless as he follows them.  Should he leave her alone? She asked him not to, but now he feels awkward and, if he’s being honest, angry that he couldn’t help her more.  

Harry numbly follows Misty and Kennedy through the house and into a cozy but messy living room filled with tons of other drunk people.  He feels a slight sense of relief when, immediately upon sitting down, Misty’s eyes search for him. She seems to visibly relax when she sees him, and he smiles sadly at her.  He reaches out to stoke lovingly at her cheek, and try as she might to not react, she can’t help but flutter her lashes closed for a brief second and lean into his touch.

The rest of the night seems to pass by slowly.  Misty hardly touches her drink at all, and as normal as she’s behaving around everyone else, Harry-- and Kennedy, it seems-- can tell that something is wrong.  She seems sad, her eyes less bright, and as the hours tick on she becomes less and less secretive about her glances towards Harry.

The party ends-- finally-- around 3am, with most of its guests falling asleep in various places throughout the house.  Misty moves slowly, helping Kennedy clean up the apartment, and Harry follows her anxiously-- wishing he, too, could help.

“Are you okay?”  Kennedy asks, once she and Misty-- and Harry-- are alone in the kitchen.  “Like, actually.”

“Yeah,” Misty insists.  “My buzz just wore off and like… I dunno.  I just want to sleep.”

“I get that,” Kennedy says, turning on the sink to wash out a glass.  “Well why don’t you go up to bed?  I’ll finish up in here.”

“I don’t want to leave it all to you--”

“I’m good! I’m just gonna do a couple more dishes and then head up to bed myself.  We can do the rest tomorrow.”

Misty hesitates, glancing from Kennedy to Harry before sighing, smiling a little relieved smile.  “You’re the fucking best, Ken.”

Kennedy grins.  “Duh.  Go get some sleep.”

Misty throws her arms around Kennedy from behind, giving her a big squeeze and pressing the most obnoxious kiss to her cheek before bidding her goodnight.  She still seems upset-- something is still very clearly on her mind, but she seems a bit relieved that she’s finally able to leave.  

As she pulls away, she shoots Harry a questioning glance, as if asking him to come with her.  He nods, holding up his finger to indicate that he’ll be right there.  Misty smiles, nodding her head before disappearing out of the kitchen.

Harry turns back to Kennedy, making his way slowly towards her.  He reaches forward, hesitating before giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.   He’s thanking her, in the only way he knows how to without revealing himself, and much to his relief, Kennedy only jumps slightly before giggling.

“I knew you were here,” she says softly.  “Whoever you are.  And I know you care about our girl, too.  Don’t worry, I’ve got her.”

Harry smiles to himself, wishing he could verbally thank her.  But just her knowing about his existence-- and being okay with it, at that-- means more to him than he can explain.  So without any more delay, he disappears from the kitchen and makes his way to Misty.

He finds Misty in her room, waiting in the doorway, and she smiles when she sees him.  He makes his way quickly into her room and she closes the door behind him, her face immediately dropping the moment it’s closed.  Harry waits for her to speak, but she doesn’t-- she only busies herself with retrieving the items she needs in order to get ready for bed.

“Are you alright?”  Harry finally asks, voice gentle.  He doesn’t know if he should step closer, touch her, hug her, or just stay away, so he stands awkwardly off to the side.

“I’m alright,” Misty says, most unconvincingly.  

“You sure?”  This time he does take a step towards her.  “I don’t think--”

“It’s nothing,” Misty insists.  “Seriously. He’s a creep.”

‘You shouldn’t have to deal with him,” Harry says.  “Does he treat you like that often?”

Misty pauses, then sighs, nodding her head slowly. “And everyone kinda just… lets him get away with it because….” she scoffs cynically, “He’s Josh.”

“Fuck Josh.  Where does he get off?”

Misty shrugs, opening a drawer and rummaging through it in search of a t-shirt.  “It’s just who he is.  I don’t know.”

“Well I mean…”  Harry isn’t sure how to word his next question.  “What makes him think that he can mess with you like that?”

“It’s literally nothing,” Misty says, exasperated.  She pauses, considering her words before turning to face Harry.  She opens her mouth, then closes it, and then finally decides to speak.

“You really want to know what happened?”

“If you don’t mind,” Harry says.

Misty sighs again, removing her little devil horn headband.  “We were drunk at a Kappa party my freshman year.  We kissed a little.  I was… stupid.  He kept pouring me drinks, and I just… kept taking them.  And….”

Harry waits for a moment, before gently pressing her a bit more.  “And?”

“And stuff happened.  We didn’t like, have sex or anything. I know that for a fact.  But he…”  She trails off, lost in thought, before continuing. “I don’t remember a whole lot of it.”

Harry is furious, and he wants more than anything to go find Josh and kick his ass.  But he knows that isn’t what Misty wants-- and definitely not what she needs right now.  So he stays put, offering her a sympathetic sigh.  “Oh, Misty.”

“It’s okay,” she offers. “I remember he made me a drink that was particularly strong. We went up to his room and then… next thing I remember I was throwing up in the yard.” Misty laughs bitterly. “My big was the one that found me. With him, I mean. That’s how I know we didn’t have sex. But she saw what we were doing and I—“ Misty trails off, shaking her head. “I don’t remember it at all.”

Harry swallows heavily as he takes in her words, scanning her face. The way Misty is looking at him right now, with her big soft eyes and genuine smile, he’s feeling guilty for even bringing it up.

“So. That’s what happened.”  Misty shrugs.  “I wish it didn’t, but it did.  And that’s it.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, feeling for the first time just how cold he really is.  The only thing Harry can settle on in this moment is a sigh, and so he lets all of his anxieties out in a big puff of air that actually, admittedly, does make him feel better.  As soon as he’s pushed all the air out of his lungs, his guilt increases, and he meets Misty’s eyes.

“Misty,” he says softly,  “Sunshine.  I’m so sorry.”

Harry reaches for Misty, nervous that he’s pressured her to talk about something so personal. She does lean into his touch-- thank God-- and she lets out the deepest sigh she feels she’s ever let out in her life.

“Harry….I don’t know how to navigate a situation like this,” Misty admits, voice hardly above a whisper.  “I only want to make you happy.”

“Darling, you do make me happy. I can’t believe he would ever—“

“It’s not about him,” Misty says. “I’m okay. I’m talking about you. I don’t know how to navigate… this.”

Harry pauses, realizing that she’s talking about the blatant chemistry between the two of them. “Well, I—“

“You’re just…. such a wonderful guy. And I wish—“ she trails off, as if second guessing her words, before starting her next thought. “All I know is that you’re someone I just… want around. All the time.”

“I want to stay around,” Harry says gently.  “I wish I could stay around longer.”

“Me too.”  Misty smiles sadly up at him.  “Our situation is unique.”

“Unique,” Harry repeats.  “That’s a nice way of saying ‘weird as hell.’”

Now Misty giggles.   “But I like it,” she tacks on quietly.  “I like…”  She trails off, closing her mouth as if the rest of that sentence hangs heavy on her tongue.

“I know,” Harry offers.  “I do, too.”

They stay like this for a moment, before Misty sighs.  “I have to get ready for bed now.  So--”

“I’ll go!” Harry says quickly.  “I’ll let you get to sleep and--”

“No, wait!” Misty holds up her hand.  “I’ll be right back.  I’m gonna change and stuff in the bathroom.  But then I’ll come back so we can… say goodnight.”

Harry wonders what exactly she means by that, but he doesn’t even allow himself to question her.  He smiles.  “Alright.  I’ll be here.”

Misty looks almost relieved.  “Alright.”

Misty disappears into the hallway, leaving Harry behind with the silence and his own thoughts. He knows Misty is still a bit buzzed, sure, but her words were pointed.  He tries not to overthink what she could have potentially meant by ‘say goodnight.’

He sighs, walking around her room and trying to distract himself from the nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He looks at the pictures in the frames along her dresser, the unfinished homework lying on her desk, the paddle made by her “big” hanging on the wall.  All these pieces of Misty’s life make him smile, but what really gets him is the framed picture on her bedside table.

It’s a picture of her family, taken from when Misty couldn’t have been more than fifteen years old. She’s smiling the biggest smile Harry thinks he’s ever seen, and she’s the spitting image of her beautiful mother, who stands behind her, laughing.  

Beside her mother stands her father, a tall, broad man with some wrinkles around his eyes and graying sideburns.  He looks like the kind of guy that Harry would love to chat with, sharing a whiskey neat or two while giving each other shit.  He seems pleasant, and he seems like a wonderful man just from this picture alone.

Surrounding Misty are her siblings: an older brother, and a younger sister and brother.  Harry wants more than anything to be able to meet them.  To have to earn the respect of Misty’s older brother, to spoil her younger siblings and make them love him.  He wants to be close to the whole family, really.  He wants to be the boyfriend that Misty brings home one year for spring break.  The boyfriend who brings a new plant for her mother, who watches football with her father and impresses them with his knowledge of American traditions, despite being british.

Harry wishes, more than anything in the world, that he was still alive.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s been staring at the picture until he’s startled by Misty’s presence as she enters her room once again.  He jumps a bit, and Misty giggles.

“Hi,” she says.  “Sorry.  Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hi. Ghosts don’t get scared.”

“Debatable,” Misty says.  Harry gets a good look at her, and he’s completely enamored. He’s just watched her transform from a sexy demon, with dark makeup and long lashes and the plumpest red lips he’s ever seen-- to the most adorable person he thinks he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

Her makeup-less face reveals a few zits on her cheek, her lips look chapped, and she’s dressed only in a long t-shirt and shorts.  She discards her costume into her hamper without a second thought, completely unaware of the way Harry is watching her.

“You look cute,” he says, as she pulls back her comforter.

“Shut up,”  she says, rolling her eyes as she crawls into bed.  “Ew.”

Harry snorts.  “I’m serious.  You’re so pretty.”

“Well,” she says, plumping up the pillows behind her.  “You’re so nice, but I’m going to have to respectfully tell you that I think you’re lying.”

“Well,” Harry mocks, “agree to disagree then.”

Misty relaxes against her pillows, rubbing sleepily and adorably at her eyes for a few moments.

“Thanks for being so wonderful to me,” she says after a bit, pulling the covers up tighter around her hips.  “Like, all night I mean.  You didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t be silly,” Harry says.  “I care about you.  I had fun.”

“Me too.  I just…” she sighs, and Harry takes a step towards her.

“What, love?”

“I just wish you could’ve actually like… had a good time.  Like, drank and hung out with us and stuff.  I wish I wasn’t the only one who could see you all night.”

“You don’t like havin’ me all to yourself then?”  Harry fake pouts.  

Misty rolls her eyes, but she smiles anyway. “It is nice to have my own personal ghost, but I just… wish you weren’t one.”

Harry smiles sadly.  “Me too,” he says.  “But I like watching over you.  Like your own personal guardian angel or summat.”

Misty giggles.  “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Feelin’ okay?” Harry asks, trying to change the subject. “Need more water or anything?”

“No,” Misty says. “Think I just need to sleep off the rest of this buzz.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees.  “Sometimes that’s best.”

“Yeah.”  There is a weird sort of tension fizzling in the air between them, as if Misty has something else she wants to say.

Harry waits patiently, watching as she avoids his gaze. She seems deep in thought and on the verge of asking something, but when she doesn’t Harry realizes that maybe he’s the one being awkward. Maybe she wants him to leave now and she’s too polite to tell him so.

So Harry clears his throat. “Alright. Well. Goodnight, bug.” He nods in finality.  After a few more seconds, he takes a step back before vanishing right in front of Misty’s eyes.  He’s about to actually leave, and he figures he can go inspect the house.  Maybe see what damage has been done, and try to discreetly clean up a bit in order to help speed up the process tomorrow for what he knows is going to be a very hungover group of girls. But something catches his attention that he absolutely cannot ignore.

“Wait, don’t go!”

Misty’s voice sounds so pitiful that Harry can’t even pretend like he’s not going to come back.  He manifests immediately in the corner of her room and he coos at her.  “What is it, sunshine?”

“Can you sleep with me?”

She seems so embarrassed to be asking, it makes even Harry’s cheeks flush.  “You want me to… get in bed with you?”

Misty nods, eyes bigger than Harry’s ever seen.  “Yeah,” she mumbles.  “Can you?”

Harry doesn’t remember the last time he spent a night in a bed-- much less with a beautiful girl-- but the thought of doing it tonight excites him.  He doesn’t want to come across as too eager, of course, but he can’t help but feel touched by her request, and he all but runs to her side.

As he makes his way towards the bed, he speaks.  “I might be a little bit cold,” he offers.  He looms over her, reaching down to brush a bit of her messy hair off of her forehead.

“S’okay,” Misty sighs, “I have lots of blankets.  Just wanna cuddle.  Is that okay?”

Harry smiles at how cute she looks, bundled up and sleepy in her bed.  He chuckles softly, reaching to tug gently at her covers to pull them back for himself.  “Yeah,” he says,  “That’s okay.  I can do that.”

As Harry settles himself in bed, he tries not to beat himself up too hard for the slight shiver in her body.  She obviously doesn’t seem to mind as she cuddles up close to him instantly.  The feeling of her warmth is almost too much for Harry to handle-- similar to the feeling of getting into a hot tub too quickly-- but he doesn’t mind.  It feels so good, and if he closes his eyes he can pretend, just for a moment, that he’s human, too.

“Can ghosts sleep?” Misty asks abruptly, tearing Harry from his fantasy and reminding him of his actual form.

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, we can sleep,” he says.  “It’s not exactly the same as how you sleep, though.”

“What’s it like then?”

Harry thinks for a moment, choosing his words carefully to explain this in a way that it makes sense.  “You know how I mentioned I can visit dreams?  When I’m… gone.”

“Yeah?”

“So if I go to sleep while I’m here, I’ll just go there.  To the dreamscape.  Where I can visit anybody’s dreams that I want. That’s usually how I visit my mum or say, a friend.”  Harry chuckles.  “Or someone who wronged me in the past.  So I can haunt their ass.”

“But you’ll still be here when I wake up right?”  She sounds so sleepy, almost needy, and it makes Harry hold her that much tighter.

“If you want me to be,” he answers.

“I do,” she says softly.  There is a beat of silence before she’s changing the subject again. “Tell me what it’s like.”

“What?”

“The dream stuff.  Like how do you just… do that?”

“Mmm. It’s like… how can I explain…”   Harry thinks carefully once again.  “I’m in a black… room?  Sort of.  Like where I go when I’m gone.  And there are a ton of doors, right?  In this room I mean.  And I can enter any one of them that I’d like, at any time. Anywhere in the world.”

“You can enter anybody’s dream?”

“Mhm.”

“At any time?”

“At any time.”

“Woooooow.”  Misty’s sleepy exclamation tickles softly against his neck.  “That’s so cool.”

“It is yeah,” Harry says, smiling to himself.  

“Can you come into my dream tonight?”

“If you want me to, yeah.”

“Can you make me dream about you?”

“Well,” Harry says, tracing a circle into Misty’s spine.  “Yes and no.  Whatever you’re dreaming about, I can enter it if I want to.  But I won’t know what you’re dreaming about until I’m in there.”

“Oh,” Misty says through a yawn.  “Ew.”

Harry snorts. “Why ‘ew?’”

“Because what if I’m dreaming something embarrassing?”  

“Then I can embarrass you about it forever,” Harry says.  “How fun!”

Misty pulls Harry closer, burying her face deep into his neck.  He can feel her visible frown, and it makes him smile.  “Don’t pout,” he coos, scratching at her back.

“Don’t tease meeee,” she whines, but the way she says it sounds like she has another thought to add on.

Misty hesitates, and Harry gives her time to think about what she’s going to say.  She arches her back the teeniest bit, leaning into a particularly good scratch, and it makes Harry smile. Finally, she finishes her thought.

“I actually did have a dream about you the other night,” she says,  “although now I’m guessing you already knew that.”

Harry nods.  He did know that, because it was his doing. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened; if anything it had just been pretty mundane-- similar to every day he’s spent with her in real life.  But it felt more real, more permanent, more tangible.  Harry had been careful, of course, not to be too obvious with it-- he didn’t interfere with the natural plot line of her dream as much as he normally would if it were a real visit.  He had just wanted to spend more time with her, and it had been lovely.

“Was it weird?” He asks, although he already knows the answer.

“It wasn’t weird,” Misty says.  “You were just kinda… there.  But I…” he feels her body tense up, and she curls herself even further into his side, as if hiding herself.  “I wanted to kiss you so bad.”

Harry feels his breath hitch in his throat, and his fingertips cease their movements along her spine.  “Yeah?” he chokes out.

“Yeah,” she whispers back.  “Is that weird?”

“It’s not weird, sunshine,” Harry whispers.  “I wanted to--”  He trails off now, letting the rest of his sentence fizzle out in a sigh.  “It’s not weird,” he repeats.

“I’m falling asleep,” Misty announces through the softest yawn Harry thinks he’s ever heard.  “It’s not weird right?  Like, things between us aren’t weird just cause I got drunk and kinda… confessed some shit?”

“Confessed what?”  Harry says.  “You’ve told me nothing.”

Misty giggles  “You’re a good man, Harry.”

“I’m not a man,” Harry teases.  “I’m a ghost.”

“Can you not be annoying for like, one whole second?”

It’s Harry’s turn to giggle now. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’ll chill.”

Misty yawns again, and the feeling of her breath against his neck makes him shiver.  He smiles, snuggling his cheek against the top of her head. “Well,” he says.  “Goodnight, sunshine.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” she mumbles.  Without thinking, she presses the softest little peck against his neck that almost goes unnoticed by him. It makes him freeze, letting out the rest of the air in his lungs in a little sigh. He doesn’t know if he should kiss her back or not, but she doesn’t seem to mind either way.  So he lets it slide.

But he spends the entire night replaying the feeling of her lips against his neck over and over and over again.

------

Misty sighs as she reaches into the fridge for a bottle of water.  Somehow she’s been roped into a conversation that she wants no part of; gossip between Lindsey and Rosie about Lindsey’s boyfriend who’s been openly cheating on her for weeks. Perhaps she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but somehow Misty has found herself listening to the girls chat away, one feeling sorry for herself, and the other kissing her ass.

When Misty closes the door, she jumps when she sees Harry, who has manifested right in front of her.  She lets out a frustrated sigh through her nose, and Harry grins cheekily at her, raising his eyebrows and daring her to speak.

“What’s wrong, Misty?” Rosie asks, and Misty realizes her little scare hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Misty glances between Harry and the two girls, who stare expectantly back at her.  “Uh,” she says,  “Nothing.  I… thought I saw something.  Sorry.”

“Is it that fucking ghost again?” Rosie’s face grows pale at her own words. “I swear to God if that fucker is back I--”

“No,” Misty says, cutting her off.  “He-- it-- isn’t back. Continue with your story.”

Lindsey launches right back into it, hardly giving Misty’s words a second thought. “Anyway, Brad was like, totally flirting with me that night right?”

“He totally was,” Rosie replies.

“Thank you! I thought he was, and Jade thought he was, but then now he’s back with Jessie again and--”

“God who cares about any of this?” Harry’s voice drawls in Misty’s ear. “She’s been going on and on about this for ages.”

Misty sighs softly so that only Harry can hear her.  She knows she can’t verbally respond to him, but he hears her response and smirks. It’s then the idea pops into his head.

“Whatever you do, don’t smile,” Harry says, voice low and teasing in Misty’s ear-- a surefire way to make her smile.  

The corners of Misty’s lips twinge and she visibly gulps, and Harry knows he’s got her.

“I said don’t smile,” Harry, sing-songs, inching closer to Misty’s ear and trying his hardest to get her to break.  “You’ll look like a crazy person.  Can you imagine?  Lindsey’s pouring her heart out, and you can’t stop smiling?  What will they think?”

Misty clears her throat a bit more aggressively than normal as a desperate plea to get Harry to shut the hell up.

“No,” he replies, with a cheeky grin, knowing exactly what her noise meant.  “I’m not going to stop.”  

Misty holds her breath as an attempt to hold her composure as Harry continues.  “Imagine if Lindsey’s water like, came out of her nose right now. Wouldn’t that be crazy?”

Harry notices the way Misty runs her tongue over her teeth, setting her jaw firmly so as not to slip up again.  And honestly, he’s impressed.  He presses her further.  “Did you know I could make that happen?”

This time Misty’s breath hitches, and she eyes Harry threateningly out of the corner of her eyes.  “I really can,” he says. “I can snap my fingers and she’ll be like a faucet.  A free flowing spirit.”

Harry thinks he’s almost got her, her lips twitch up again and she raises her water bottle to her lips to cover it up.  Harry snorts.

“Nah, I’m fucking with you,”  he says,  “you think I could really do that?  Who do you think I am, fuckin Harry Potter?”

Misty rolls her eyes without giving it a second thought, which luckily goes unnoticed by her sisters-- but not unnoticed by Harry.  He raises his eyebrows.

“Ope! Careful there.  Going to give yourself away, eh?”

When Misty stares blankly ahead, Harry laughs.

“Wow,” he says, “so you’re really not gonna smile, are you?  You’re good at this.”

His tone makes Misty think he’s giving up, and she gives a subtle smirk of satisfaction in his direction.  

But Harry is nothing if he isn’t persistent.  And he is not going to give up that easily.

It’s when Misty raises her arm to run a hand through her hair that Harry gets his idea.  He doesn’t even allow himself time to think about it before he’s setting his plan into action.  Before he knows it, he’s going right for Misty’s ribs.  

Harry digs his hands into Misty’s lower ribs, squeezing a few times, and Misty folds instantly into his arms.  She lets out a surprised shriek mixed with an almost honking laugh, and both Lindsey and Rosie stop the conversation immediately to shoot her a puzzled look.

It’s all too good, and Harry is so utterly pleased with himself right now.  He’d be lying if he said this kind of power didn’t go to his head, especially when Misty immediately realizes that she’s got to stop giggling.  Harry doesn’t let up on her ribs, lowering a hand to pinch softly at her side, and Misty tries desperately to cover up her remaining giggles with a cough.

Harry would also be lying if he said that seeing her laugh like this didn’t turn him on.  But that is neither here nor there.

After a few more seconds of tickling her and watching her desperately try to contain her giggles and cover them up with the fakest coughs Harry’s ever heard, he decides to show the poor girl some mercy.  He removes his hands from her torso, and it takes her a few seconds to realize she’s free.

The silence that follows is charged with awkwardness, and Harry almost feels a bit bad.  Misty, whose face is visibly hot, reaches for her water bottle on the counter and takes several long sips from it.

“You alright?” Rosie asks, slowly raising an eyebrow.

Misty gulps down one more sip and gestures vaguely at her throat.  “Yeah, sorry I just--”

“Have a tickle in your throat?”

Harry beams, voice low in Misty’s ear.  “Something like that,” he says.

Misty closes her eyes and lets out a long sigh, as if she’s just heard the worst joke of her life.  Harry snorts.  “I know,” he says.  “That was a good one, wasn’t it?”

“Linds, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Misty says,  “But I have this huge paper due in a couple of hours and I’m super behind so--”

“Oh is it that stupid paper for english?” Lindsey nods sympathetically.  “I worked on it like, all night last night.”

“Yeah,” Misty lies,  “I have to work on it.  I promise in a few hours I’ll be right back down to--”

“No worries, baby, do your thing!” Lindsey says, shooing Misty with her hand. “I get it.  You’re good.”

“Thanks.”  Misty begins making her way out of the kitchen without even sparing so much as a glance in Harry’s direction. “I want to hear all about it later though.”

Misty storms up the stairs with Harry close on her heels. He is giggling the entire way, but Misty doesn’t even smile.  It’s about halfway up the stairs that Harry begins to get a bit nervous.

“You have to admit that was good,” he says through his laughter, obviously trying to lighten the mood.  “Come on.”

Misty ignores him, continuing her path to her room.  When she arrives, she doesn’t even check to see that Harry is behind her.  She closes the door a bit harder than she intends, and Harry effortlessly glides through it.  The silence that follows is absolutely deafening.

She turns, agonizingly slowly to face him, and the look on her face is unreadable.  Harry isn’t sure if the smirk on his own face is appropriate or not, so he tries his best to suppress it while he waits for her to say something.  When she doesn’t, his lips twitch.

“I take it you’re angry,” he tries.

“How could you do that?!” Misty hisses, the sort of whisper that’s stupidly loud.  He knows she isn’t angry, not fully, but he almost worries he took things a step too far.

“Sunshine, I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“Made me look like a fucking idiot.” Misty runs her hands through her hair and shakes her head at him.  “And for what?  So you could get a laugh?”

Harry tries desperately not to smirk, but the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly-- giving him away. “Yeah.”

Misty stops, not exactly expecting that answer.  She pauses for a moment before sighing through her nose and closing her mouth.  “Ridiculous,” she mumbles, before brushing past Harry to rummage through her closet.

“I really think you should lighten up,” Harry says, walking over and plopping himself on her bed.  “Wasn’t meant to be a personal attack.”

“Lighten up?!” Misty says, whirling around on her heels.  She hesitates, realizing that she’s raised her voice a tick too loud.  She takes a step towards Harry, lowering her voice significantly before speaking.  “You think I need to lighten up?  Harry, you--”

“I didn’t mean to ruin your bloody day, Misty, Christ.  I was just trying to make you laugh.”

“Well don’t.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There’s an intense pause between them, and Harry doesn’t shy away from Misty’s intimidating stare.  In fact, there is hardly any emotion on his face at all, and Misty can’t tell whether it infuriates her or turns her on. She can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks growing hotter by the second, and she lets out a flustered sigh.

“You seem like you have something else to say,” Harry states calmly.

It’s so unfair, Misty thinks.  It really fucking is.  She scrambles to find words to express how she’s feeling, but her brain is cloudy with the thought of how goddamn attractive he is. When she really thinks about it, she isn’t angry at all, really.  The thought of Harry being able to do whatever he wants to her- whenever he wants- in front of people both embarrasses her and makes her excited.  

Truth be told, she’s never been more excited in her entire life.

Harry raises his eyebrows expectantly.  “Well?”

“I don’t have anything else to say,” Misty says quietly.

“Are you sure?”  Harry asks, rising to his feet and taking a cautious step towards her.

Misty lets out a frustrated breath, reaching up to push her hair off of her face.  “Yes, I’m sure! Will you stop doing that?”

Harry scoffs, mockingly.  “Stop doing what, Misty?  Trying to call you out on what we both know is true?”

“No!” Misty’s voice is dangerously loud, and she catches herself again before she can get any louder.  She rolls her eyes at herself before continuing at a much softer pace.  “Stop… looking at me like that.”

And oh, now Harry understands.

Harry shakes his head.  “I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Yes you are!” she insists, closing the space between them just the tiniest bit more.  “You’re always looking at me like… like that!”  She gestures indistinctly.

Harry licks his lips, eyebrow subconsciously raising challengingly.  “I’m going to need you to be more specific, Misty.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Sunshine,” he drawls, voice thick as honey,  “all I ever want is to make you happy.  That’s a promise.”

Misty swallows, nostrils flaring as she tries to get her breath under control. “Harry, I…”  She trails off, because truth be told she doesn’t know where she was even going with this thought.

“What?” he asks, taking another step towards her.  “Tell me.”

After a beat of intense silence Misty groans.  “I don’t know! You’re so annoying and you’re so perfect and you make me so happy and I just--”

“What?” Harry says, inching closer.  “You just what?”

Misty lowers her voice, eyes thick with sadness.  “I just… don’t want to be feeling this way about you.  I can’t.  But you make it impossible to not.”

“To not what?”

“Fall for you.”  Misty sighs.  “I’m trying so hard not to because… well, you’re not actually here  are you?”

“Can you see me?”  Harry asks, matter-of-factly.

“Well, yes, but--”

“I’m here.”  Harry reaches forward, lightly caressing Misty’s arm.  “I’m right here Misty.”

Misty glances down to his hand, then back up at him.  “Harry, I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

He pulls away, not wanting to pressure her into feeling any type of way at all. “What do you mean?”

“I mean-- God.”  She lets out all of her air and shakes her head, almost cynically.  “Harry I… really, really like you.”

If Harry had blood running through his veins, it would run cold at her words.  “You do?”

“Have I not made it obvious?”  Misty scoffs.  “Fuck, dude, you’re so perfect.”

“I’m not,” Harry says in a breath.  He steps forward.  “Misty, I’m not.”

“You are,” she insists.  “I want you so bad, Harry.  And I’m scared.”

Harry processes her words slowly, and he knows he shouldn’t say what he’s about to say. But he does it anyway.

“I’m scared, too,” he admits softly, feeling more human than he’s felt in a long time.

“I’m scared that I’m going to really fall for you,” Misty continues, “because I know you’re just going to have to leave in the end. And I’m going to be sad, and I’m going to miss you, and—“

“Well then why don’t we just pretend?” Harry tries. “We’ve still got a few more weeks, haven’t we?”

“Yes, but the thought of you leaving won’t go away, Harry! It’s all I can think about. Every time I feel something for you I’m reminded of our situation and how you’ll never actually be mine.”

“I hate it,” Harry agrees, his own voice matching hers in volume now. “I absolutely hate it, but Misty, we can’t let that thought hang over the time we have left like a raincloud.”

“But--”

“You make me feel alive again, Misty!” Harry doesn’t mean to cut her off, but he can’t help it.  “I know that’s forward, and we haven’t known each other for all that long, but it’s true.”

Misty looks like she wants to cry, and her eyes feel thick and heavy.  She wills herself not to break, taking a moment to regain her composure before speaking.  “Harry, I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.  “I don’t… we can’t--”

Harry leans in, taking Misty’s chin in between his thumb and forefinger.  He tilts her head up softly, effectively quieting her, and she realizes her lips are still parted. Harry can feel her breath, and it feels far too intimate to be real.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice tender and quiet.

Misty blinks up at him. “God,” she breathes, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that.”

Harry smiles, leaning in gently and fastening their lips together slowly.  He takes her top lip between his own, and he can feel her instantly relax against him. She smiles faintly into the kiss as well, but makes no movement to pull him closer— as if she’s still a bit unsure.  He kisses her again, then pulls away, scanning her face for any sign of discomfort.

“How do you feel?” He asks after a moment.

“Like I want to do that for the rest of my life.”  Misty reaches up to cup Harry’s face and bring him in for another kiss.  

Harry, of course, happily complies to her nonverbal request, snaking his hands around her waist and holding her gently to him.  He timidly peeks his tongue out, gliding along her lip as if asking for permission, and she willingly submits— opening her mouth for him to lick into.

Misty giggles into his mouth the minute their tongues interact, and it makes Harry pull away. “What?”

“You taste good,” she says. “You taste…. sweet. I don’t know. I love it.”

“Oh.” He grins, pulling her back into him to pick up immediately where they left off.

It’s beautiful, and Harry feels happier than he’s felt in a long time now that he’s finally kissing her. He licks into her mouth softly, trying to convey all the words he isn’t yet brave enough to say.

“Harry.”  Misty pulls away, smiling up at him.  She’s so happy that it feels like everything her eyes land on is glowing. “God, I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Why didn’t you do it then?  I wanted it, too!”

“Well why didn’t you?!”

Harry grins.  “Wanted to see how long until you gave in, I suppose.”  When Misty rolls her eyes, Harry chuckles.  “Alright I’m kidding.  I guess I was just… scared.”

“Me too,” Misty admits.  “I mean… feelings are scary one way or another, but then when you add our situation in there its…”

“Weird as fuck,” Harry says, nodding.  “Yeah.  I hate it.”  He smiles, cupping the back of her neck and bumping his nose tenderly against hers.  “But I don’t fully. I’m very happy that I have you, sweet girl.”

Misty smiles, leaning gently into his touch.  “Kiss me again,” she asks,  “Please.”

Harry grins, pulling her close to him and pressing his lips gently to her forehead.  “With pleasure.”

They continue like this for a while, giggly and unsure and so, so happy.  It is weird, as they both admitted, but it’s so incredibly wonderful and fills both of their hearts with a warmth that neither of them have felt for a while.  And as Harry continues to kiss against Misty’s smile, he forgets his situation— if only for a moment— to revel in the fact that he’s kissing the most beautiful girl he’s ever known.

He doesn’t think his entire existence could ever get better than it is right now.

------

Later that night, Misty sits cross legged on her bed, fresh from a shower and rubbing lotion into her arms while Harry explores her vinyl collection.  She’s wearing the cutest t-shirt and pajama shorts combo Harry thinks he’s ever seen, and it’s driving him crazy.  Things are definitely not awkward between them by any means, but the whole situation feels silly and exciting, like two middle schoolers who just admitted they had a mutual crush on one another.

Misty nods towards the Fleetwood Mac record Harry currently holds in his hands.  “I found that one at a garage sale,” she says.  “Luckiest find of my life.”

“No kidding.”  Harry turns, smiling at her.  He holds the record up.  “Do you like Fleetwood Mac?”

“Nah, just thought the vinyl looked cool.  I don’t even know any songs by them.”

Harry halts all movement, eyeing Misty to figure out if she means what she’s saying.  She’s got him for a moment, her expression remains completely unbothered as she rubs her vanilla lotion into her arms.   But then she giggles, face twisting up like she can’t believe Harry would even ask her that.  “What the fuck kind of question is that, Harry?  Hello?  Why else would I have that?”

Harry snorts.  “You know what?  I’ve had enough of your sarcasm.”

“My sarcasm?” Misty says.  “You’re one to talk!”

“Me? I’m a dream!”  Harry returns the record to it’s rightful spot and makes his way over to the bed.  “You on the other hand--”

Harry reaches for a pillow to whack Misty with, but Misty is quicker.  She grabs the other pillow on her bed and shields his attack, squealing as he continues his fight on her regardless.  He eventually tosses the pillow aside, going for what he knows will absolutely get her to cave and digging his fingers into her sides.

Misty squeals, instantly bucking into his touch as he squeezes at her.  “Wait, no! Fucker!  This is cheating!”

“Careful!” Harry taunts, fingers wiggling up to her ribs. “No one else knows I’m here! Would be awful embarrassing if they heard you talking and giggling to yourself, wouldn’t it?”

“Well then fucking stooooop!” Misty whines, wriggling under his grasp.  “Why are you making me--” She is cut off by her own cackle before she continues-- “Do this?!”

“Because I can.”  Harry beams down at her, leaning down to press a kiss to her nose.  “Because it’s cute and you like it.”

“I don’t like it!” Misty practically howls.  “You’re annoying!”

“Oh,” Harry says, ceasing the movement of his fingers.  “I’m annoying?”

“YES!” Misty whines, pouting up at him.

He smiles, leaning closer into her face and enjoying the heat radiating off of her cheeks.  “Do you really not like it?”

Misty pants, catching her breath and smiling up at Harry.  “No,” she admits after a beat.

Harry squirms so he’s fully on top of her now. “‘No’ you don’t like it? Or ‘no’ as in you do like it and don’t want me to stop?”

Misty reaches up to cover her face as much as Harry’s body pinning her will allow.  “‘No’ as in… don’t stop.”

Harry grins, pressing a kiss to Misty’s nose.  “I figured.”

Harry trails his lips lightly along Misty’s cheeks leading up to her mouth, pressing smiley kisses to the soft skin and loving the way he can feel her smile beneath him.  “Pretty girl,’ he mutters.  “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

When he finally fastens his lips to hers, Misty sighs.  She opens her mouth willingly, allowing him to lick his way in, and she delights in the sweet taste of his tongue against hers.  She allows her hand to trail up Harry’s icy neck, tangling her fingers in his hair before she tilts her head away slightly to speak.

“You know,” she muses,  “You could be awful mean to me if you wanted to be.”

Harry quirks an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side teasingly.  “Do you want me to be mean to you?”

Misty only sighs. “If you have to ask--”  She trails off, fingertips lightly toying with the hem of Harry’s shirt.  There’s a moment of tense silence in which she bats her eyes up at him innocently, and that’s all the starting gun he needs.

“Ohh, sweetheart,” Harry coos.  “You’re going to have to be more convincing than that.”

Misty groans, her facade crumbling away little by little.  “I cannnn’t,” she whines, hiding her face in her hands.  Harry can see her smile between her hands however, and it eggs him on.

“You can,” he says, voice almost mockingly sweet. He rises to sit on his knees. “Know you can.  You just won’t.”  

Harry reaches up, trying to gently coax her hands from her face as best he can. “You know why you won’t?”

Misty peeks through her fingers, shaking her head but not verbally answering Harry.  He flashes her his cheekiest dimpled grin.  “Because you want me to make you say it. Am I right?”

Misty giggles as Harry successfully lowers her hands.   “You can’t make me say it,” she says teasingly.

Harry shrugs, placing his hand on Misty’s calf and squeezing lightly.  “It’s true.  I can’t. Can’t make you do anything you don’t want to, baby.”  He walks his fingers up her leg, tauntingly tracing his pointer finger around her kneecap and making her shiver.  “But darling, this cute little act of yours is only going to get you so far.

“It’s gotten me far enough, hasn’t it?” Misty licks her lips subconsciously, reaching forward to scratch behind Harry’s ear.  “Obviously things have gone my way.”

“Have they?” Harry says, cocking his head.  “I haven’t given in yet, have I?”

“How much longer until you do?” Misty asks, giggling nervously.

Harry shakes his head, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of Misty’s chin.  “Dunno,” he says.  “Wanna see how long you’re going to act like this for.”

Harry presses a few more rapid kisses directly to Misty’s chin before trailing them up to the fleshiest parts of her cheeks.  After a few kisses there, he pulls away.

“Your cheeks are so hot, sunshine,” Harry muses, reaching up and tracing a knuckle along the tender skin.  “Why?”

“Hot in here,” Misty breathes, voice so low that Harry can barely even make out what she’s saying.  

Harry’s honey drip of a voice sends shivers down Misty’s spine when he speaks.  “No,” he says with a grin.  “That’s not it.”  

With his other hand, Harry trails his fingertips down the sensitive skin of her arm, making her squirm a bit.  “Know what I think it is?”  His fingers squeeze delicately over her hips before resting on her exposed thigh-- where he gives her a soft scratch.  “I think somebody is embarrassed about how badly she wants me to be mean to her.”

Harry leans in, pressing an icy kiss to her neck that makes her instinctively tremble.  A breathy moan floats past her lips as Harry ghosts his own along her collarbone.  He takes his time with this, really inhaling her scent and her warmth as he makes his way down her body.  His fingers trace delicately along the waistband of her pajama shorts, her stomach jolting a bit when he hits a sensitive spot on her hips.  Misty watches his face with parted lips, so completely enamoured by him and his touch that she’s rendered speechless.

Slowly, gently, Harry lowers his hand to the spot between her legs, feeling the damp heat against the soft fabric of her short pajama bottoms.  He grins, slowly adjusting to sit up on his knees once again.  He takes her in, her entire body, and allows himself to really savor this moment.  When his eyes fall on the beauty between her legs again, however, he stops.

“And you know what else I think?” Harry says, grinning over her as his fingers tease her waistband once again.  “I think you like being embarrassed like this.  I think you like that I can do this to you, and we’re the only two who’ll ever know about it.  Hm?  Am I right?”

Misty gulps, goosebumps prickling her skin and lips glistening.  She nods.  “Yes,” she breathes.  “You’re exactly right.”

“I knew it,” Harry says, hooking his fingers into her waistband. “Filthy girl, aren’t you?”  He begins lowering the shorts from her hips, never breaking eye contact and smirking at how willingly she complies with his movements.  When he pulls the shorts past her feet he flings them carelessly to the floor, then glances down at the ever-growing wet spot on the fabric between her legs.  He grins up at her.  “Messy thing you are, too.  Look how wet you get just from some teasing.”

“Harry--” Misty breathes.

“Love it when you say my name like that, darling,” Harry purrs.  He leans forward to press a kiss directly to her bellybutton. The kiss is wet, and the sound of it mixed with Misty’s beautiful sighing is enough to make Harry melt.  He can’t help but to close his eyes and take a deep breath in, sighing when he’s met with her heavenly scent.  “Smell so fucking good,” he mumbles.  “Haven’t smelt anything like this in years.”

“Don’t--” Misty breathes,  “Don’t tease.”

“Ohh,” Harry tuts, tracing the spot where her inner thigh meets the fabric of her panties.  “Poor thing doesn’t want me to tease?”

He glances up at her from under his lashes, and the look on her face sends Harry over the moon.   Her eyes are wide and the smile on her slightly parted lips is so warm and inviting that Harry almost has a hard time keeping this up.

“Well, I find that hard to believe.”

He sinks his teeth into the waistband of her panties without any warning, and she gasps at the sudden sharpness mixed with the temperature of his mouth on her hips.

Misty lets out an unfiltered moan and immediately flings her hand up to her mouth to keep herself quiet.  She gives herself only a few moments to compose herself before whispering, “Harry, I… I need you--”

“Aww,” Harry coos, his teeth still hooked around her panties. He shakes his head a bit, curls falling in his face as he pulls the fabric away from Misty’s skin. “Needy,” he mutters, tugging a bit in an attempt to remove the panties.

When the lower half of Misty’s body is exposed to the chill of Harry’s skin, she shivers, and he delights in the movement for the first time since he’s met her.

“Know I’m cold,” he says quietly, teeth still clenched around her panties as he drags them down her leg.  “But it feels good, doesn’t it?”

Misty nods.  “M-hm…”  She’s eyeing him, and he’s moving slowly because he can tell she has something she wants to say.  He discards her panties onto the ground and tries not to outwardly show just how fucking delicious she looks right now.  He’s practically drooling at the sight of her, but she’s nervous, and he doesn’t want to push her too far.  So instead, he trails his nails slowly up her calf, looking only in her eye  and waiting patiently for her to speak.

“Nervous?” he asks.

“Well, no,” she says.  “But I…”  she trails off, squirming when his eyes land between her legs once again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” she starts, squirming a bit.  “I didn’t shave.”

Harry almost laughs at her when she says this. “Oh, darling. That’s what’s got you so nervous?”

She nods.  “Yeah.  I mean, I didn’t think… I don’t know.”

“Your pussy looks amazing,” Harry says, deciding to just bite the bullet and be as forward as he feels.  “Looks fucking delicious.  Smells delicious as well.  I certainly don’t mind a bit of hair.”

“You don’t?”  she asks, sitting up.

“Are you kidding?” He reaches forward, brushing against some of the hair with his finger.  “Fucking sexy as hell.  Don’t be silly.”

“I mean,” Misty says quickly, “I suppose it’s probably been, like, a minute since you’ve seen a pussy.  So I guess any pussy is gonna be fine.  I mean, not to assume your preferences, or anything, but you know--”

Harry leans forward, biting Misty’s thigh and making her yelp.  “Shh,”  he mumbles.  “Please.”

Misty giggles nervously. “Okay,” she says.

Harry leans down and kisses the spot he’s just nipped at, trailing his lips up her thigh and settling himself on his stomach. Being this close to her core ignites something in him that he hasn’t felt in years, and just the smell of her alone makes his mouth water.

With one hand Harry coaxes Misty’s leg up and over his shoulder, and now with a clearer view of her beautiful pussy he licks his lips.  

“You’re already so wet,” he observes. “Wanted it this badly, did you?”

“Want you,” she replies, squirming. “So bad.”

Harry takes his time with it, eyeing her body up and down before leaning in to press the most velvet soft kiss directly at her center  His scruff tickles her lightly, and she lets out a sigh.

Harry hums against her core before really diving into his work, peeking his tongue out from between his lips to lap delicately at her clit.  He watches her from under his long lashes, waiting for a reaction from her as he explores her with his tongue— wanting to find the best spot to really devour.

She watches him intently, as if in a daze, while he sucks at her, and it takes him a moment to realize she’s holding her breath. So he pops off of her clit gently, making her jolt, before reaching up to place a hand on her belly. “Breathe, baby.”

Perhaps Misty didn’t realize she was holding her breath, because she lets it all out in a puff. Her tummy immediately grows a bit and Harry loves it, loves seeing her fully relaxed for him like this.

“You okay?” He asks. “Genuinely.”

“I’m okay,” she says.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Cross your heart?”

Misty snorts.  “I swear on my life, Harry, come onnnn.”

He giggles, “Alright alright.”  Without any further warning, he leans down and presses the softest kiss directly to her clit, resuming his work and licking against her.

The only noises in the room are Misty’s heavy breathing and soft sighing, mixed with the wet noises of Harry’s mouth-- and it all feels so filthy and intimate that it makes Harry lose himself in his work. He moans, even louder than she does, and it makes her back arch a bit off of the mattress.

“Harry--” she sighs.

Harry tilts his head, ghosting his lips against her thigh.  “Careful,” he says.  “I don’t have to be quiet. You do.”

Misty smiles to herself, enjoying the feeling of his tongue between her legs. The sensation of his temperature down there is something she’s never experienced before in her life, and it makes the entire experience all the more intoxicatingly wonderful.

“God you taste so fucking good,” Harry mumbles, pulling his head back only slightly and reaching up to rub at her clit. “Like fucking honey. Delicious.”  He lowers his fingers to collect her wetness, observing the stickiness coating the digits before raising his hand to her mouth.

He doesn’t even have to tell her to do anything, she’s already opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out. Harry rests his fingertips on her tongue, and she envelopes them with her lips, giving them a nice long suck that causes Harry to make a most obscene noise in the back of his throat.

The temporary distraction lights a fire in Harry’s soul, and he ducks down to bury his face in her pussy once more. She arches her back when he hits a particularly good spot, and she accidentally bites down gently on his fingers— which Harry is surprised to find that he loves the feeling of.

Harry hums against her, wiggling his fingers a bit as a silent request for her to loosen up.  She opens her mouth, unable to contain the moan that escapes her lips when she does so.  Harry envelops her clit with his lips and sucks harshly, and she squirms against him.

“Harry--” She breathes.  “It’s so… fuck-- you’re so good…”

“Quiet now,” Harry mumbles against the skin of her thigh.  “Unless you want them to know how filthy you are.”

“I don’t care,” Misty pants breathlessly.  “I’ll blame my vibrator, I don’t care,  I’ll--- oh fuuuuck.”  She’s cut off when Harry sinks his teeth into the flesh of her thigh, and even he moans at the sensation.

“Fucking shit,” he mumbles as he pulls away, admiring the dents that his teeth left and the string of saliva trailing from his bottom lip to her plushy skin.  “You taste good everywhere.”

“More,” Misty pleads.  “Harry, more, please.”

Harry sits mesmerized by the imprint of his own teeth on her thigh.  “They’ll think you’re crazy if they hear you.”

Misty groans, and Harry instinctively reaches up and covers her mouth without hesitation.  He considers stopping, punishing her for not listening to him and being loud.  But looking up at her, seeing how needy and fucked out she already looks has him weak.  So he buries his face between her legs and prepares to finish the job, licking her out like it’s the one thing he was born to do.

Misty’s hand flies to Harry’s hair and she tugs so hard it makes him wince.  Honestly, it’s the best feeling he’s felt in ages.  No one has pulled his hair like this since long before he died, and the feeling alone causes him to moan out loud against her core.

“Fucking shit, Misty,” he mumbles.  “Do that again.”

“You like that?” Misty cries breathlessly, her fingers moving frantically to grasp at his curls once again.  

Harry groans, lapping against her clit and enjoying the most pleasure he’s felt in years. “Misty,” he breathes, relishing in the way she twitches against the tickle of his breath against her skin, “You’re so fucking perfect.”

“Fuck,” Misty groans.  “Holy shit--”

“Is this good sweet girl?”  

“I need more,” Misty cries, and who is Harry to deny her of her simple request?

He reaches down, fingering gently at the wetness pooling between her legs before teasing a single finger into her-- never once removing his lips from her clit.

He sucks harshly while his finger simultaneously searches for the spongy spot inside of her. She squirms around his digit, and Harry has to use his other hand to pin her hips down.

“Hold still,” he instructs.

“I can’t,” Misty whines. “I need another finger.”

She’s practically begging at this point, and it makes Harry so smug. “Ohhh,” he says, lips ghosting her thighs again, “So you’re the one calling the shots, are you?”

He’s teasing, of course, because he knows that she absolutely is the one in control of everything that’s going on right now.  But the way she’s dripping, tugging on his hair and practically shoving his face into her-- as well as verbally begging him-- strokes his ego.

“Please,” she groans.  “I want-- fuck-- I need to cum.”

Harry smirks up at her, tutting his lips.  “Not even embarrassed to be so needy?” he teases.    “My god…”

As much as he loves to tease her, though, he wants to make her cum more than anything else. And seeing her on the brink like this-- already-- makes him all the more eager. So he adds a second finger, pumping his digits in and out and lapping at her clit like it’s his last meal.  

She lets out an obscene moan, louder than any of the others she’s let out, and he knows she’s close. But for the sake of her pride, he knows she has to stay quiet. So he removes his hand from her hip and presses it to her mouth.

“Quiet,” he instructs, giving her face a little squeeze before putting his entire heart and soul into eating her.  

Misty is wiggling like mad now, and it takes everything in Harry to keep his mouth on her.  He knows that if he lets go of her mouth to try and pin her hips down again, she’ll expose herself— loudly— so this is a challenge Harry gladly accepts.

She stills briefly when her orgasm hits, and then her thighs are trembling around his face.  Her stomach is clenched and she’s drooling against the palm of his hand.  Her muffled moans are music to his ears, but they do sort of catch Harry off guard because he’d never guess that she’d be such a vocal cummer.  Of course, he isn’t complaining, and he wishes that he could hear her, completely unfiltered, with no one around to catch them.

Misty’s stomach relaxes a little bit at the same time she lets out a few little cries, and Harry realizes that she’s finished-- although her pussy continues to flutter with aftershocks against his tongue.  He slowly removes his hand from her wet mouth and looks up at her from under his lashes.

She looks utterly fucked, with tears in her eyes and chest rising and falling gently as she tries to catch her breath.  Harry is fascinated, thinking he’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life, and he realizes that he hasn’t moved in a while when Misty squirms beneath him.

He removes his lips from her but continues to watch her, relieved when her features seem to relax and she lets out a breathy giggle.  “My god,” she says, voice somewhat hoarse.  “That was--”

“A dream,” Harry says, now allowing himself to relax a bit as well.  He looks down at her soaked pussy and grins.  “You’re messy.”

“Can you blame me?”  Misty reaches up to run a hand through her hair.  “Fuck, that was good.”

“Yeah?”  Harry smiles.  “I’m so glad.”

Misty hums, reaching down to playfully muss up Harry’s hair.  “Now, come up here so I can take care of you, pretty boy.”

Her words hit Harry’s heart, causing it to sink immediately. “Oh, doll,” he tuts,  “God, I wish you could.”

Misty frowns.  “What do you mean?”

“No blood in my veins,” Harry explains sadly, still making no effort to remove himself from between her legs.  “No blood… no boner. I don’t get hard.  I don’t cum.”

“Holy shit.”  Misty props herself up on her elbows, looking down at Harry and causing the cutest double chin Harry thinks he’s ever seen.  “Seriously?”

Harry nods.  “Seriously.  So even if you did… I wouldn’t feel anything.”

“Do you…” Misty’s voice gets quiet, as if suddenly going shy.  “Do you still get horny?”

“Yeah.”  Harry kisses Misty’s knee.  “Of course. You think I don’t feel anything while I’m eating your beautiful pussy?”

“I don’t know!” Misty whines.  “I feel like there is so much about you that I’m still learning.”

“Well,” Harry says with a sigh.  “You turn me on.  More than anyone I’ve ever known.  My body may not be able to physically show it… but you do something to me that I haven’t felt in years.”

“So I’ll never be able to suck you off?”  Misty pouts.

Harry smiles sadly.  “I’m afraid not, sweet girl.”

“Holy shit.” Misty frowns. “That fucking sucks.”

Harry laughs. “I mean… it’s not so bad. I get to make you feel good.” He licks softly at her pussy in an attempt to begin cleaning her up, and she flinches out of sensitivity, causing him to chuckle.

“I hate it though,” Harry admits, “kind of. I hate that I can’t…. well… pardon my French here but—“

“Fuck me?” Misty finishes. “You hate that you can’t fuck me? Because I want you to.”

Harry snorts. “Well damn, miss Misty. Never expected you to be so forward but yes, I hate that I can’t fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked.”

Misty frowns. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“You do make me feel good.,” Harry says with a smile. “Every second that we’re together feels better than the last.” He licks at her pussy once again, smiling at the way she wiggles against his tongue instantaneously.

“Now,” he says, “let’s get you cleaned up and get that English paper done, hm?”

-------

It’s the night of Misty’s sorority homecoming, and Misty is having a less than ideal time.

It isn’t that the venue isn’t wonderful, or that her friends aren’t being lovely. Everything seems perfect from the outside, and Misty knows she should be enjoying it. But her problem isn’t with the event itself— it’s the fact that she’s here alone.

Because the one person she’d wanted to bring as her date happens to be a ghost.

Harry had watched her get ready all day, constantly telling her how gorgeous she looked and laughing, amused, when she’d tried countless times to get him to give in and come with her. Of course he wasn’t going to do that, and she understood, but still.

He’d sent her off with a kiss, reminding her one last time how absolutely stunning she looked and promising to be waiting up for her the minute she returned home.  And she’d left, reluctantly, because she knew he was right— she did need to go off and live her life.

But god, what she would give to have him here right now.

“Misty!”  

Misty realizes she’s been staring at the wall, the drink in her hand nearly spilling over, when she’s startled out of her thoughts.  Angie walks excitedly towards her.  

Angie, of course, looks stunning.  She’s wearing a long, blue gown that compliments her eyes nicely, and her hair is done up in curls that are so perfectly put together they don’t even look real.  She flashes Misty a warm smile as she approaches.

“Girl!” she says.  “What’s wrong with you? You alright?”

Misty smiles, realizing that she probably looks silly all zoned out like this.  “Yeah, no, I’m good! Sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“You look sad,” Angie says, worry creasing her eyes.   “You sure you’re just tired?”

Misty sighs, because god, she really wishes she could explain her situation to Angie. Or anyone really.  “Yeah, I’m good.  Sorry.”

“Well you should get out there and dance!” Angie says encouragingly.  “The DJ kinda sucks but like, if you take a shot beforehand it’s not that bad.”

“He does kinda suck, doesn’t he?” Misty giggles.

“Oh, also…”  Angie hesitates before speaking her next sentence.  “Josh is looking for you.”

Misty rolls her eyes, but Angie continues talking.  “I knoooow, I know he sucks but like… I don’t know, maybe if you got drunk and made out a little bit it would--”

“Why would I do that?” Misty asks.  “He came here with Brooke anyway!”

“Oh yeah, and she’s pissed about it,” Angie giggles. “Everyone knows he was just trying to make you jealous.  Poor Brooke.”

“Yeah,’ Misty says.  “Josh sucks.”

“You know, I don’t know why you won’t give him a chance!” Angie leans against the wall, taking a sip of the bright orange drink in her glass.  “I mean, he like, very clearly wants you.”

“I don’t want him,” Misty replies.  “Like, at all.  If he can’t take a hint, then--’

Misty trails off when she notices Angie squinting over her shoulder.  “Who the hell--”  Angie whispers.

“What?”  Misty turns slowly, and her jaw drops when she sees what it is that Angie is looking at.  

In walks Harry, physical body and all, waving at everyone like he’s known them all his life.

Is she dreaming? Surely she has to be.  She shakes her head, then reaches up to her forehead as if to check her temperature.  Can everyone else see him?  How is he here?

Her movement catches Harry’s eye, and he beams at her, turning his full attention towards her and heading in her direction.  “Misty!” He calls, waving at her.

Angie’s jaw is practically on the floor, as are the jaws of almost every girl in the room.  “You know him?” Angie asks.

And honestly, Misty isn’t sure what the right answer to that question is.  “I--” is all she can manage to get out.

Harry approaches, and Misty is not only greeted by his delicious cinnamon scent, but a strong, spicy cologne. He looks delicious in this suit, and when he hugs her she shivers, partly because of his cold skin and partly (mostly) because she can’t believe her eyes.

“Hiya, darling,” Harry says, wrapping Misty up in a chilly hug and kissing her cheek.  “You look absolutely beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you,” Misty manages to stammer out, although her facial expression must give away how confused she is.  

Harry only smiles down at her, reaching up gently to close her mouth.  He then turns to Angie with a pleasant smile.  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says, extending a hand.  “I’m Harry.”

Angie wastes no time, reaching forward to shake his hand quickly.  She seems taken aback by the temperature of his hands, but Harry pays it no mind.  Instead he brushes it off with a quick, “Don’t mind the cold hands.  Can never quite get used to the weather out here.”

Misty giggles, awkwardly, wrapping her arm around Harry’s back.  “Darling,” she says, as forcibly normal as possible, “I had no idea you were coming tonight.”

“Wanted to surprise you!” Harry answers cooly, before turning back to Angie.  “I’m sorry, love, I didn’t catch your name…?”

“It’s Angie!” Angie blurts, cheeks growing redder by the minute.  She giggles like a little schoolgirl.  “Misty never mentioned she had a boyfriend… much less such a handsome one.”

Harry smiles.  “I’m flattered, Angie.  Thank you.  But no, actually, Misty and I are just casual for now.  We met a few summers ago during her spring break back home.  We’re… oh, I don’t know what to call it… talking? I suppose?”  Harry laughs, grinning down at Misty.

Misty, still in shock, misses a beat before realizing that he’s addressing her.  She laughs stiffly.  “Yes,” she says, “‘talking’ is a good word.”

Harry grins back at Angie.  “And you?  Where’s your lucky fellow tonight?”

“Oh,” Angie says, biting at her lip, growing visibly excited at the mention of her date.  “He’s um… he’s somewhere around here. I guess we’re uh— talking as well.”

“Ah,” Harry says, “I see.”

He’s so ridiculously chipper, so casually cool, and Misty is growing more and more impatient by the minute.  She laughs, accidentally cutting Angie off just as she begins a sentence.

“Angie, I’m sorry, but would you mind if I took Harry outside for a bit? I didn’t realize he was going to be here tonight and we… uh…” She looks up at Harry, who only grins smugly back at her,  “We have a bit of catching up to do.”

“Oh sure!” Angie says.  “Of course, babe, go have fun.”  She smiles brightly at Harry.  “It was so nice meeting you, I’ll catch up with you both later, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Harry says, warmly. “Of course!”

Misty smiles at Harry,  but the look in her eyes informs Harry that she has a lot to say.  He smiles, so ridiculously casual and sweet, and takes her hand.

“After you sunshine,” he says.  

Misty rolls her eyes, but she does smile softly to herself as she leads him outside. Harry doesn’t know if she means to, but she gives his hand a slight squeeze as she walks.  He gives her hand a squeeze right back, far more intentional than hers, and her breathy little giggle does not go unnoticed by him.

Harry eyes the room, taking in his surroundings and looking for who he has decided is his number one enemy in life (and technically death)-- Josh.  He doesn’t find him at first, and he has to admit that his heart sinks a bit at the thought of not being able to show Misty off right to Josh’s face.  But then he finds him, outside smoking a cigar with a few other guys, and Harry perks up once again.

Misty doesn’t even acknowledge the boys as she continues to lead Harry to a quiet corner of the garden, but Harry of course isn’t going to stand for that.  Not when he has the satisfaction of seeing Josh’s face light up upon Misty’s arrival only to completely drop half a second later when he sees she’s with somebody.  Harry’s not letting it end there.

“Evening, guys.”  Harry raises his free hand to his forehead, giving the group an effortless salute.   “Gorgeous night, innit?”

Josh takes the bait, immediately stepping out of the circle and making his way over to Harry and Misty.  Misty doesn’t even notice until Harry is resisting her tug, and when she turns around to see who’s approaching she rolls her eyes.  “Fuckin hell,” she mumbles.

Harry, of course, has the complete opposite reaction, smiling warmly right back at Josh.

“Hey man!” Josh says, holding out his free hand.  “I’m Josh.  Don’t think I’ve ever seen you around?”

“Never been around,” Harry says matter-of-factly.  He takes Josh’s hand with a grip so firm Misty can sense it.  “I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry!” Josh’s smile is so fake Misty wants to scream, and she wishes she could evaporate into thin air to escape the awkward tension in the air right now.  “How do you know Misty?”

“I’m from her hometown!” Harry says.  “Met her a few spring breaks ago.  We’ve been casual for a while now.”

“Have you?”  Josh looks pointedly at Misty, and she rolls her eyes.  Harry never looks away from Josh.

“I would say so, yeah,” Harry smiles.  “On and off of course.”

“I see.”  Josh nods stiffly.

“Oh wait!” Harry says suddenly, as if a thought has just occurred to him.  “Ohhh, you’re Josh!  Misty here has told me quite a bit about you!”

Misty can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks as she glances frantically between Harry and Josh.  Josh smiles.

“Oh yeah?  All good things I hope!”

“Mmm…” Harry says in a questioning tone, shrugging a bit but maintaining his smile.

Josh stares blankly back at Harry, completely unsure of how to process what he’s just said, and Misty can’t help but giggle.

“Okay, well!” she says, trying and failing to hide the smile on her face.  “This has been super lovely but Harry and I have quite a bit of catching up to do, don’t we?”

“We sure do, pumpkin!” Harry wiggles his nose exaggeratedly at Misty and she laughs.    He turns back to Josh.  “Nice to finally meet the famous Josh,” he says.   “I’m sure I’ll see ya around!”

“Uh,” Josh stammers.  “Yeah.  See ya.”

Misty tugs Harry away from Josh and over to a secluded corner of the garden, and Harry shoots Josh a pointed and intimidating look over his shoulder before turning to Misty.  She tries to be serious, but she can’t stop herself from giggling.. “Harry what the hell!” She hisses.

He smiles.  “Surprised?  Happy? Do you want to kill me?”

“Um, yes to all of the above!” Misty lightly slaps his arm.  “What are you doing here?!”

“Wanted to surprise you,” he says, reaching forward to gently hook his pinky with Misty’s.  “Figured a beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone on a big night like this.  I wanted to help make it special.”

Harry leans in and places a kiss right on Misty’s cheekbone.  “Besides,” he says, softer,  “I couldn’t give Josh the satisfaction of thinking he had a chance tonight.”

Misty giggles, oblivious to the way the nearby group of boys are all watching her longingly.  Harry laughs along with her, kissing her nose and then her smile.  “Are you happy, sunshine?”

“So happy,” she says, kissing him back.  “Beyond happy.”  

Misty pulls away, eyeing Harry in his suit.  Never in her life has she ever seen a more handsome man, and she lets out a hum of satisfaction.  “But,” she says slowly.  “I don’t… understand.  Your energy--”

“I’ll be fine, love,” Harry insists.  “It’s one night.  As long as you’re happy.”

“Yeah but--”

“No buts.” Harry smiles.  “Now, something tells me you haven’t danced much tonight. Is that true?”

Misty smirks.  “Didn’t feel right dancing without you.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Harry says. “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”  He holds his arm out to her, raising his eyebrows.

Misty eyes his arm before giggling and linking arms with him. She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you.”

Harry leads her back inside, shooting Josh one more pointed look before holding the door open for Misty.  She’s like a giggly schoolgirl as she walks through, taking Harry’s hand in hers and giving it a long squeeze.

Misty practically floats onto the dance floor as a slower song begins, and Harry can’t believe she’s real. He twirls her under his arm, admiring the way her skirt swishes and catches the dim lights. She beams up at him brightly before wrapping an arm up around his shoulders and pulling him in. They begin swaying together as Harry pulls her in closer by her hips; the scent of her perfume just below his nose. He can feel her sigh contentedly against his chest, and it makes him smile to himself.

“It’s so nice to finally dance with you like, out in the open and stuff,” Misty says.  “Instead of looking like I’m possessed.”

Harry laughs.  “I know.  It’s nice to be seen.  It’s nice to show off my dancing.”  The minute he finishes his sentence, he spins Misty out, then in, before dipping her.  She squeals, giggling up at him and going limp in his arms.

“Love hearing you laugh like that,” Harry says, mirroring what he’d told her the first night they danced together.  “I mean it.”

He pulls her back up into him, her hair flying behind her.  “No one makes me laugh the way you do,” she admits.  “I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.’

A comfortable silence falls between the two of them for the next few moments, and they can’t seem to keep their eyes off of each other. Harry let’s out a boyish giggle and leans forward, pressing a peck to her nose.

“You know,” Misty says. “You’re actually a pretty good dancer for a ghost.”

“I’m not sure whether I should take offense to that or not.”

“It’s a compliment,” Misty laughs. “I’m just impressed. A lot of guys I know aren’t really good at dancing.”

“I was known to be quite the dancer in my day,” Harry says, spinning her out and then quickly back into him once again.

“Really?”

Harry gives Misty a soft little hip check. “Not at all.”

Harry and Misty laugh their way through the rest of the dance, hardly even realizing when the music slows to a stop. Harry leans down, pressing the sweetest kiss to Misty’s lips before she even has a chance to say anything, and she smiles into the kiss— communicating exactly how she’s feeling just by her kiss alone.

After a few more dances, they make their way to a table, giggling and out of breath. Harry orders Misty another drink, socializing with everyone at the table like he’s known them his whole life. And as Misty watches him through slightly buzzed and love drunk eyes, she allows herself to feel, just for the moment, that everything in her little world is perfect with Harry.

———

About an hour and a few drinks later, Misty wanders into the restroom, leaving behind a very happy Harry— who chats effortlessly with the other people at their table.  She realizes halfway through her journey that her face hurts from smiling, and she giggles to herself quietly.

Her situation may be incredibly unique, but she’s so lucky to have Harry here on her arm this evening.  She giggles, throat thick with the sweet drink she’s been sipping on and eyes hazy, before washing her hands and making her way back out into the hallway.  No one is around, and she begins to make her way back into the large dance hall when she nearly runs someone over as she turns the corner.

“Oh, sorry!” She looks up, immediately relieved to find that it’s Harry she’s bumped into.

He smiles down at her.  “Slow down there, speed racer.  Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“Coming to find you,” she says, smiling at him.  She rises up onto her toes and kisses his chin.  

“Mm.”  Harry hums, tilting his head to kiss her lips.  “Having a fun night?”

“Yes.”  She wraps her arms around his waist, pressing her face to his chest and inhaling the delicious cinnamon scent of him.  “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Yeah?” Harry presses a kiss to the top of her head.  “Me too.  So glad.”

Misty pulls away, licking her lips and adjusting Harry’s bowtie that she’d accidentally muffed up.  “How are you feeling?”

“Fine!” Harry insists.  “Like I could run a marathon.”

‘Oh yeah?”  Misty eyes him quizzically, and he laughs.

“I mean… no,” he says. “But I feel fine.”

Misty groans.  “You’re using too much energy.”

“Will you stop?”  He asks, pulling her closer by the small of her back. “I’m fine.”

“Promise?”

‘Promise?”

“Swear?”

Harry chuckles.  “Swear.”

“Cross your heart?”

Harry boops Misty’s nose.  “And hope to die.”

Misty rolls her eyes, reaching up to comb her fingers through Harry’s slightly messy hair.  “You’re not funny,” she says, booping his nose right back.  “But you are handsome as hell.  Especially tonight.”

“Yeah?”  Harry tilts his body, tugging at the ends of his suit jacket.  “Like it?  Picked it out myself.”

“How?”

Harry winks.  “Magic.”

“Oh god,” Misty giggles.  “Well, however you actually did it… I’m glad you did.”  She runs her hands along his shoulders and down his arms, squeezing his hands gently.  “You look fucking delicious.”

“Hardly.  You’re far too sweet to me, angel, but I figured that if I was going to be this beautiful girl’s date tonight, I needed to look the part.”

Misty hums, pulling him in by his lapel and buttoning her lips with his. He smiles against her mouth, and she licks eagerly against his bottom lip.  He knows exactly the kind of mood she’s in just by the way she’s kissing him, and he reaches up to cup the back of her neck.

“God,” she breathes, lips ghosting his. “The things I would do to you.”

Harry gulps, loving the forwardness coming from her pretty lips. “Yeah?” He nods, as if urging her to go on.

“Mm, I could devour you. It’s all I want.”

Harry tilts his head, pulling Misty closer and kissing her ear. “What else do you want?”

“To feel you,” she says. “I bet you’re so big.”

Despite having no blood in his veins, Misty’s words stroke Harry’s ego and twist his stomach into knots.  “Mm,” he hums, trying to maintain his smug demeanor.  “I am, actually.”

“Damn.”  Misty pouts, softly fingering at Harry’s bowtie.  “God I wish I could suck you.”

Harry gulps, because fuck does he sure wish that as well. He raises a hand to brush Misty’s hair back from her face, eyes flickering between her lips and her eyes.  “I know, sweet girl.  Me too.”

They spend a few moments just looking at one another, speaking without words.  Harry gently caresses her cheeks, wishing more than anything that his touch wasn’t so damn cold.   He clears his throat softly.  “We have to get back out there, you know.”

“I know,” Misty sighs.

‘You look so beautiful.”  Harry smiles, reaching forward to take Misty’s hand in his own.   “Never seen anyone so beautiful.”

“You’re one to talk,’ Misty says softly, making Harry scoff.  “Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“Then don’t,” Harry teases.  “Does wonders for my ego when you look at me like that.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Misty hums, reaching up to thumb at Harry’s cheek. “I want you,” she says quietly.  “So fucking badly.”

“Yeah?”  Harry says softly, gears turning in his head as he realizes the exact kind of mood Misty is in.  “What is it you want exactly, baby?”

Harry has only known Misty a short time, comparatively speaking, but he knows her well enough to know exactly what buttons to push.  He knows what that look in her eyes means, and he knows how to turn her on with only his words.  

He also knows that making her put into words exactly what she wants turns her into a messy, embarrassed puddle that turns them both on.  So he watches her expectantly.

“Well,” Misty says slowly, heat radiating off of her face.  “I want…. To suck you off.”

“I know,” Harry coos, trailing his fingertips along her jawline.  “Said that already. But you know you can’t, baby.  Doesn’t work like that.”

“I hate it,” Misty pouts.  “I just want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

“Making you feel good makes me feel good,” Harry says.  He waits for a response, and when it doesn’t come, tense idea forming in his head comes to fruition.

He reaches around to cup the back of her neck, scratching lightly at the hair there.  “You want me to make you feel good right now, pretty girl?  Hm?”

Misty snaps almost fully out of her trance then, glancing around nervously.  “Harry, we can’t right now.  Are you joking?  We’re in public--”

“Why not?”  Harry grins down at her.  “You know I can disappear.  Make it so that only you could see me.”

“Yeah but--”

“Nobody would know,”  he shrugs, tacking on a quick,  “that is, if you can keep quiet for me.”

Misty sighs sharply at his words, and he chuckles.  

“Sunshine, if you don’t want to, I won’t.”

“No, I…”  Misty lowers her voice, despite the fact that they’re still the only two in the hallway.  “I want to.”

“Yeah?”  Harry asks.  “You sure?  Not trying to pressure you.”

Misty looks up at him, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re not pressuring me.  I’ve always wanted to do some raunchy shit like this.”

“Oh yeah?  Bit of an exhibionist are we?”

Misty giggles.  “Harry.”

“I’ll go under the table. No one will even know I’m there.  Even if they look.”

“But where should I tell them you went?”

“Hm.”  Harry hums, considering this for a few moments.  “Cigar break.  Went out to smoke.  You were out with me for a bit but I got a phone call and you got cold.  So you came inside.”

Misty frowns. “You don’t smoke.”

“I’m also not a living human being, but here we are.”  Harry grins, pulling Misty in closer and lowering his voice.  “Gonna let me make you cum, pretty girl?  Hm?’

“Yes,” Misty whispers back, shyly avoiding his gaze.  “Yes.”

“In front of all these people?” Harry asks teasingly.  “Naughty.”

“Harry--”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to her nose.  “Alright, alright.  Go sit at the table.  I think they’re about to serve dessert anyway.”

“And you’re going to miss it?”  Misty pouts.

“Misty,” Harry says,  “You know damn well I’m going to be enjoying my own dessert.”

Misty rolls her eyes.  “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“You did, yeah.”  He pinches her butt.  “Now go.  Please.  I’m hungry.”

“Oh my godddd. Fine.”

She presses one more quick kiss to Harry’s cheek and turns to leave, but he reaches forward-- taking her hand and spinning her back around.  “Wait.”

“Hm?”

“When I come in, you’ll be the only one who can see me. You’ll have to cover for me when I get under the table.”

“Okay.”  Misty nods.  “I’ll pretend I dropped something under there, and I’ll lift the table cloth.”

Harry grins.  “Alright.  Good girl.”

“God,” Misty laughs,  “You’re relentless, huh?”

“What do you mean?” The way Harry’s smiling, he knows exactly what Misty means.

“You just want to get me as worked up as you possibly can, don’t you?”

“You caught me.”

Misty rolls her eyes.  “God you’re annoying.  Okay, I’m going.  See you soon.”

“See you soon, bug.”

Misty turns once again to exit, and Harry gives her bum a quick and subtle slap, which makes her giggle.  

As Harry watches her go, he tries to ignore the ache in his bones.  He’s exhausted-- of course-- from exuding so much energy, but he doesn’t even care.  It feels so good to feel alive again like this.  To be on the arm of a pretty girl, in the midst of a bunch of young happy people with their whole lives ahead of them.

He sighs, pushing his yearning feeling far out of his head and ignoring the exhaustion in his body.  He’s going to give Misty a few minutes to get settled in her seat before he joins her, and he thinks maybe he should go hide in the bathroom for a moment to give himself a bit of an energy break.

The idea is quickly shattered, however, when Angie and her date turn the corner, giggling all over one another. Angie stops dead in her tracks as soon as she sees Harry, and she grows visibly embarrassed.

“Oh! Harry! Hi!”

Harry smiles politely. “Hello Angie. This must be your lucky man.”

Angie smiles shyly up at her date. “Yeah,” she says, “this is Eric. Eric, this is Harry.  He’s Misty’s date tonight.”

“Hey man!” Eric removes his arm from around Angie’s shoulders and holds it out for Harry. “Nice to meet you!”

Eric seems like a pleasant guy, a bit on the short side with big brown eyes and hair that has been perfectly gelled for this evening. Harry shakes his hand warmly, grateful for the fact that Eric hardly seems to even notice the temperature of his hands.

“Where you from, brother?” Eric asks. “Never seen you around before.”

“I’m from Misty’s hometown.”  Harry nods. “Known each other for ages. It’s a sort of casual thing between us, you know?”

“Right on!” Eric grins. “Sort of casual for Ang and I too, I suppose.”

Angie’s face falls just the slightest bit for only half a second, and if Harry had blinked he’d have missed it. She smiles. “Yeah!” She adds. “Super casual.”

“How wonderful.” Harry grins. “You’re a lucky man, Eric.”

Angie blushes at Harry’s words, then gives Eric’s arm a squeeze. “Harry you’re way too nice.” She lets go of Eric’s arm, turning towards the restroom door. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom, if you guys will just excuse me for a second.”

Harry and Eric mumble their goodbyes as Angie makes her way quickly into the bathroom.  Harry smiles at Eric, nodding his head as a parting gesture before turning to make his way to Misty.

“Wait, Harry.”

Eric’s voice surprises Harry, and he whirls back around.  “What’s up man?”

Eric seems hesitant, opening his mouth and then closing it.  He laughs, as if embarrassed of his own self, before speaking.  “Man… I don’t know why I’m asking you this.”

Harry steps back towards Eric, his friendly smile never leaving his face.  “You alright?”

“No I’m good! I just… maybe it’s cause I’m drunk… but I’m--” Eric sighs.  “Dude, I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“Angie,” Eric admits.  “You know, like, I really like her and I-- I don’t know.”

“Mm.”  Harry nods.  “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if… if she feels the same.”  Eric seems nervous, and Harry smiles reassuringly.

“Are you kidding me?  Do you not see the way she looks at you?”  Eric’s eyebrows furrow, as if what Harry is saying makes no sense to him, so Harry continues.  “She looks at you like you hung the bloody moon, mate.”

“Seriously?”

“You know, I asked her about you earlier. ‘Course, I didn’t know who you were.  But when I asked who her lucky man was, her face lit up like the sun.  How long have you been an item?”

Eric smiles a dimpled smile, seemingly relaxed.  “Almost two months now, I would say.”

“Why the hesitation, then?  If you don’t mind me asking.”

Eric sighs.  “I don’t know, man.  I guess I just…I don’t want to do things wrong.”

“You want to know what I think?” Harry takes a step forward.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

Harry takes in a big breath, pondering the words he’s about to say. He opens his mouth, then closes it, before taking a step towards Eric. “I think,” he begins slowly, “that life is too short.”

Eric chuckles. “Man, it really is, huh?”

Harry nods. “Way too fucking short—pardon my French- to let perfect moments pass you by.”

“Yeah?”

“Mate, if you really feel this way about her, and you know you have this beautiful connection… why wait? You know what I mean?  There were--er, are-- so many moments in my life that I look back on and think, ‘god if only I hadn’t been so stupd.  If only I had done this, or said that.  If only, if only, if only.  And I think…”  Harry sighs.  “I think that when it comes to telling someone how you feel about them…  it’s important to be honest and vulnerable. That’s what makes you feel human.”  Harry smiles, almost lost in his own thoughts.  

“And feeling human,” he adds,  “The good and the bad, is what life is.”

Eric doesn’t reply right away. He smiles, taking in everything that Harry is saying to him. “Shit dude,” he says, after a long while. “That’s some profound shit.”

“Nah,” Harry says, playing it off with a cheeky smile. “We’re just drunk.”

Eric laughs at this. “Maybe. But that was really good advice.”

Harry shrugs. “Just telling you what I wish someone had told me.”

“Yeah.” Eric grins. “Well thanks man.  Ang and I were coming over here to like….” Eric lowers his voice, “.... do stuff, but like, I want her to know it’s more than that for me. You know?”

“I know.”  The door to the women’s restroom begins opening and Harry raises his eyebrows cheekily. “Off you go then,” he tacks on quietly.

Harry turns to exit just as Angie enters, and he can’t help but feel somewhat giddy in his stomach for Eric. He hears Eric and Angie chatting softly behind him when he’a suddenly stopped by the sound of his own name.

“Harry!”

Harry turns on his heel. “Hm?”

“Thanks.”  

Angie glances between Eric and Harry, a bit confused but still smiling. Harry shoots her a quick wink before raising two fingers to his eyebrow and saluting Eric loosely. Eric smiles, an unspoken confirmation between him and Harry, and Harry rounds the corner, leaving him and Angie to talk things out.

And now, there’s only one pressing matter on Harry’s mind:

Making Misty cum until she can’t think straight.

Misty’s stomach churns as she watches Harry enter the room.  She is so nervous for what she knows is about to happen, and yet she’s so excited.  She makes casual small talk-- of course about Harry-- with the others at her table.  “Yeah he went out for a cigar and then got an important phone call from work” and “oh yeah, we met a few springs back.  It’s been very casual” and “God, I know, he’s handsome, isn’t he?”

Harry’s eyes never leave Misty’s face, and he’s smirking so deeply it makes Misty’s stomach (and other parts of her) twitch. “Hiya, baby,” he says quietly, and Misty has to raise her drink to her lips to cover up the enormous smile on her face.

“You remember you have to help me out here?” Harry asks, and Misty doesn’t answer him. Instead, she subtly knocks her knife off of the table.

It doesn’t cause much of a commotion, just enough for the others at the table to glance in her direction.  “Oops!” Misty says, “My bad!” She leans over, lifting the tablecloth and shooting Harry a subtle glance.

He grins. “Sneaky girl,” he mutters, before dropping to his knees and crawling under the bit of space that Misty has opened up for him.

Misty tries to cover up the rustling of the tablecloth as Harry crawls, and luckily the movement goes pretty much completely unnoticed by all of her drunken peers.  Harry settles himself beneath the table, and grins at her.   He presses a kiss to her knee.  

“Still good with this?”

“Yes,” Misty whispers.  “Are you?”

Harry scoffs, gently running his hands up her calves.  “What a dumb question.”

Blood rushes to Misty’s cheeks as she drops the tablecloth and sits up straight. She offers the others at her table a forced smile, but no one seems to notice or care.  She squirms, parting her legs ever so slightly.

Harry reaches for the bottom of her long dress, taking his time and really teasing her by building up anticipation as he drags the fabric up her calves. He kisses the skin he exposes as he goes, taking care to love on her knees a little extra because he knows they’re sensitive.  Misty instinctively opens her legs a bit more, and Harry chuckles quietly.

“Gonna need you a bit more open than that, love.” He gently pries her knees apart, bunching up the fabric of her dress and gasping quietly at the sight before him when he realizes what he’s looking at.

“Ohhh, baby,”  he breathes, “no panties?”  He reaches forward with a single finger, teasing at where he knows she’s already damp. “My god, you’re a dream.”

She wiggles a bit in her seat, hoping for more friction from Harry’s finger, and Harry chuckles almost menacingly. “Squirmy little thing, aren’t you? Barely even touching you yet.”

Harry leans in, pressing another slow kiss to her knee before trailing his lips and tongue up her thigh. He drapes the skirt of her dress over his head, immediately shivering at the feeling of her warmth and wondering if she likes the sensation of his coldness.  

Under the protection of her skirt, all Harry can see, hear, and smell is Misty, and he takes a moment to really soak it all in. Her scent is intoxicating, and he swears that if he were alive, he would be more than content to live out the rest of his days with his face buried between her legs.

Harry takes a big deep breath in through his nose, and exhales slowly, making a point to blow against her skin. He can feel her subtly shiver, and he grins.  This is going to be easier than he thought.

For him at least.

“Now careful,” he taunts.  “Gonna keep quiet for me?” He smirks, pulling away to tease her skin lightly with his finger.  “That was a trick question.  Know you’re going to because you don’t have a choice.”

Misty kicks lightly at Harry, and he grunts.  “Ouch.  Feisty thing.”  He grins. “Alright, alright.  I’ll stop teasing.”

And somehow, Misty doesn’t believe him.

Harry leans in, licking and kissing softly at her clit, just to get her nice and relaxed.  His curls tickle at her thighs, and he hooks his arms around her legs to hold her in place. He’s hardly even started, and yet she’s already so wet. He’d be lying if he said that didn’t do wonders for his ego.

He can faintly hear the conversation going on above the table, but he does make out his name and something about missing out on dessert.  

“He’ll be fine,” Misty says.  “I’ll grab him a slice in a bit.”

“What a generous girl you are,” Harry mumbles, although he isn’t sure if Misty’s heard him or not.  If she had heard him, though, he doesn’t give her time to react.  He opens his lips wider, lapping at her clit from a new angle that makes her shiver.  She squirms in her seat, lowering herself just a bit so that Harry has easier access, and he unhooks one of his arms from her legs to rub gently at her clit while he repositions himself.

Misty squirms against him, and her hands make their way under the table.  Harry isn’t sure what exactly she’s doing until her skirt is lifted up from over his head, and he blinks in the dim light.  

“What, baby?”  he asks.

She threads her fingers through his curls, squeezing, before gently trying to push his head back down.

“Oh you want my hair?”  Harry chuckles. “Cute.”

He licks gently at her clit, enjoying the way her fingers scratch a bit harshly into his scalp. He hums. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Misty jolts when Harry kisses a specific spot, and he chuckles. “Ohhh...You liked that, didn’t you?”  Harry pulls back, examining the spot he just kissed.  “Noted.”

Harry leans in then, attacking the same spot he’d just been lapping at, and the way Misty yanks suddenly at his curls informs him that it’s definitely a good spot.  He moves his hand to grip either side of her waist.

“Misty,” Harry gulps quietly, grasping at her as if he can feel her slipping through his fingers. “Baby, please, I need—“

Misty’s fingers curl into Harry’s hair even more, tugging slightly until Harry finds himself with his forehead pressed to her thigh. He shivers, mumbling against her skin,  “Need you to open up just a bit more for me, baby.”  Without thinking, he presses a kiss to the fleshy spots just below her pussy as she continues to scratch affectionately at his head.  “You’ve done such a good job.  Been good so far.  Need you open.”  Harry sponges kisses along the hem of her dress.

Misty pulls Harry’s head up gently by his curls and rubs her thumb along his cheekbone before squeezing lightly at his cheeks, opening her legs more and pulling him closer to her pussy.

Harry needs only that squeeze as a starter gun, and then he’s off. His hands find their way up to her hips as he bunches up her skirt.  He presses several chaste kisses to the velvet soft skin of her inner thigh, taking his time to soak in her warmth before attaching his lips to her pussy again.

He flattens his tongue along her, licking a long broad stripe just to get the wetness all soaked into his tongue before wrapping his lips around her clit.  He sucks softly, flicking his tongue between his slightly parted lips to give her a heavier sensation.

Misty hums quietly, letting her nails trail along his scalp to the back of his neck.  He knows she wants to moan, and it only encourages him to work harder.  He removes his lips from her clit with a popping noise that startles her, and she lifts the tablecloth ever so slightly.  Their eyes meet, and Harry can tell she’s already fucked.  He grins.

“They couldn’t hear that,” he reminds her. “You’re the only one who has to keep quiet here.”

There’s a visible lump in Misty’s throat as she sighs, begrudgingly removing her eyes from Harry and focusing on the party occurring around her.  Harry clicks his tongue.

“Ohh,” Harry coos,  “poor baby.  Feels so good and she can’t even moan for me, can she?  Sweet girl.”

Harry pulls the tablecloth out of her hands, yanking it back down before resuming the movement of his tongue against her clit. She squirms against him, obviously growing impatient.

“You love this so much,” Harry says,  “don’t you, sunshine?”

Harry doesn’t know if he’s ever in his existence had it this bad for anyone before, and somewhere deep down he knows that Misty fully cognizant of the power she holds over him. It’s exciting for the both of them really, and Harry knows that Misty does not take it lightly.  Still, he loves the exhilaration of teasing her to no end-- he loves how wet it gets her and he especially loves being the only one who gets to see her like this.

Harry lets out a low-bellied grunt, and Misty sighs, an almost inaudible mumble of “oh god” passing her pretty lips.  Harry removes his mouth from her clit, tilting his head to attach it instead to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh with a mumbled coo of,  “Careful.”  He sucks harshly, pulling until he feels her skin against his teeth and then he lets off with a pop.  Misty wants to moan so badly it’s killing her, and Harry can see her toes curling in her heels.  He kisses the spot he’s just bitten, where he knows a mark is already beginning to blossom.

“Feel how wet you are?” He asks.  “Feel how messy you get just from a bit of teasing?  Are you not embarrassed to be so wet??”

“Christ.”  Misty’s voice is so low only Harry can hear it, but he smiles against her inner thigh when he does.

“How cute,” he muses, reaching out to feel the stickiness pooling between her legs. “I wonder what everyone would say if they knew how messy you get for me.” He brings his fingers to his lips, tasting the wetness against his fingertips and humming to himself.  “Wonder if they can smell you.”

Harry buries his tongue directly into the center of her and shakes his head a bit, ignoring the one loose curl of his that falls into his face.  He can feel Misty’s entire body tense up, and he knows she’s close.  He takes his opportunity to make it a million times worse for her; with one hand he reaches up and spreads her lips further apart.  With the other hand, he gently tickles at the back of her knee.

She squirms, partly from his touch against the sensitive part of her leg but mostly from the sensation of his tongue against her clit.  He can see her fingers clench against her chair, and he smiles before buying his own fingers inside of her warmth.  Misty all but lurches forward, and Harry is almost worried he’s given her too much too quickly.  Still, he’s nothing if not a tease, so he curls his fingers gently inside of her.

He smirks, deciding that she’s had enough teasing and wanting to make her cum. He can hear her let out a quiet, breathy giggle, obviously confused at the sensations she’s feeling, overwhelmed with the desire to both laugh and moan, and when he thinks she’s had enough he pulls his fingers away from her knee.

Harry hums against her core, shaking his head. “Cum for me, sweet girl.”

Misty grips the edge of the table at the same time Harry notices her stomach clenches, and then he knows she’s cumming because her knees begin trembling.  He can feel her orgasm pulsating through her, and he works her through it patiently with his tongue.  He curls his fingers a bit more, and sucks a bit harsher, and for a moment he completely loses himself in his own actions.

He’s never seen Misty so wound up, and she lightly stomps her heels against the ground in frustration.  He knows she feels good-- hell, he feels good, too-- and he tries his best to keep her as grounded and still as he possibly can.

It’s when she tangles her fingers in his hair to lightly tug his head away that he realizes he hasn’t stopped, and she’s completely spent.

Harry sits for a moment, staring at her soaked pussy and now slightly bruised thighs, and he admires his work.  She combs her fingers lovingly through his curls, and he knows she’s thanking him for making her feel so good.  It’s then, of course, that he realizes exactly how exhausted he is.  He turns his head to kiss gently at her wrist, then allows himself to sit for a moment and catch his breath.

He doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to last like this. He’s never used this much energy in manifesting before, and he didn’t expect it to be this hard. But Misty is having a wonderful time, and of course so is he— he doesn’t want the night to end by any means, but god, is he ready to lay down.

Harry musters up all the strength he can manage and taps Misty’s knee. “Can you let me out, sweet girl?”

It takes Misty a moment before she lifts the tablecloth, pretending to mess with her heels.  She gives Harry the softest smile the moment their eyes meet, and she looks completely wrecked in a way that only he would recognize.  He chuckles.

“Got you that good, did I?” He begins crawling out from under the table, trying his best to cover how exhausted he is.  As he passes Misty he presses a chaste kiss to her nose, making her giggle.  “I’ll be back.”  

He rises, weakly, to his feet-- and he hopes Misty doesn’t notice how slowly he moves, but she does, and she frowns.  He brushes it off, refusing to make it into a big deal, and then disappears from sight.

Misty is left, trying to cover up the fact that she’s struggling to catch her breath-- and she smiles the moment she sees Harry physically enter the room.

He’s grinning- because of course he is— and his finger guns in Josh’s direction do not go unnoticed by Misty. She rolls her eyes as he approaches the table, smiling brightly at everyone in the small circle.

“Sorry,” he says convincingly, “my mum called.”

Misty smiles up at him. “Oh that’s okay, my love! Everything okay?”

Harry grins at her, reaching over to take her hand in his own. “Everything is absolutely fine. Couldn’t be better, in fact.”

Misty grins, obviously flustered just by the way he’s looking at her. “Yeah?”

He leans forward, kissing her nose lightly.  “Yeah.”  

Harry turns to everyone at the table, smiling that charming smile that Misty is so obsessed with.  “Now,” he says, “Am I too late to get a slice of this cheesecake?”

----

Harry drops, completely spent, onto Misty’s bed.  As soon as she closes the door behind her she rushes to him, immediately undoing the laces on his left shoe.

He’s paler now, his skin looking thin and white, and he smiles sleepily down at her as she gets to work tugging his shoe off.  She seems worried, but he only chuckles.

“Had so much fun with you,” he says, voice weak.  “Did you have fun?”

“Harry, you shouldn’t have put so much energy forward.”

“Wanted to,” he says.  “Worth it.”

“Harry,” Misty coos, tugging the shoe off of his foot before working on the other.  “My god, look at you.”

“Just sleepy,” Harry says.  “I’ll be completely back to normal tomorrow.  Promise.”

Misty is unconvinced; she frowns as she tugs off his other shoe before sitting fully on the bed, crawling up the length of his body.

“I’m gonna undress you,” she says.  “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighs,  “‘Course it’s okay.”

Misty begins by unbuttoning his suit jacket, then the buttons of his shirt. Harry watches her the entire time, reveling in her warmth. “Feels nice to be taken care of like this.  Wish you didn’t have to.”

“Harry, it’s the least I can do.  You’ve done so much for me.   You shouldn’t have come out tonight.  You should have…”  She notices the way he’s watching her, and it catches her off guard.  “What?”

Harry grunts, trying weakly to prop himsef up on his elbows.  “Do you realize,’ he says, voice frail, “that this is the most fun I’ve had in years?  That getting to feel alive, with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known, is worth any pain I might be in now?”  He catches Misty’s worried frown, and quickly tacks on, “But I’m not in pain. Just sleepy.”

Misty sighs. “I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.”

“Awfully selfish of you,” Harry teases. “Not everything is about you, you know.”

Misty rolls her eyes, using all of her strength to sit Harry up and remove his jacket. Harry chuckles, a weak laugh that trails off into a cough. “I promise,” he says, as she settles him back down. “I’m okay. I’m just sleepy. It’s not like I’m dying.”

He watches her expectantly, waiting for a reaction and obviously proud of his stupid joke.

Misty shoots him a deadpanned glare that makes him cackle. “Come onnn,” he says, “that was a good one!”

“How can you still be so annoying when you’re so exhausted?” Misty says, chuckling as she works to unbutton his shirt.

Harry doesn’t answer her, propping an arm up behind his head and watching her work.  She allows her eyes to trail down his body as she reaches the bottom button, pausing at a small patch of hair she notices leading from his bellybutton down into his trousers.  Her breath hitches in her throat as she comes to the realization that she’s never seen him beneath his clothes.

Harry seems to realize this at the same time, and his smile fades just a hair.  “What, baby?”

Misty doesn’t answer him.  Instead she slowly pulls the two sides of his shirt apart further, exposing his entire torso.  She lets out her breath slowly, surprised at how completely normal he looks. She reaches a hand forward but stops herself, unsure if she should actually touch him.

“You know I used to have a tattoo there,” Harry offers.

Misty’s eyes flicker from his tummy to his face.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.  I had a ton actually.  But I guess when you die, they don’t come with you.”

“What were they?”

Harry trills his lips.  “God I had so many I don’t even remember all of them.  There was a butterfly right here--” he points to the direct center of his stomach, --”some swallows here--” his collarbones,  “and…” Harry smirks, pointing to his hip bones.  “Some ferns here.”

“God.”  Misty continues to scan at his body, eyes landing on a soft purple mark on his ribs.

Harry knows immediately what Misty sees, and he smiles softly at her, taking her hand in his as his face takes on a far more serious expression.  “Where I landed,” he explains. “When I—“

“Oh my god...” Misty is torn between wanting to touch the scar and wanting to leave it be, and Harry seems to be completely sympathetic to that because he only chuckles.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” He asks. “Took me a while to get used to.”

“I didn’t…” Misty trails off, confused as to how she should even word her question. “I mean, I didn’t think—“

“I know,” Harry says. “It’s weird. I mean how could you ever even know what to expect to see on a ghosts body? How could you  expect, like… a sign of death on another body.”

“I just—“ Misty genuinely doesn’t know what to say, and she’s so thankful that Harry doesn’t pressure her at all.

“I know,” he repeats. “It’s weird.”

“Can I…” Misty’s voice is hardly above a whisper when she speaks. “Can I touch it?”

Harry smiles softly.  “If you’d like.”

“I--”  Misty trails off, unsure of what exactly it is that she’d like to say.  She reaches forward with a timid hand, almost pulling her hand completely back before touching the gentle purple mark.  It’s not raised-- she doesn’t know why she was expecting it to be-- but it’s colder than the entire rest of his body.  She gasps without even realizing what she’s doing.  Harry flinches slightly at her touch, but he doesn’t move.

He allows Misty to run a loving finger over his scar, taking in exactly what it is she’s looking at, before he speaks.  “Are you alright?”

“What?”  It takes Misty a moment to realize what he means, and she tears her eyes from the scar immediately. “Oh god, yeah, sorry.  I’m okay, I just--”

“It’s weird,” Harry says for what feels like the ninetieth time.  “I know.”

Misty sighs, hesitating a bit, as if she wants to say something more. She scans his body again, glancing up at his eyes sadly, before slowly moving forward.  

She moves as if in slow motion, and Harry watches her with baited breath. She squirms a bit, angling her body a certain way, and lowering her face towards his torso.  Harry realizes with sadness what she’s doing, and pressure builds behind his eyes when she lowers her lips to the purple scar.  She presses the most velvet soft kiss Harry thinks he’s ever felt into his flesh, and his eyes cloud with mist.

Misty trails her lips from his ribs up to his collarbone. There is nothing but love in her movements, and Harry tries to swallow down a lump in his throat.  His breath is shaky as he looks down at her, loving on his body.  

She seems lost in her movements, kissing all over his torso as her lashes flutter slowly.  She lowers her lips to his stomach, and he can’t stop the single tear that slips from his left eye.

He hasn’t been loved on like this in years, and he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

There is no sexual intention behind her kisses, and her low breath from her nose tickles gently just above his belly button.  Harry reaches up to dab at his eye, trying to prevent another tear from escaping.  “Misty,” he says, voice cracking the slightest bit.  “Darling--”

“Harry,” she says softly against the skin of his tummy.  She lifts her head, looking into his eyes and giving him a sympathetic smile.  She reaches up to wipe at his cheek with her thumb, and she doesn’t move her hand away when she’s done. She sighs.  “You are so, so beautiful.”

“Misty,” he says.  “I don’t--”  He trails off when she pecks at his collarbone, trailing warm, wet kisses up his neck.  She noses at his cheek when her lips hit his chin, and then she’s kissing his lips.  It’s all so gentle, so ridiculously intimate and sweet, and Harry doesn’t even realize he’s still crying when two more tears roll down his cheek.

“My sweet boy,” she says, pulling away to wipe gently at his cheeks.  “My god.”

“It’s not fair,” Harry whispers.  “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” she says, continuing to run her thumbs over his cheeks.  “I know, baby.  But it is what it is.  And Harry…”  She smiles softly.  “We can’t let it hang over the time we have left like a raincloud.  Hm?  Remember that?”

Harry laughs in spite of himself, knowing that she’s repeating his own words.   “I know,” he says.   He reaches up weakly to cup her face as well.  “I just want to be able to love you the way you deserve. Fully.  Without fear.”

Misty’s heart freezes the minute she hears Harry speak the word “love” but she doesn’t react.  Instead, she leans in, kissing his jaw.  “Harry,” she says slowly.  “I know it’s not ideal.  But you have given me the best month of my entire life.  I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

“Don’t,” Harry says, “Don’t say that.  You don’t need to thank me.  Misty I--”

“Shhh.”  Misty rubs her thumb along his bottom lip.  “I know.”  She smiles now, trying her best to hold back her own tears.  “I’m so… so thankful for you.  My beautiful boy. We will meet again, okay?  I promise you.”

Harry swallows thickly.  “I know we will.  I’m coming back the moment I can.”

“See?” she says, smiling.  “And next time will be even better.  But you know what?”  she sniffs, feeling herself slip further into sadness and begging herself not to cry. “We’ve still got a few more days, yeah?”

“We do, yeah.”  Harry chuckles, reaching up to wipe at his eyes.  “God, I’m a sap aren’t I?  I didn’t think this was going to hit me so hard.”

“It’s good, my love!  Sometimes it’s okay to let your emotions out like this.   You’ve done so much for me.  Let me love on you a little bit for a change.”

“You love on me constantly!”

“No,” Misty says.  “Not enough.”  She kisses him again before sitting up.  “Let me get changed.  We’ll go to sleep.  We both need it.”

Harry watches her rise to her feet, and he reaches up to wipe at his damp face.  “You’re too good to me, sunshine.”

“Yeah, yeah.  You can thank me later.”

Harry snorts and Misty throws him a joking glance over her shoulder.  “I’ll be right back.”

Misty disappears into the hallway, making her way to the bathroom to wash her face, brush her teeth, and put on a t-shirt.  She allows herself a few tears, crying quietly to herself for only a minute because god, it hurts so bad.  It hurts feeling something so deep for somebody who isn’t even alive; for someone who she knows she’s going to have to spend 90% of the next year without.  

As soon as she allows herself that moment of weakness, however, she forces it to pass.  Wiping her tears away, she continues with her bedtime routine, making sure she doesn’t look like she’s been crying before making her way back into her bedroom.

When she gets there, Harry is fast asleep on top of her bed-- still in a state of various undress.  She recalls him telling her that ghosts don’t sleep, not exactly, but he looks so peaceful-- wherever he is right now.  

Misty works to gently undress him the rest of the way as he blinks sleepily, hardly even responding to her at all. And when he’s in only a pair of boxers, Misty crawls into bed beside him after turning off the light.

She rolls onto her side, watching him as he sleeps-- or, whatever it is ghosts do.  He looks so beautiful, and she reaches forward to gently stroke at the scar on his ribs again. She loves him, she thinks.  Even though she’s only known him for a short amount of time, she loves him. And there’s an ache in such a weirdly specific part of her heart that she can’t even begin to put into words.  

Pressing the gentlest kiss to Harry’s temple, she cuddles into his side, and he subconsciously wraps an arm lazily around her.  Misty wills herself not to cry-- not to think about the situation at all-- as she drifts gently to sleep.

-----

It’s a somber day.  Colder than usual.  Misty sits with her feet dangling over the side of her bed, and Harry stands off in the corner of her room, nervously fidgeting with some of the trinkets on her shelf.

They know it’s coming.  They’ve known it was coming for the last few days, but they’ve both been avoiding the subject, pretending that if they just ignore it, it will go away.

But it won’t go away.  And Harry has to leave.

Harry glances out the window.  It’s gray outside, matching the atmosphere in the room.  The trees blow angrily outside Misty’s window, and Harry swears he can feel the wind in his body.

“Looks like it’s going to rain,” he remarks casually.

Misty doesn’t reply, and he turns around to see her just staring sadly at him.  She isn’t crying, not yet anyway, but her eyes look damp.

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Her voice is quiet, like she doesn’t want to be asking the question, and she won’t even look directly at him. It makes his heart-- however dead it is-- feel like its shattering, and he takes a step towards her.

He brushes her hair behind her ear.  “You know I wish I could,” he says, equally as quiet.

“And what would happen if you just… didn’t?”

“Didn’t what?”

“I don’t know.  Didn’t… go?”

Harry smiles sadly.  “It doesn’t work like that.  I don’t have a choice.”

Misty opens her mouth, then closes it again.  Her breath hitches in her throat before she lets it all out in a sigh.  “What’s it like?”  She’s speaking in a whisper.

“What is what like?”  Harry matches her tone.

“When you… go, I mean.  The process. Do you just like, fall asleep?  Or is it like you just blink and you’re in the void?”

Despite the heaviness of their conversation, Harry chuckles.  “Somewhere in between, I suppose.”

“Does it hurt?”  She gulps subconsciously, and she looks so curious and cute right now Harry could scream.

He shakes his head. “No.  Doesn’t feel like anything.”

“So one minute you’re here and the next you’re just…”  She trails off, and Harry sighs.

“Gone,” he finishes somberly.  “Yes.”

After a beat, Misty chuckles bitterly.  “Seems a bit unfair.”

“I’ll be back the first moment I can be,” Harry says, then adds with a smile, “If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will,” she says, finally turning to face him fully.  She takes his cold hands in her own, and her warmth makes him shiver.  “I’ll wait for you every single day.”

“Don’t say that,” Harry says, shaking his head and sitting beside her on the bed.  “You have a life to live.  I don’t.”

Misty’s eyes grow damp, but she blinks back the tears just as quickly as they arrived.  “But I’m going to miss you so much,” she says through a shaky voice.

It all seems silly, really, for Harry and Misty both.  But neither of them can help it.  This connection they’ve formed in such a short amount of time weighs heavily on both of their hearts.  And Harry is certain that he would do just about anything in the universe to get another chance at life, if only to be with her.

“I’m going to miss you so much it’s going to hurt me every second,” Harry says, not a trace of humor in his voice despite the slight exaggeration.

Misty lets out her breath in a loud, shaky sigh.  She rests her head on Harry’s shoulder, and for a while they just sit there like this, him and her, pretending with all their might-- if only for a few minutes-- that this is just another day for them.  That Harry is human, and that they can grow old together.

“I have a selfish request,” Misty says after a while.

“Anything.”

Misty takes a deep breath.  “Will you come visit me?  In my dreams?”

“You already know that’s my plan.”

“Every dream?”

Harry chuckles.  “Well, that’s a bit of a tall order.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to come every night.  But, as often as I can, and as often as you’ll have me, I will come.”

“Promise?”

Harry turns to kiss Misty’s forehead.  “I promise.”

Misty closes her eyes and leans gently into Harry’s kiss, breathing in the scent of cinnamon that she’s grown to love so much.  “So when does it happen?” she asks, almost hesitantly.  “When do you… go?”

“I don’t know the exact moment,” Harry admits.  “Whenever the sun enters Sagittarius. Whatever that exact time is.”

“Is there gonna be a Sagittarius Season ghost?”  Misty asks.  “Ghost of Sagittarians past?”

Harry laughs. “I don’t think so, no.  But if there is, don’t go fallin’ in love with him now.  Sagittarians are nothin’ but trouble.”

“Don’t think I ever could,” Misty says, a bittersweet ache in her voice.  “Think I’ll only ever have feelings for you.”

Harry sighs, patting gently at Misty’s knee.  He savors her scent and her warmth for a few beats before he changes the subject.  “Your sisters will be glad to have you around again,” he says.  “I know I’ve been hoggin’ ya.  They must think you’re really goin’ through something, the way you’re keeping to yourself.”

“They wouldn’t understand even if I did try to explain it to them,” Misty replies.

Harry nods sympathetically.  “And you’re gonna have a hard time explaining to them what happened to your mysterious long distance boyfriend from back home.”

“Oh shit,” Misty says, worry suddenly showing on her face.  “What am I gonna tell them when they ask?”

“Tell them he died.”  The look on Harry’s face is so smug, and Misty can tell that he’d been holding onto that one for a while.  She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t even try to refrain from smiling.

“Oh my god, Harry.”

“It’s not wrong!”

“That’s not funny!” The smile on Misty’s face tells Harry otherwise, and he nudges her shoulder with his own.

“Alright alright.”  Harry smiles, reaching forward to interlace their fingers.  There’s a moment of drab silence, and Harry sighs thickly before finally admitting weakness. “God, I’m going to miss you.”

Misty’s smile softens, but it doesn’t completely fade.  She turns her head, pressing the softest kiss to Harry’s shoulder.  “I’m going to miss you more than you know.”

There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of them, and Harry interlaces his fingers with hers.  “Maybe you’ll meet a boy to take you to next year's homecoming,” he muses.

Misty frowns.  “That’s not funny either.”

“Not trying to be funny! Trying to encourage you to live your life, darling.  I wish I could still live mine.”

“You can live in my dreams. Rent free.”

With a snort, Harry stands up. “Oh I intend to. As much as possible.”

“Well good.”

Harry walks over to Misty’s window again, watching the trees blow in the wind for a few quiet moments.  After a bit, he speaks again.  “I have an idea.”

“Hm?”

“Let’s have fun tonight. Let’s watch a movie. I’ll manifest in front of everyone and we can end on a high note. Instead of being sad.”

Misty considers his words for a moment. “But I want you to myself.”

Harry grins. “So they won’t question it when we excuse ourselves early, will they?”

Misty rolls her eyes.  “Well, when you put it that way--”

Harry laughs.  “No one even has to join in with us if they don’t want to.  But I figure my last night here shouldn’t be spent so upset.”

“Yeah,” Misty agrees.  “But I’m still gonna be sad.”

“Don’t you want to remember me having fun?  That’s how I want you to remember me, at least.”

“Yeah but--”

“No buts!”  Harry holds his hand out to her.  “Come on then. You get to pick the movie.”

The evening progresses unbearably fast, and it isn’t long before Misty finds herself curled up into Harry’s side on the couch, watching him giggle alongside all her sorority sisters and their various partners.  She hopes he doesn’t notice her staring at him, but she can’t help it of course. He is so lovely, so full of some type of light that she has never seen before and cannot seem to get enough of.

As Misty watches him, she realizes how heartbreakingly human he really is.  He may be a ghost, but he died a young college boy— with so much ahead of him and so much to look forward to.  Never in Misty’s life has she seen a more genuine smile, nor has she ever met anyone as charismatic as Harry. Try as she might to forget it, she knows her time with him is coming to an end and she hates it. But watching him interact with everyone around him, as charming as ever, she realizes that he genuinely needed this.  He needed to feel alive, to feel apart of something once again.

So Misty leans closer into him. He smiles down at her, looking so full of life and warmth. He reaches down, pulling the fuzzy red blanket covering both him and Misty up over her shoulders.  “You alright?” He asks softly.

Misty tilts her head, leaning up to press a peck to his nose. “I’m wonderful,” she replies quietly.

Harry grins down at her, and for a moment the two are lost in their own little world— looking into one another’s eyes as if the entire universe existed in them.  As if reading her mind, Harry gives Misty’s lips a soft kiss.  The kiss is tinged with sadness, of course, because the darker it gets outside the less time they know that they have together.  So he pulls away, bumping her nose with his.

“You sleepy?” He asks quietly.

And Misty knows exactly what he means. “Mhm.”

“Mm,” Harry hums. “Me too.”

He moves to rise to his feet to make a graceful exit with Misty. “Well,” he says, addressing the room. “Misty and I are going to go up to sleep now. I have to head back home pretty early tomorrow and—“

“You’re going to fuck,” Kennedy says, matter-of-factly.  Misty and Harry both gape at her, and she laughs.  “It’s alright! No shame in that.  We’re all adults here.”

Misty laughs nervously, and Harry remains calm and smug.  “You’re hilarious, Kennedy.  I think I’ll miss you most of all.”

Kennedy laughs, winking and pointing finger guns at Harry.  Misty rolls her eyes, but she’s giggling as she turns to exit.  Harry follows close behind her and Kennedy calls out, “Be safe! Use protection!”

Harry and Misty giggle the entire trip up the stairs, and as they approach Misty’s bedroom, she speaks quietly.  “Okay, but how are you feeling?  Like, energy wise.”

“Fine,” Harry says, and he honestly means it.

Misty glances at him like she doesn’t believe him, and he snorts.  “I promise, Misty.  I mean it.  I didn’t use that much tonight.”

She rolls her eyes, making her way over to her bed and sitting on the edge of it.  Harry closes the door behind him, still buzzing from the fun he’s had today, and a playful smile spreads across his face. He turns slowly on his heels, eyeing her mischievously.

She looks back, tensing up a bit as a smile spreads across her face.  “What…”

Harry growls playfully, bounding over to her and tackling her onto the bed before she can even say anything.  She squeals, giggling as she and Harry come tumbling down.   Harry attacks her face and her neck in kisses while squeezing at her hips, and she squeals.

“No!” She shrieks.  “What are you doing?!  NO!”

He growls, nipping at her cheeks before lifting his head and grinning down at her.  “Gimme kiss.”

“If I do, will you chill?” She giggles.

Harry makes a face, pretending to consider her words.  “Mm… maybe.”

She lifts her head slightly, pecking at his lips, and he shakes his head.  “Better than that,” he says.

She kisses him again, but he only repeats, “Better than that.”

Misty lets her head fall back again, mouth falling open as the most lovely laughs bubble out of her lips. Harry seizes this opportunity, leaning down and kissing her open mouth with a dimpled grin.

Misty’s giggles die down the minute their lips interlock, but the smile never leaves neither her nor Harry’s faces as they kiss.  Misty licks gently into Harry’s mouth, and he immediately grants her access, swirling his tongue against hers. He speaks between kisses.  “You’re--” kiss, “so--”  kiss, “beautiful.”

Misty rolls her eyes.  “No you are,” she says, and Harry kisses her before she’s even finished her sentence.

He chuckles.  “No you.”

“Nooo…”  She pecks at his nose.  “You.”

Harry snorts. “God we’re disgusting, huh?”

Misty hums, reaching up to brush a stray curl away from Harry’s face.  “Yeah.  Ew.”

He leans down, burying his face in her neck and sucking softly.  He feels her melt against him, squirming a bit as she lets out a long, humming sigh.  He smiles, lifting his head to press another kiss to her lips before speaking.  “I have an idea,” he says.

“Another one?  Do tell.”

“How about……”  Harry sing-songs,  “One more orgasm for you.  As a parting treat.”

“Hmm…” Misty muses.  “Only one?”

Harry snorts.  “Or two.  Or… however many you want.”

“How many do you want to give me?”  Misty scratches lovingly behind Harry’s ear.

“Oh sunshine,’ Harry says,  “If I had my way I would never stop.”

Blood rushes to Misty’s cheeks and ears, but she tries to hide it.  Harry only laughs again, thumbing at her cheek.  “Gonna miss that.”

“What?”

“How easy it is to get you hot.”

Misty rolls her eyes, but she laughs.  “You’re an idiot.”

“Gonna miss that, too.  Love when you insult me.”

“Oh my god.”  Misty shakes her head.  “Just shut up and kiss me.”

Harry hums.  “With pleasure, sweet girl.”

They continue kissing for a bit as Harry undresses Misty gently.  He loves on every inch of her body, reveling in every single reaction he gets out of her. He tries to remember every detail that he can, and everything about the evening they’re sharing.  And when he makes her cum, four separate times, he savours her taste, her smell, and the noises she makes as best as he can-- without making himself even sadder than he is.  He knows she feels the same, noticing the way she continuously glances at him with more love in his eyes than he’s seen in a long time.

After hours of messing around with her, loving on one another’s bodies and sharing giggles and playful kisses, they realize it’s time to go to bed.  They undress one another, and Harry helps her remove her makeup-- which makes them both laugh the entire time.

When they find themselves in bed together, stroking lovingly at one another’s faces, they realize that they can’t run from the inevitable anymore. Their time together has been reduced to only hours, and there is nothing they can do about it at all.

“I’m going to miss you,” Misty says, tracing his features in the darkness.  “Have I told you that already?”

Harry laughs softly.  “Maybe once or twice,” he admits.  “But I’m going to miss you more.”

Misty sighs, kissing his lips gently.  “Promise to come visit my dreams as much as you possibly can?”

Harry leans into her touch, tilting his head to kiss the palm of her hand.  “I promise.”

“I don’t want to fall asleep.” She looks on the verge of tears, and Harry wishes there was something he could do to stop her.  At this point, however, he knows it’s inevitable.  So he tries to make her smile.

“You need to,” he says.  “Humans need sleep.”

“Maybe,” she says.  “But I need you more.”

“That’s not true, baby. You know it’s not.”  Harry strokes a spot just in front of her temple-- a spot he’s noticed over the past month that relaxes her more than anything else.  As if on cue, she yawns.

“Listen to me.  You are meant to live your life, sweet girl.  You are meant to be happy, and grow old.  Promise me you will.”  She frowns at him, but he doesn’t allow it.  “Promise me, baby.”

“I promise,” she whispers.  Harry smiles.

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I promise Harry,” she whispers, blinking against the sleep in her eyes.  “But I also promise that when you return, I will be waiting.”

“That’s fine.  You can wait.  But do not let it stop you from living.  You hear me?  Please don’t. I would give anything to live my life again.”

Misty yawns again, finally giving in to the heaviness of her eyelids and closing her eyes. She leans into him.  “I promise.  I’ll live every day in your honor, Harry.”

“Yeah?”

She smiles sleepily, still not opening her eyes.

Harry watches her, taking in every last detail of her sleepy face.  He can feel himself fading, but she doesn’t seem to notice, so he says nothing.  He ignores the pressure building behind his eyes, swearing to himself that he’s not going to cry.

Misty is also fading fast, succumbing more and more to sleep by the second.  Harry knows it’s going to be a hard year without her, but he takes comfort knowing she is surrounded by people who love her.

And it also doesn’t hurt that he plans on haunting Josh’s dreams so that he leaves Misty the fuck alone.

He smiles softly, completely unable to stop the tear from leaking from his eye.  He’s grateful that Misty’s eyes are closed, and he presses the slowest, most gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I love you, miss Misty.”

Without opening her eyes, Misty speaks with a distant, sleepy voice.  “I love you too, Harry.”

Harry replays that moment in his head for the next few hours, reveling in the way those words sounded coming out of her mouth.

And when Misty wakes in the morning, Harry is gone.

[khaleesiofalicante]

LIGHTWOOD BANES WEEK - ALEC & RAFE

“All good?” Alec knocked on the door.

He sounded calm - but only because he tried his best not to sound as excited as felt. He had been waiting for this day for quite a long time and he couldn’t believe it was all happening.

There was no response from the other side so Alec knocked again. No response. Maybe Rafe had overslept. Alec did notice that the light in the room hadn't gone out till early morning.

“Alright, I am coming in,” Alec said and gently pushed the door open.

He saw his son sitting on the bed, still in his purple pyjamas, hugging his knees to his chest. He kept his eyes to the floor and avoided Alec’s worried gaze. Alec didn't know what was wrong but he wished Magnus was here - he would know how to deal with this.

His way of dealing with it would of course to make an ill timed joke. Maybe Alec should try that.

“I know your bapa taught you that being fashionably late is cool,” Alec said with a grin. “But you can't be late to your own rune ceremony, buddy.”

Rafe looked up with an incredulous look on his face, he seemed a little exasperated. Alright maybe Alec wasn't the funny dad. So he tried to use his own tactics.

He knelt down in front his son and scanned Rafe’s face. “I know it is a little scary to get your first rune, but it doesn't hurt as much as you think, I promise. You are a shadowhunter. You will get used to it.”

Rafe looked away.

“What if I didn't want to be a shadowhunter?”

Something in Alec’s heart stopped or broke or burst into a million pieces. He wasn't sure and it didn't matter. He wasn't concerned by the heart inside his body. He was concerned about the little heart in front of him.

“Rafael,” Alec said softly. “What's wrong?”

The boy took a deep breath and looked up at him. “I am not just any shadowhunter, am I?”

Alec cocked his head in confusion.

“I am not just any shadowhunter,” Rafael repeated. “I am a Lightwood.”

Alec couldn’t help but smile a little at that and put his hand on Rafael’s shoulder. “Yes. Yes, you are. You’re a Lightwood.”

Rafael pushed it away. “But I am not, aren't I?”

“What do you mean?” Alec asked, genuinely confused.

“I am both a Lightwood and I am not,” Rafael explained frustratedly.

“Rafe, wha-”

“I am the son of the Consul, a hero of the Dark War and the founder of the Shadowhunter Downworlder Alliance,” Rafael said as if he was reciting a practiced speech.

Alec would have blushed in any other situation but right now he was only worried. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Rafe shook his head. “You did everything right and I...I am just worried that I won't.”

“Rafael,” Alec sighed. “You are not me. You don't have to do what I did or do.”

“But it isn't just about you,” Rafael bit his lip. “It’s all of you. Every single one. Aunt Izzy is one of the best fighters in the world. Abuelo was the freaking inquisitor and Uncle Jace...Well, he is Uncle Jace.”

Alec didn't know what to do. In this head, he heard Magnus’s voice when he spoke to Max when their blueberry got too stressed during their magic lessons.

“Smell the flowers and blow the candles,” Magnus would tell their son.

Alec took a deep breath in and let it out slowly.

“Do you want me to tell you that you are going to be great just like all of us?” Alec asked, even though he knew the answer.

“No, I don't want you do that,” Rafael said stubbornly. “Because I know I won't be.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because I am not a Lightwood, dad,” Rafael almost shouted. “Not really. I am just..I am just some boy you found in the streets. So whatever genes that make you the rest of you amazing and awesome and cool and perfect - it’s not gonna work for me.”

Alec stared at his son then. Rafael's body was hunched as if he was protecting himself from everything the world was going through at him after today.

It wasn't easy being a shadowhunter - and it definitely wasn't easy being a Lightwood.

Rafael looked at him in the eye then, his lips wobbling a little. “I am scared I won't be good enough.”

He looked at those tiny little shoulders and realized the amount of pressure that sat on them. Alec had once been worried about not being able to fill the shoes of his ancestors - of not being able to bring his parents glory. He had been terrified of not being good enough to bear his family name. The Lightwood name.

Now his son was feeling the very same. Alec wondered whether all shadowhunters felt this way at one point or another.  

“Listen,” Alec said gently. “Izzy is the best at what she does because she trains every single day. Not because she is a Lightwood. Yes, my dad was the inquisitor but he wasn't perfect. Lightwoods make mistakes too. And regardless of whether he is a Lightwood or a Herondale or Wayland, Uncle Jace is Uncle Jace not because he was born to be that person but because he choose to be. And I...I might be the Consul but I was a scared little boy for a long time too.”

Rafael still looked unconvinced and frustrated and stubborn.

“I am not going to say your last name doesn't matter. It does and it always will. We are treated differently than others because of our last name. We have been given chances and opportunities because of our last name.”

“Your tutor,” Raphael said weakly. “He was punished worse...”

Magnus and Alec had decided long ago that it was imperative for their children to know their history - all of it and from all sides.

“He got the worst of it and my parents didn't - because they are Lightwoods,” Alec admitted.

Alec looked at his son and spoke in a tone that Magnus often called his ‘Consul voice’.

“It is an honour to be a Lightwood. Our name has power and privilege,” Alec told his son. “But it is also a responsibility.”

Rafael nodded meekly. “I am responsible to uphold our family name?” his son asked in a quiet tone.

“No,” Alec said. “You are responsible to use this power and privilege to help those who don't have it.”

Rafael looked up then.

“You are not wrong to be afraid, Rafe. You are a smart kid and you are right. People will see you differently and hold you accountable to higher standards. I know it's not fair. Sometimes it can be difficult. People will always expect you to be a certain way because of your last name or your gender or your race or so many other things...But you need to be true to yourself. That’s what it means to be a Lightwood.”

Rafael sat up straight, listening intently now.

“Your mandate as a shadowhunter is to defend what is good and protect what is innocent,” Alec said firmly. “But your mandate as a Lightwood is to fight for yourself.”

“Like you did?” Rafe asked, his lips curving, just a little.

“And like so many others before,” Alec smiled. “Some day soon, your bapa will tell you about other Lightwoods who fought for themselves - Christopher and Anna and Thomas and so many others.”

Rafael actually smiled then - he always liked listening to his bapa’s stories.

“If you don't want to be a shadowhunter, then we will not force you,” Alec said seriously now. “All we want is for you to be happy. To be yourself.”

“I do want to be a shadowhunter,” Rafael confessed in a whisper. “I am just...scared. I am scared that I won't be good enough. I am scared that people will think I am not good enough.”

“As was I, Rafe,” Alec said softly, rubbing his son’s cheek. “I sometimes still feel like I am not good enough. When you feel that way, just give your best shot and remember that it is more than enough. It doesn't matter what other people think or say. That’s one more Lightwood trait for you. We don't let other people tell us who we are. We decide it for ourselves.”

“But I do care about what you think," Rafael said in a small voice. "Do you think I'm gonna be a good shadowhunter?”

“100%," Alec said without hesitation.

“How do you know?” Rafe asked skeptically.

“Because you are not even a shadowhunter yet and you are already trying to figure out how to be a good one,” Alec laughed. “A good fighter is always prepared. You are going to be just fine.”

“Because my last name is Lightwood?” Rafael teased.

“Because your last name is Lightwood-Bane,” Alec corrected with a grin. “Now I know there aren't many Banes and I myself know only one. But he is the best man I know.”

“He is the best I man I know too,” Rafe grinned. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Alec grinned back.

“Okay then,” Rafael hopped off the bed and walked towards his closet - which was larger than Alec’s own. “Let’s get dressed for my big day.”

“I am afraid my amazing, awesome, cool and perfect Lightwood genes are not going to be very helpful here,” Alec ruffled his son’s hair. 

Rafael giggled as he excitedly picked a red shirt from his closet. Alec looked at his son and walked back and knelt down again.

“I just want you to remember one thing,” Alec stared into his son’s eyes. “You were never just some boy found in the streets. I knew you were mine the moment I saw you. I knew you were my baby even then.”

“I know, dad,” Rafael replied shyly.  

“No matter what anyone says, you are a Lightwood and you will always be my son.”

Rafael put his arms around his neck and hugged Alec tightly. “I know. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Alec kissed the top of his head and walked back to the door. “Now hurry up and get dressed. Your Consul commands it.”

“Boludo,” he heard his son chuckle and Alec couldn't help but chuckle himself.

[spinchip]

I Will Answer to Knife

Word Count: 3600 Pairings: Gen Warnings: Post s11 Ice Chapter. PTSD, mentions of blood/murder, Zane isn’t in a good headspace.

Summary: Zane struggles with weapons he isn’t used to. Zane struggles with what he offers.

Wouldbelove, do not think of me as a whetstone until you hear the whole story: In it, I’m not the hero, but I’m not the villain either so let’s say, in the story, I was human and made of human-things: fear and hands, underbelly and blade.

He overcompensates, loses his balance and skids across the courtyard. His side takes the brunt of it, and if he were human the bruises would be layered one on top of the other, each time he slips imprinted onto his skin in a motley purple-blue-yellow. He’s not human, so all he has to show for his fumbling is radiating pain not unlike cracked ribs, a dirty gi, and tight-lipped irritation that barely masks shame. The impact sends his shuriken out of his hands, arcing in an unrefined fling that has one stuck out of the gate across the yard and the other lying, like him, in the dirt.

He rolls to a stop, flopping back onto the ache of his shoulder blades to stare up at the sky. Without thinking, he balls his hand into a fist and bangs the side of his palm against the edge of the training mat he can reach. Frustration seeps hot across his throat and down his chest, like blood from a fresh wound. He rolls over on his sore side by mistake but doesn’t dare suck in a hissing breath, not with the others watching so closely, gathering his legs underneath him and rising to his feet.

Kai looks sympathetic from his spot on the blue mat that is not big enough to keep his failure contained, the dirt on his gi proof of his mistakes spilling over. The wooden swords in his hands are awkward and out of place, their weight different from his normal weaponry yet even with this disadvantage, he puts Zane down over and over.

Well, Zane does most of the work for him, really.

Lloyd watches with a pinched expression as Zane dusts himself off, his position at the head of the training session a solid presence, “I think that’s enough for today.” He says, and he almost seems apologetic.

“I can go again.” Zane insists, and refuses to stumble as he collects his discarded weapons, wrenching the edge of his blade out of the gate with his dwindling strength.

He’s exhausted. They’ve been running basic drills, ameatuer hour stuff Zane should have been able to do in his sleep- but it’s been years. Decades upon decades stuck on the throne of the Never Realm, and now he’s out of practice and off balance. Nindroids don't have muscle memory, and his regular memory has been shredded enough that things like this didn’t bother to stick. He can’t get through a single move without losing the dexterity that used to come easy and sending himself to the dirt- Lloyd had gone from advanced moves to novice to beginner slowly throughout the day, yet the result was the same: Zane in the dirt of his own accord, aching and weak.

To add insult to injury, Kai is obviously holding back. Jay had been too, yesterday, Nya the day before. In the span of a week he went from the most formidable man in the realm to an uncoordinated child who needed to be treated delicately. He could barely land a hit on the training dummy, and it didn’t even move.

“Maybe you can try your bow again?” Zane can’t meet Kais eyes, the pity he’s trying to mask making his wires curl.

“We saw how well that went.” Jay mutters not uncharitably, another string of disappointments a few days prior where his aim left much to be desired, and quite nearly took his eye when he’d lost his grip.

The others had been training too, but they’d stopped to watch as Lloyd summoned Kai and Zane to spar.

“We need to assess your skills in combat,” Lloyd had said earlier that day, the so we can make up for your shortcomings going unsaid but heavy all the same. Or maybe Zane is the one being uncharitable- but he’s in pain and tired and his mask of calm is harder to keep a grip on now.

And Kai had hesitated on the edge of the mat, holding the steel of his swords, and with his head down had swapped them for wooden fakes. The insult threatened to make Zanes lip curl, but he’d been forced to concede to his foresight when dull wood blades cracked against the side of his thigh and forced him to the ground, in one of the few times Zane had managed to stay on his feet long enough to be taken down by something other than his own shortcomings. He should have been able to dodge.

The shurikens are so small in his hands, and he hasn’t used them in so so long. He's rusty.

“I can go again.” He insists, stepping back onto the mat. In a real battle, he’d be less than useless. They couldn’t protect him, he had to be able to take care of himself. He had to keep going until he could at least survive. He was good at surviving, he’d spent decades hanging on by a thread- countering a wooden sword shouldn't be so difficult compared to parrying the knives from assassins or the swords of dead men walking. He’s weak.

Lloyd gets that look on his face that he only gets when he has to do something he really doesn’t want to do, mostly when he must flex his status on the others when they're being particularly stubborn. It’s a pained stony sort of expression, “That’s enough for today.” he says more firmly, shoulder squaring. He loses the soft edges of the boy he used to be, Master Lloyd filling in the spaces rigid.

Protest raises on his tongue, “The longer I go at the skill level I am at now, the more dangerous it becomes.” fear, frustration, and desperation simmers below the surface, “I am a liability on the field, I cannot stop until I can hold my own.”

“We can continue training tomorrow.” Lloyd says, unyielding. Green eyes trail down to Zanes' sore side, assessing.

He bristles and tries to tamp it down, “You do not need to go easy on me-” he starts.

Lloyd interrupts him, “Yes we do-” frustration cracking the facade of the master, the others looking on in wide eyed worry.

“Lloyd, Zane, enough.” Wu's voice rings out in sharp tones, his presence slamming the lid on the boiling over pot, “I believe I have a suggestion to solve our problem.”

Problem. Zane tries not to let that sting as he spins to face Master Wu.

The man is descending the stairs of the monastery into the courtyard, the others parting like the red sea, his cape trailing on the edge of the steps as he comes down. In his hand is-

Zanes vision tunnels, Lloyd, Kai, the others all fading away as he takes in the smooth metal, leather bound handle, the wicked curved blade- a piece of him howls, jagged and frozen fingers scrabbling at the corners of his mind, the sight of that staff is like going snowblind. All at once he’s standing in the courtyard amongst his friends and the throne room at the same time, realities overlapping in brutal contrast.

His shuriken bounces off his foot and he is thrust back into his body, his hands empty where he’d dropped his weapons in shock. Wu approaches him with the staff and he takes a shaky step backwards, wiping at his mouth with wobbling hands, half expecting to wipe away spit- salivating at just the sight of it. His wrists and fingers ache, begging him to take it in his hands.

Wu disregards his reaction, walking into his space among the group on the mat. He thunks the staff down in front of Zane, the weight of it digging into blue, like it is the answer.

He’s so spooked he doesn’t dare move, looking at it with wide eyes. Now that he’s more present, he realizes it’s nearly identical to the Staff of Forbidden Spinjitzu, except this one is notably missing the scroll that gave it the corruptive power. It’s just a staff, plain and simple.

No one says a word. Zane stares at it, trembling.

Lloyd is quiet, then, “Are you sure that this is a good idea, Master Wu?”

Wu looks sad but he’s trying to mask it, “You are their teacher, Lloyd. When Zane falters, what do you see?”

Zane is listening, sort of. He’s tracing the edge of the blade with his eyes- sharpened to a fine point, clean and perfect. It looks heavy, the whole thing does, he can nearly taste the weight of it on his tongue. He wants to take it so badly it hurts, and in the same breath he wants to cast it off the side of the mountain or freeze it solid and shatter it against the stone under his feet.

“He’s off balance. He’s compensating for a weight that’s not there.” Lloyd looks like he’s swallowed a lemon, “The shuriken are too small.” He admits.

Wu nods to the weapon in his hand, glancing from Lloyd to pin his eyes on Zane, “You’ve had a lifetime of practice with this weapon. You’ve wielded a staff longer than a shuriken or a bow, perhaps it is time to embrace that.”

Zane doesn’t even look at him. He can almost feel the whisper on the back of his mind- it’s not there, the staff is a replica without the extra power, but Zane can imagine it all the same.

He reaches out and takes it.

The feel of it in his palm is like a starburst of agony, an ice burn that jumps up the metal of his forearm and digs into the plane of his chest. Flickers of memories flash in his mind's eyes all like looking through a pane of frosted ice-glass, cold seeping into his skeleton. A memory rises unbidden, a man he did not freeze, who had been close enough to strike with the blade- red red red

He chucks it across the courtyard without thinking, staggering away from it, “I can’t.” he nearly gags, before darting past Wu and Lloyd and narrowly avoiding Coles worried brush of his fingers. He takes the stairs two at a time, throwing open the front door and not bothering to shut it behind him.

He holes himself away in his room, sitting on the floor next to his bed, trying to hold himself together.

Too much too soon, the staff wrenched memories he’d been ignoring and hiding away free.

He doesn’t want to admit it, wants to choke it down and pretend it didn’t happen, but he can’t deny that- even with the pain and shame and bloody wounded guilt overwhelming him- taking that staff had felt like coming home.

Home was supposed to be Ninjago. Somewhere along the way, it became the throne room, too. He’d been split in half, pieces of him trapped in a realm he could never return to. The closest he’d ever get to sating the pervasive homesick itch is to hold a facsimile of his tool of violence.

Perhaps it is time to embrace that Wu had said, holding out the weapon he’d bloodied his hands with.

Evening comes and goes, and he skips dinner again. He’s crawled into bed at some point, staring up at the ceiling, trying hard not to think. He swallows down the threatening urge to crack under it all. In the darkness, he stares at his palms.

Vex is standing at his side, the throne room an open doorway behind them, and the staff is a curling presence he’s never without. It’s hard to think about these memories because he doesn’t form thoughts like he did when he was broken, the memories jagged and warped. Trying to understand is like catching a blade you’ve dropped- a falling knife has no handle. It hurts.

But in this memory he and Vex are walking through the palace hall. Grand windows might as well be painted white with the snow obscuring the now frozen wasteland, but the Emperor had no desire to see the outside world, or anything at all. This is before he had snuffed out the rising rebellions, this is before he’d flexed his power and made the people afraid, this is before they’d even given him the moniker Ice Emperor. He is nameless now, even Vex only calls him by his title. He doesn’t even know he is missing something so vital.

Vex says, “You don’t need to worry about the inconsequential things,” he’s a step behind Zane, and when his emperor slows he can prod him so he keeps moving, “You are an instrument of power, these things are beneath you. I will handle the day-to-day for you, my Emperor.”

The click of his staff ticks across the hall as they walk, “And what am I to handle?”

“Nothing. Simply keep your hold on our eternal winter, and raise your staff when I ask it of you.”

There's a stirring of thought in the empty caverns of his head and not a hint of it is kind, “I am your attack dog, then.”

To his credit, Vex doesn’t falter, “You are my Emperor.” he says immediately, and then- carefully, and almost genuinely curious, “What do you have to offer other than violence?”

Zane lays in bed and stares at the shapes in the dark that might be his hands. Shurikens don’t fit right any more, his arrows shoot askance. If the next threat arises in the morning, what can he do except cost his friends focus?

He is a bleeding wound. They need to treat him gently and delicately- but life is not gentle and delicate, and perhaps it is time to take a knife over a fire and cauterize the injury.

He slips and goes horizontal and his blood spills across the dirt. It’s metaphorical until it’s not and the newest adversary forgoes fake wooden swords for real ones, sharpened blades sinking home. If he were human he would bleed red blood. He’s not human, so it’s oil and coolant and hydraulic fluid seeping into the soil.

He is a liability. Weak-link. He has to learn to fight again. He has to embrace it, even if it feels like frostbite chipping away at him, even if it hurts. Vex had forged him into a knife, forced him into the shape of a blade and sharpened him with blood instead of water, if he can accept these pieces he can make himself useful once more. It was all he had.

He wants to feel strong again.

Morning comes in slanting lights though his window, the blanket is too hot under them. He hadn’t slept enough but he rolls out of bed and changes into a clean gi anyway and trails out of his room. Conversation falls hushed when he comes into the kitchen, and he eats breakfast despite the way his stomach churns- it tastes like it always tastes, bland and unappetizing. The ache in his side had faded over the night, nearly non-existent. He can spar fresh.

“We didn’t think you’d be joining us today.” Nya tries, smiling over her bagel.

He doesn’t shrug, putting his fork down, “I meant what I said. I cannot stop until I can protect myself.”

Nya’s face grows pinched and worried, “You can, though.” She reaches across the table and sets her hand on top of his, and she doesn’t jolt or comment at all about how cold he is, “You can take a break, Zane.”

Wu had called him a problem. Zane knows that’s not what he meant, but it weighs his shoulders like lead, and he doesn’t respond. He stands up and takes his plate to the sink, and her hands falls flat against the table.

The staff is sitting on the porch, leaned up against the wall. He focuses on it the moment they walk outside, and Jay ducks his head nervously- he was probably supposed to put it away so Zane didn’t see it again, but they thought he was going to skip like he had the first few days after he’d come home. Never put off until tomorrow what can be done today.

They do warm-ups, then Lloyd pairs them up for sparring, and his eyes skate over Zane reluctantly until, “Cole… Zane. Come spar.” The others don’t need for Lloyd to supervise them, or the training mat. Zane needs both.

They both go to the weapons and Cole, like Kai yesterday, avoids his hammer. He reaches for the wooden training swords but Zane catches his wrist.

He looks up, startled, “Zane?” He asks, confused.

He manhandles his hand over to the grip of his hammer, “Do not hold back.” He says firmly, and then jogs up the stairs and wraps his fingers around the staff.

Expecting it this time, he compartmentalizes the memories the instant they surface, shoving them back. In the absence of pain there is comfort, the weight so achingly familiar a hole inside of him he didn’t know he had is filled. Like coming home, he’d felt it yesterday. Confidence pours into his system- he knows how to hold this, to swing this, to fight with this. He picks it up and it’s perfectly balanced, a missing limb reattached.

Carrying it down the stairs, he’s aware of their stares.

Kai and Nya break formation, moving back to give Cole and Zane room. Jay follows their lead, and they settle back to watch.

Cole is holding his hammer and his expression is grim, “Are you sure you can handle this?”

He feels like he’s being filled with ice, chill threatening to frost over his eyes. He’s not sure at all, but he says, “Don’t hold back.” Again anyway.

Shurikens are small. To fight, he has to stand back, give space, evade and dodge. Bow and arrows are much the same. They are largely defensive. Before the Never Realm, he was good at defense.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Lloyd says and Zane carefully tunes out the apprehension in his voice.

Now he is more comfortable on the offense.

He moves.

The Ice Emperor rarely fights in close combat- he rarely fights at all, actually. He waves his staff and freezes, he calls ice and allows that to do the work for him, but when he does face off one on one, he does so as brutally efficiently as he can. He is all offense, blow after blow after unrelenting blow- he pours bone-shattering strength into each strike, driving rebellion leaders to their knees, knocking back a town's most elite soldiers, and if they don’t go down on the first hit he wastes no time lashing out again. He rushes his opponent, he overwhelms them, and he offers not a single second of reprieve.

He hauls back, crossing the mat in half a second, and slices through the air in a clean and powerful swing. The crack of his staff against the handle of Cole's hammer sounds like a gunshot with the terrible force behind it, and before Cole can gather his bearing he swings again.

He beats him back faster than he expected- Cole underestimated him, and it cost him precious ground. He tries to put distance between them to get a moment to make his move, but Zane is with him step for step, suffocating any moves before they can breathe.

To fight with his shuriken or his bow is like oil against his water, they don’t mix now that the staff has imprinted itself onto his mind. He cannot reconcile the difference, not yet. He compensates for the weight of the staff, keeps his balance, and advances on his target with brutal efficiency.

He sweeps his leg out while splitting Cole's attention with a strike intended for his side, and Cole goes down with a startled shout. Zane twists the staff so the flat side of the blade is sitting on his chest- the intent is clear, but there’s no danger he’ll accidentally cut him. It’s over in heartbeats, and Cole looks up at him, astonished.

“Holy moly.” Jay breathes.

Zane moves the blade aside, shifting the staff to hold it upright. He glances over at Lloyd, who looks a shade paler than before the fight, whose eyes are a bit too wide. He was the only one who’d seen the Ice Emperor in action, and the last time he’d held the blade against someone's chest it had been him- sharp side down, the intent had been clear then, too. Zane averts his eyes, guilt threatening the progress he’d made even picking the staff up, and focused on holding out a hand so he could bring Cole back to his feet.

Cole winces as he pulls him up, “Zane…” He says, staggering, “That was like nothing I've ever seen from you.” He flexes his fingers, the blows stinging his hands even now.

He doesn’t flinch or shy away from his friends' looks, “It’s how I fought.” He’s hoping he doesn’t have to put any more context to that sentence, he doesn’t want to say the Never Realms name out loud.

“How?” Nya asks, “You left so many openings, how did you win?”

“Overwhelming force.” Zane says.

“The openings mean nothing if I can’t even swing.” Cole shakes his head.

Master Wu smiles from the doorway, “Very impressive, Zane."

The pieces of himself snapped clean down the middle don’t mend, but they aren’t bleeding anymore either. Satisfaction, purpose, strength floods his system. He is not striped with dirt or bruises, he is no longer a failure- he is formidable, dangerous. He can fight, now.

What does he have to offer other than violence?

Zane cannot be the man he was before, but he can be a weapon. He can't remember any other way to be.

The staff sits comforting in his hand.

I like to call myself wound but I will answer to knife.

Underbelly by Nicole Homer

[let-them-read-fics]

Hidden Love & High Society

Requested by Anon: “Can you do a Jisoo x fem reader where the reader is also an idol and Jisoo and the reader develop feelings for each other. But they're under super strict companies and Korea is a strict society so they're scared to admit their feelings. Some angst but a fluffy ending please!”

Pairing: Jisoo x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3,049

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Self Doubt, Fluff, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: To the anon who requested: Thank you! I had a couple different ways I was going to go with this, but I think this version fits the best. I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading, everyone. Let me know what you think :)

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Falling in love with Kim Jisoo had been a gradual experience, beautifully terrifying and perfectly imperfect. You never intended it, especially with how strict your companies are, but there was no stopping it once it started. As much as you’ve tried to, you can’t deny the butterflies that take flight when your eyes meet, or how your heart skips a beat whenever she’s near. In your head, where you’ve convinced yourself this unrequited love will forever stay, things are perfect; you hold onto the memories there when the hard times come along, seeking solace in them. Sadly, the real world can never look like this -- especially for the two of you. Two women -- two idols, at that -- thrust into the limelight, immersed fully in Korean standards and societal roles. You don’t stand a chance against all of the odds, even with your group members at your side, behind you all the way. But with every stolen glance, every fleeting moment with her, your feelings become harder to hide. You’re only capable of so much pretending, and your cache is running out.

Being the leader of your group is a wonderful thing that you don’t take lightly, but it doesn’t come without its share of stress. The girls look up to you, always trusting you to take care of them and do what’s right, and that makes you want to be perfect for them. That fact doesn’t make the inner turmoil any easier for you: is it better to deny yourself of the one thing you want, for the sake of saving face? Or should you teach them to live for themselves, answering to no one else? That question persists in your mind, replaying like a mantra, working to drive you insane. 

Jisoo is much the same: she knows how unforgiving and heinous the media can be, and she isn’t willing to risk the group’s reputation over a silly crush. A silly crush, she always tries to remind herself, although it becomes more difficult with every new memory she makes with you. She’s done well in concealing her emotions this long, but you make her feel weak; a part of her resents you for how easily you can turn her into a blushing mess. All of your little mannerisms and quirks fuel the flame in her heart, and she’s growing more and more fond of the feeling. 

~~~~~~~ 

For Jisoo, nights like these are always the best: both of your groups are relaxing at the Blackpink dorm, everyone discussing the award show you just attended. The two of you are seated on adjacent couches, the rest of your members strewn about the room, some on the floor while others lounge on the sofas. From her spot, Jisoo has the most perfect view: warm light shines on you from the nearby lamp, accentuating your features in all the right ways. Her gaze softens as she watches you recount how it felt to hear that you’d won, your eyes bright and expression cheery. You rule her world without even knowing it, and sometimes she seriously considers just listening to her heart and admitting her feelings. 

Lost in her thoughts of you, she doesn’t even realize that she’s leaned in closer, her eyes dropping down to your lips as you speak. You act like you don’t notice, doing your best to hide the blush that rises to your cheeks at the thought of having her full attention. There’s always been an unspoken tension between the two of you, and all of your members are aware of it. As Lisa takes control of the conversation, you sit back a bit, relaxing into the cushions of the loveseat. At the feeling of the material against your skin, you’re reminded of the time that Jisoo straddled you here, tickling you relentlessly as you squirmed and laughed. The memory, one of thousands that she’s the star of, brings a smile to your face.

Eventually the conversation shifts, with everyone ranting about how hungry they are. Of course, being the unnie that you are, you offer to make some food for everyone -- you enjoy cooking, but you also know that they’re all too lazy to make anything for themselves. 

“Jisoo, would you care to help me? I know I’m pretty great and all, but I’m not so sure I can feed this gang by myself.”

She has to stop herself from agreeing before you’re even done asking. Needless to say, her smirk widens as she says, “I’d love to help,” before standing up and trailing in your wake.

As the two of you make your way out of the room, a quiet chorus of ooo’s can be heard from the girls. You send them a stern look, but it only makes them giggle even more than they already are. Jisoo’s thankful that you’re turned away from her right now -- she has to bite her lip to contain the dorky grin on her face.

~~~~~~~

Upon entering the kitchen, you retrieve two aprons from the hook located beside the other entryway. The room is spacious and open, with plenty of countertop to work on and even an island in the middle. Perfect, you think to yourself. Jisoo leans into you as she wraps the material of the apron around your form, securing it in place with a light tug. You help her right after, and try hard not to get distracted by the warmth that radiates from her. 

To anyone other than the two of you, getting so flustered over such a simple act would seem ridiculous. You had long ago mastered the art of subtlety, though, quickly learning how important it is in your line of work. In a weird way, being so restricted added even more meaning to the small things -- light touches asking, “How was your day?”, soft smiles saying, “I’ve missed you.” Everything had a hidden message, a secret purpose between the two interacting. You spoke without words, living in a realm of quiet boldness.  

Now, equally as giddy in each other's presence, the two of you begin cooking.

~~~~~~~

By some miracle, you had managed to whip out a fairly big meal for everyone in just under an hour. The spread consisted of ramen, tteokbokki, dumplings, soup, and some other random things your members requested. Quickly, everyone is called into the dining room, and they begin making their plates. 

“Crap, I’ll be right back. I forgot to cut up the veggies.” You announce as you set off back to the kitchen, a pep in your step; preparing the food had made you realize just how hungry you are, and you want to hurry back. Perhaps that’s where your mistake laid; about halfway through the batch of veggies, in the rushed state that you were in, you miscalculated the slice, and the sharp edge of the knife cut into your finger. It wasn’t too deep, but it was enough to draw blood immediately, the red liquid running down your hand without restraint. 

“Oww!!” You call out to no one in particular as the pain seeps in.

At the sound of your strained voice, Jisoo practically races to the kitchen to check on you. The other members are concerned too, but they know that she’ll take care of you. (Besides, they’re busy chowing down on the food... but we won’t mention that). 

“Y/N?? What happened?” She’s frightened, completely worried about you. 

You fill her in to the best of your ability, feeling a little lightheaded as you catch a glimpse of your hand. She wraps you in her embrace, steadying you, and grabs a towel. You’re unable to stop the pained hiss that leaves you at the pressure she adds to the tender skin in order to stop the bleeding. She sends you a regretful look, paired with a quick sorry, as she walks you to the bathroom.

Once there, she puts the lid down, carefully setting you down on the toilet. The cold surface of the porcelain makes you tense up, but it’s successful in taking your mind off the pain, if nothing else. Your eyes shyly trail up her body as she stands on her tippy toes, stretching up to reach the top shelf of the medicine cabinet. How does she manage to always look so good?

“Here, let’s rinse it off first.” It’s a request and a command wrapped into one, and you readily agree. One of her arms loops around your waist as she helps you stand, and you hold onto her with your good hand. She tries not to think about how your fingertips run over her collarbone, lightly stroking the skin there, absentmindedly. Focus, Jisoo, she tells herself. Even with the slight grimace on your face, you look breathtaking. After all, you’re art to her -- she would spend hours studying you if she could, imprinting every detail of you into her mind. 

You lean against the smooth counter of the sink, feeling your hip bones press onto it, and you wobble a bit. Jisoo notices this, but both of her hands are busy with cleaning your injured one off -- thus, she does the next best thing: gently, she repositions herself so that one of her legs is behind you, and she presses her own hips into you. Once you’re secured against the counter, she puts her focus back on her previous task. Meanwhile your brain is having trouble functioning at the proximity of your bodies; she’s being bold. You steal a glance at her in the mirror, but she appears cool and collected -- the complete opposite of you right now. 

After the bleeding has slowed dramatically, she returns you to your seat and grabs the bandages. She crouches in front of you, a reassuring smile on her lips as she makes sure you’re feeling okay. Once your finger is patched up, she takes you by surprise: she places a small kiss to it, her hands still cradled around yours lovingly. 

Likely from the blood loss, a strange surge of confidence comes over you, and you reach forward to run your thumb across her bottom lip. She’s a little shocked, with how her eyes open a little wider and her breath hitches. The two of you stay like that, looking at each other, a silent war of wills being waged. 

In that instant, Jisoo is forced to confront her feelings. She had long ago lost count of how many times she’s wanted to kiss you. To feel your body aligned with hers, your racing heart against her chest, minds running wild with all of the new possibilities being unlocked. It would be a huge step, no doubt -- one that offered no chance to turn back, no place for fear to reside any longer. It would feel like finally solving a puzzle, all of the pieces coming together in just the right ways. As terrifying as that leap would be to make, Jisoo would do it for you. The idea became a little less daunting with every step closer the two of you got to one another.

And so, she does. Jisoo leans forward fairly quickly, capturing your lips in a hesitant kiss -- if she would’ve gone slower, she knows she would’ve chickened out. A light tremble runs through her, proving just how nervous she is. At first, you relax into the kiss, moving your lips against hers in perfect time; once your brain catches up with your heart, though, you pull away. 

“I- I can’t,” you stutter out, mind still a little foggy at what just went down. You lick your lips without really meaning to.

Her expression quickly dims, now looking dejected at your rejection. As she goes to stand, one of your hands lands on the collar of her shirt, holding her in place -- you don’t want her to misunderstand you.

“If we do that, I won’t be able to stop myself.” 

“Who says we have to? I’m sick of holding back.” Her hands are resting on your thighs now, eyes watching you intently as she waits for your response. She’s just a breath away from you, sitting right in the palm of your hand. 

You panic and say, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

Your change of heart confuses her, but she respects your wishes nonetheless. Just as quickly as she had appeared before, she’s gone, leaving you to think about what just happened. 

You sit there, already missing her presence, and you hate yourself a little more. How could you be so stupid? The opportunity was right there, ripe for the taking, circumstances perfectly aligned, and yet you let it all slip away. Even still, your mind justifies your cowardice for fear of the fall out that would ensue. This is for the best, though it hurts. Keeping Jisoo at arm’s length in the name of protecting her had become the customary thing to do, and you fell right back into the habit. To be with her is to limit her, and you can’t bear the thought of that. She deserves to be showered with love and attention all the time, not hidden away and forced into secret meetings. What kind of life would that be?

~~~~~~~

The rest of the evening hosts a newfound tension, one full of uncertainty and longing. The two of you are deep in your thoughts, neither of you knowing where to go from here. She tries to forget how your lips felt, the rhythm that they fell into with hers; but she can’t get it out of her head.  

Before long, your members decide to call it a night, and you’re being whisked away. Somehow, it’s a combination of exactly what you want, and the complete opposite -- what are you to do now? Where do you stand with Jisoo? Your feelings are so overwhelming that it’s almost too much to handle; so many questions float around in your mind, begging to be answered by her. 

Quick goodbyes are given, and you can’t find it in yourself to even hold her gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. Surely you’ve hurt her: knowing that fact is bad enough -- you can’t stand the thought of seeing the pain in her eyes, her smile even a little faded because of your own doing. It tears you up, and your speedy exit is a testament to that.

~~~~~~~

2:41 AM

You’ve spent the better part of the night tossing and turning with no hope of getting any sleep, no end in sight for this self-made torture. Regret runs through you every time you replay the events that unfolded, and you feel a little more hopeless with each passing second. 

Why did she have to kiss you? It’s impossible to contain your feelings now, the emotions far too abundant to be bottled up any longer. Your lips remember how hers moved against them, her gloss spreading at the contact. She tasted like some tropical fruit, sweet and foreign on your tongue. Being with her is like taking a late night drive through the city, windows rolled down with the radio playing your favorite songs. She makes everything feel possible, somehow, and you secretly love the spontaneity of it all. You want more than anything to just give in, to relent after all this time. Clearly she feels the same, right? If that kiss meant anything, then surely she did. So why should you care about the rest of it? If being with you is what she wants, who are you to deny her?

~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Her voice is sleepy, yet it still holds a layer of shock; likely given the fact that you’re at her door at such an ungodly hour. 

“Did I wake you up?” 

She pauses for a beat, seemingly deciding on what to say, before replying, “...no. I can’t sleep.” 

“Neither can I,” you confess, hoping that she’ll put two and two together. 

“Listen, I’m sorry for earlier. I shouldn’t have done that without asking first.” For a second, your heart stops, and you almost chicken out again. 

“I’m glad you did, Jisoo. Because it made me realize how much I like you.” You listen to your heart, the admission coming out more confident than you expected. 

She’s stunned, to say the least, her eyes blinking a few times in confusion. “I thought--” she starts, but you interrupt her.

“I’ve spent all of this time pushing you away when all I’ve ever wanted was to be close to you. To be with you. I’m just so scared of what people will say, you know? There’s no turning back after that.”

“I wouldn’t want to, Y/N. I’d rather be happy with you than live like this. To hell with them, they’re always gonna have something to say about us. You and I can figure it all out together.” She smiles at the end of her statement, a tender hue in her eyes that you’ve never quite seen before. 

As you stand there in her doorway, the slight chill of the night breeze ghosting over your skin, giving you goosebumps, everything clicks. It feels like coming home, something that was always destined to be, and you can tell she feels it, too. You close the distance, finally allowing your walls to crumble away. Her arms are around you, and her presence is actively soothing any remaining fears you may have. Only she is capable of that; you’ve never felt safer than when you’re with her. You run a hand down her arm, lacing your fingers with her own in a sweet embrace. She relaxes into you, now able to trust that you won’t leave. 

Though the kisses started off sweet, they’ve turned more desperate; the two of you are eager to make up for lost time, after all. Following an especially bruising kiss, you pull away breathlessly, and rest your forehead against hers. “Can I come in?” You ask shyly, ducking your head down a bit. Two of her fingers hook underneath your chin, raising your head so that your eyes can meet hers. “I’m not letting you get away this time.” With that, the two of you retreat to her room, hand in hand. You spend the night tangled up in each other, joining forces to write your new destiny together from scratch. 

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Thanks for reading!!!

[a-libra-writes]

Being the Camp Doctor for the RDR2 Gang

added two characters no one asked for you cant stop me. still tryna get the hang of these guys!

In this imagine, you’ll be fixin up: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Sadie Adler, Micah Bell, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella, Sean MacGuire, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Tilly Jackson, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Karen Jones, Flaco Hernandez, Mr. Horley

ARTHUR MORGAN

Arthur is grateful and appreciative of you, really! He just isn’t always comfortable going to you for help. He figures he shouldn’t bother you and he should fix his own mess, but all it takes is a stern look for him to sigh and agree to let you have a look. He gets hot under the collar when you lean in so close and touch him so kindly, so he’d really be itching for some small talk on your part. He feels like whenever he starts it, he says weird things, and his train of thought starts leaving the station when he catches a whiff of your perfume.

The whole experience gives him a mess of emotions, especially if you look after him while he’s sick (he ain’t the best patient) but Arthur can’t imagine going to anyone else when he’s hurt. He just likes your gentle touch too much. To repay you in his own way, he’ll bring any medicines and herbs he finds. Heck, you could give him a grocery list of things you need and he’ll come right back with all of it.

JOHN MARSTON

John can’t go a week without hurting himself in some way, but he’s the type to get up, wipe the blood off and ignore it. Or just forget about it - so many times you’ve scolded him for coming to you only when an infection is setting in. It became a joke with the gang that John would mysteriously go missing anytime you went looking for him. You’d have to sneak up on him and pounce, sweetly asking why he’s never mentioned the fingers he broke a week ago. At least when he’s sick, he can’t go anywhere, so he has no choice but to sit and let you check up on him. The attention embarrasses him to no end so thank god for the excuse that the fever is making him red.

However, things were a little different after the wolf attack. You stitched him up neatly, and he was so tired, he let you fuss. You did him a serious favor, he thought, and he felt like he sorta owed you. John wasn’t sure what he’d do to make it up to you, but he could at least sit through your check-ups in the coming weeks, even if they got him feeling all sorts of things.

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

He doesn't kid himself about what a valuable asset you are to the gang. He’s damn lucky he found you, and luckier that you agreed to work with him. Dutch is loud about telling people to go see you and ensures the medicine cart has what it needs, or everyone is in trouble. He likes to flatter you, both about how appreciated you are and how excellent your skills are. Both points are true, but he mostly does it because you’re cute and he wants to be on your good side. Even if you’re a capable shooter, he’d rather you stay in camp where you’re safe and not in the middle of danger. He’s very stubborn about this.

Dutch rarely gets himself hurt or sick, but he’ll still see you so he has a chance to be fussed over. Obviously, he won’t do it in front of everyone - he’d rather you treat any wounds he gets in his tent. He’s just needy like that and he enjoys watching your nimble hands mix this or stitch that. He might hang around the medicine cart while you treat others to watch you work … and discourage anyone else from flirting.

HOSEA MATTHEWS

Like Dutch, Hosea appreciates you and knows you’re an important part of the gang. He’ll be the one nagging others to see you when they’re hurt and sick and telling them to be still and let you work. You’ve helped him many a time as well, except not just with injuries. When he began to develop his cough, you noticed right away and asked him to try all sorts of comforting teas you put together. He told you not to fuss over him, but he couldn’t refuse something you worked so hard on … and they’re delicious. He has no idea how you made leaf water so appealing. 

On a side-note, Hosea likes watching you read your medical books because you have such an interesting expression when you study them. You’ll write notes in the margins and there’s probably a dozen bookmarks in it, it makes him proud in a strange way, like you’re working this hard to help others. He likes to sit next to you and see which chapter you’re working on this time.

SADIE ADLER

You were the one who helped her after she was brought to Colter, and she was in a daze through most of it. Once the group was off the mountain, she stayed close to your medicine wagon, appreciating your calm presence. Sadie finally thanked you then, since you seemed different than the others. She didn’t have much interest in medicine, but helping you was better than dealing with Pearson. Crushing herbs and cutting bandages helped keep her mind off things, and gradually you two began to talk and get to know each other better.

Later when she joined in on the gang’s jobs, she was often visiting you, only half-listening to your warnings to be more careful. Since she helped make your medicines, she knows what ingredients you need, so to make up for her recklessness she’ll often bring you supplies. When you fix her up, she takes good care of the wound so you don’t have to fuss with it later.

MICAH BELL

Even though Micah knew how skilled you were, he never visited you. He’s not the type to seek help even if his insides are melting. He claims he never gets sick and he wouldn’t be so stupid as to get himself shot up - though not two weeks later, you spent an hour digging a bullet out of him. He drank through most of it to avoid showing how painful it was, but your stitches were quick and neat, and they didn’t bother him much. You kept checking up on him too, and you were glad he was taking care of the stitches. Micah wasn’t doing anything, really, he just knew it was stupid to mess with them (your compliment was nice, though).

When you removed them, you were happy that everything healed so well. You kept touching his arm and moving it, he finally had to pull it away because the realization that he hadn’t made anyone that pleased in a while was uncomfortable. After that, seeing you so close to the other men as you helped them tended to get him antsy. He still won’t go to you of his own violation when he’s hurt or sick; he hopes you’ll notice and go to him with that worried look on your face.

CHARLES SMITH

For many years he’s had to take care of himself, no matter if he was hurt or sick. He does … a decent job, but not great, he’ll admit. So when he joined the gang, he was grateful there was someone like you around. Charles appreciates your neat stitches and how careful and considerate you are. When he came down with a small cold, you were right there with some medicine you made, even if he was still new. That sort of consideration just really gives him a pleasant, happy feeling, so he’s more than glad to help you out. Just give him a list of herbs you need, he insists on it. He’ll get some sinew and bone for you to make needles and thread out of, too. 

Charles likes to hang out when you’re making your own medicines and ointments. He recalls his mother doing something similar, so it’s very interesting to him. If you wouldn’t mind, he’d like to know how you do it, and how you know what to use. Also, when one of your patients is being difficult, he’s the one to walk over and tell them to behave.

BILL WILLIAMSON

He wants to be the “tough guy” and brush off any injury, even if it really hurts, and he doesn’t want to admit when he’s feeling like death ... But the thing is, you’re nice. Sweet, even, and you have pretty hands and you’re so caring. You worry about him, so he feels rotten for not taking care of himself and going to see you. You check up on him too, make sure everything is healing alright, and it always gets him red-faced and nervous. There’s definitely been a few awkward but well-intended compliments. 

Probably because of his crush, he’s a very good patient when he’s sick. He hates feeling that awful so he’ll do whatever you say to get better. Everyone’s very amused at how obedient Bill has suddenly become, since before you showed up he’d just be a pain in the ass. Bill has no idea how to repay you, so he’ll bring you things that he thinks are useful, like some questionable bottles he thought were legitimate medicine.

JAVIER ESCUELLA

Javier likes to stop by your cart for silly things like a “broken heart”, just so he can chat with you and hang around. He appreciates your skills and compassion; he’s sure most of these guys would’ve bled out if you weren’t there, and he tells you so. While Javier played the tough guy in his adulthood and pretended he was fine, sitting with you brings back memories of when he was a kid and getting patched up by his ma. Watching your fingers move so expertly and carefully impresses him, and your compassion at how he’s feeling gets him all fluttery. 

He loves that sort of nurturing nature, so he’s an extra obedient patient for you and does his best to look after the injuries you fixed up. And while Javier normally hates people seeing him when he’s snotty and sick, he loves how you take care of him. He doesn’t even hide how pleased he is with your bedside manner. 

SEAN MACGUIRE

No surprise, Sean acts tough when he gets the stuffing beat out of him, pretending it doesn’t hurt even as he wobbles. He’ll go to your medicine cart because you must want to chat, not because he’s convinced he broke a rib and he has half a mind to ask if they grow back (he often asks you stupid “medical” questions). He’s his usual big-headed flirty self as you treat him, flavored with plenty of jokes and occasional yelps from pain. So many times Sean has had to go back to you because he accidentally opened his stitches or sprained his wrist again. Hey, he gets to see you again, so it’s not that bad. 

Actually, you rarely have to check up on Sean because he likes hanging around your cart even when he’s feeling fine and has other things he should be doing. When he’s actually recovering from something, be it wound or sickness, he trails you like a puppy, asking you to take another look just in case. When he’s totally wasted he’ll steal this legit-looking snake oil and very proudly presents it to you before staggering off somewhere.

LENNY SUMMERS

Lenny is reasonable, he sees no shame in visiting you when he’s needing to be patched up or feeling under the weather. He hates feeling sick so he’s on point with taking the medicine you give him. And honestly … being treated by you, especially for colds and stuff, gets him a little case of the feelings. It reminds him of being back home, taking some remedy his mama put together to help a sore throat or bad cough. You often noticed this sentimental look on his face whenever you made him something.

He’s very interested in the whole process, so sometimes he accompanies you as you gather herbs or make medicine and asks you how it works. Eventually Lenny starts helping you out and being something of an assistant, although patching up bullet wounds and stitching skin makes him a bit queasy. He thinks your medical books are beyond cool and likes to read them, even if the information can be a bit dense. When he’s out he likes to search for similar books and hopes they’re useful to you.

KIERAN DUFFY

You were the one who treated the wounds he received when he was captured - the gang was willing to just leave them be, but Kieran overheard you arguing that you weren’t about to leave a man bleeding all over the place. You sounded tough and he flinched when you showed up with the needle, but once you started patching him up he was in awe of how gentle and careful you were. You kept asking if it hurt, and for the next few days you’d come by with medicine to make sure everything was healing alright. Kieran had never had such kind attention like that since… Well, he couldn’t remember. 

Afterward he knew he had to thank you somehow. His theoretical leash was still short, but he could look after the horses that pulled your cart. You realized how knowledgeable he was, so while you taught him about medicine for people, he’d teach you things about helping your horses. It goes without saying he grins like a dork whenever you thank him for it.

TILLY JACKSON

She’s not the sort to be squeamish around blood, but that doesn’t mean she wants to be assigned to stitching up the boys when they get themselves in foolish situations. The good side is Tilly enjoys spending time with you, since you both are usually too busy with different things to chat. So when it’s her turn to be your assistant, she takes full advantage, catching you up with what’s been going on. If you’re more introverted she has all sorts of fun gossip, if you’re more outgoing she’ll encourage you to go on jobs with her and the girls, or just have fun with them. She’s also usually the one washing the blood out of your bandages before you disinfect them, so you have her to thank for that.

Tilly likes helping you gather ingredients to make medicine. Something about it just tickles her, like you know some secret that no one else does. She’s the biggest fan of your teas because nothing else helps her get through a headache, and if that wasn’t already a reason to like you, you’re so nice when she’s sick. She’s never had anyone be so attentive and kind to her when she’s ill, and it gets her a little embarrassed at how happy it makes her. 

MARY-BETH GASKILL

Oof, she really doesn’t like helping you clean up blood and guts, or lord forbid digging out bullets (once was enough!). So instead, she’ll steal you some good quality medicines and supplies she spotted, or she takes over your chores so you can rest after a night of patching wounds. A big reason she’s so grateful is because at the orphanage, no one gave a damn if she was puking her guts or gushing blood. The first time she was having horrible cramps she tried to hide it, but you were so sweet and empathetic. You gave her some strange tea, bundled her up with a blanket and set warm bricks wrapped in cloth to soothe the pain. She’d never been so tended to in her life, it made her speechless. 

After that Mary-Beth was in your corner. She’ll actually raise her voice and scold anyone who's being a difficult patient! And if someone is feeling even a little off, she’ll push them toward you. Karen teases her for having a crush, but that’s not it at all! She’s just grateful! Of course, this has all inspired her to start writing a romance about a soldier and a nurse he meets, so now you’ll catch her staring and furiously scribbling notes.

KAREN JONES

Karen is a regular visitor because she ain’t about to deal with cramps or a cold if she can help it. She dislikes being slowed down because of her own body, and you’ve also assisted with some morning-after medicine and never told the camp or judged her for it. She respects you, but still likes to tease you about your “bookish” tendencies. She insists you need to stop fussing over everyone and do something for yourself. “Let them boys fend for themselves! Give ‘em a bottle of whiskey an’ a needle, they’ll figure it out.”

Karen doesn’t have patience or steady hands, so she doesn’t help directly with surgery, but she’ll clean up the mess afterward. A little-known fact is she’s the one who's responsible for the tidy way your medicine cart is laid out. It’s like organizing bottles of perfume and make-up, she says, so you can find things much easier now. She knows your teas and medicines work well, but she hates the taste, so she’ll add a shot of whiskey or a dollop of honey to help it go down.

FLACO HERNANDEZ

He’s always looked after himself, as his many scars can attest. He can get the job done, more or less, and he’s dug out a few bullets from himself and others. That’s less of a problem nowadays, considering his remote location, and few things get past his thick coat. Still, Flaco admires your skills. He hasn’t gotten to see you in action too much, but you’ve talked about people you’ve helped and the gang you tend to. He likes this caring, cautious nature of your’s. 

You couldn’t believe he didn’t even have bandages in his little cabin, so you put together a little box filled with bandages, ointments and medicines you’ve made yourself. Flaco tries to put on his usual gruff front, telling you not to bother with things like that, but he’s so touched. It takes him way back, reminding him of his mother and grandmother, both respected curanderas. He hasn’t thought of that in a long time. Anytime you brew something for him to help with aches or sleeping, he’ll drink it with a raspy laugh. 

MR. HORLEY

Well it's a good thing you have this skill, he thinks, because the lord knows you and your gang get into all sorts of trouble. Anytime Mr. Horley sees neat little stitches on you or your friends, he figures it's your work, and they heal well afterward. He never gets himself hurt, so he hasn't had a chance to see you work, but you'll still offer him some tea leaves you grew. At first he took it to be polite, but he and Mrs. LeClerk actually enjoyed it a lot. Jessica sends him to get more tea and medicine from you, half because she prefers your recipes, half because she wants you both to chat more. 

At some point Mrs. LeClerk had need of your skills, so he employed you to discreetly patch up some of her associates. That’s when he got to see you work, and he gave you several genuine compliments you didn’t expect. They were in his usual serious voice, but he meant it. He keeps his eyes and ears out for work you can do, just in case you drop by that day.

[moonstruckbucky]

Say Love [one shot]

Summary: You and Bucky are at a stand-still in your relationship, all because neither of you can say three little words.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Idiots in love, a smidge of angst, the rest is fluff.

Notes: So this is a fun fic, but it’s also a very real fic. I know I’ve had that should-I-shouldn’t-I when it comes to saying the L word in a relationship, so this is for anyone that’s had that struggle. Enjoy & let me know what you think! x

P.S. - it’s also a birthday present to @captain-kelli aka MY WIFE 💕

It’s palpable, the tension. A smothering, suffocating heavy cloud stretching between the two of you, and you almost wonder how you got here, to this hurdle in your relationship.

It builds like an avalanche - a tiny, harmless snowball that’s picked up speed as it rolls, rolls, rolls, until it’s so big you can’t be in the same room as him without feeling like you’re walking on eggshells.

Even now, on a night meant for the two of you, you feel distanced from him - despite sitting beside each other on the couch. You’re pressed up against his side, It’s a Wonderful Life playing on the screen - a favorite of Bucky’s. It’s supposed to be a bonding time for you, but you’ve never felt so far away from him.

His arm is around you, but it’s stiff, and where his fingers would normally dance across your skin, raise goosebumps in their wake, now they’re still, limp. Careless.

And despite the movie being a favorite, he looks utterly bored when you peek up at him from under your lashes. Eyes vacant, fingers of his vibranium hand holding up his head, teeth chewing on his bottom lip. 

You wonder if he feels it too, this mountain that’s suddenly erected between you.

You’ve been dating eight months - is he bored with you already? Disinterested? “Just not feeling it anymore”? Is he too afraid of hurting you, and it’s why he hasn’t said anything yet? Is he waiting for you to get fed up and leave?

Because you won’t, you can’t. Despite this emotional gap between you, you feel a connection to him you haven’t felt before. He’s level-headed where you can be chaotic - being an Avenger is probably to thank for that - and he’s soft spoken despite his large, often gruff exterior.

He’s a perfect counterbalance to who you are - how could you not fall in love with him almost as soon as you met him?

Part of you believes that if Bucky didn’t want to be with you, he wouldn’t. He’s sure of himself, thanks to the hard work he’s done for himself since being officially recruited as an Avenger. He’d told you a little of how difficult it had been - in the 30s and 40s, people didn’t openly talk about their struggles, least of all with a psychologist; they just lived with them. 

It only made you fall for him even harder, for the sheer strength he has and the determination to come to grips with what’s happened to him.

But it seems those feelings are one-sided, and the revelation sits like lead in your stomach. With pressure building behind your eyes, you fake a yawn.

“I think I should go,” you mutter, thankful that your voice doesn’t crack. Bucky turns his eyes to you, wide and - is that disappointment?

“Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll call you a cab?”

You stand up with a shake of your head. “Not necessary, I’ll get an Uber on my way down.”

He walks you to the elevator, hands in his pockets and feeling awkward. The kiss you share is quick, chaste, and stiff, much like the rest of your evening tonight. When you turn your back to him to enter the elevator, your chin wobbles.

Bucky stands in the hallway for a while after you’ve gone, his thoughts running away from him. He can’t be the only one between you who felt that distance, could he?

Have you changed your mind about him? Realized the former Winter Soldier isn’t who you want to give your heart to? Perhaps all the atrocities he’s committed are truly too much for you to handle.

He couldn’t blame you if they were and yet... You own his entire being, body and soul. If you were to leave him, a large part of him would go with you, a piece he isn’t sure he’d be able to get back. 

He knows you noticed his demeanor tonight, the way he hid behind himself in an effort of self-preservation. He nearly made himself bleed from biting his tongue so hard to keep three words he didn’t think he’d ever say from slipping out. He didn’t want to scare you, to make you run off,

but it seems he managed to do that anyways.

Bucky leans forward, bonks his head on the elevator once, twice, three times before a door opening behind him makes him pause.

“Are you done brooding yet?”

Bucky’s shoulders drop, in no mood for Sam’s ribbing. The man teases out of love and respect - it’s just how their relationship is - but tonight, he can’t bring himself to return the dig. He turns away from the elevator, shoulders up to his ears and hands still in his pockets.

Sam’s face changes when he takes in Bucky’s posture, and he sighs, leaning up against the frame of his door.

“What’s up, Tin Man?” he prods gently. 

Bucky’s eyes find a place just over Sam’s shoulder, torn between opening up to Sam about the turn his relationship has taken and remaining silent, attempt to sort through it himself.

A helpless look at Sam, and the dark-skinned man opens the door wider, turning to the side to allow Bucky entrance.

“Talk to me, man. You look like someone kicked your dog.”

Sam offers Bucky a seat on his couch, an expensive, black leather that feels as cushy as a cloud. The man leans back, crosses his arms over his chest. The black metal of his arm catches the low lighting in Sam’s room, turns the gold bronze.

“I think she’s going to break up with me,” he starts, and before he knows it he’s spilling all of his insecurities to Sam. The other man listens patiently, cocking his head curiously at some parts and pursing his lips for others.

Bucky half-expects the man to jab at him - joke about how she finally realized what a mess he is - but to his surprise (and relief; he has enough self-hatred for both of them), Sam nods sagely and looks almost empathetic. It would throw Bucky for a loop, if he and Sam haven’t come to some middle ground.

Steve would be so proud of them.

“Then she’s not worth it, Buck,” comes Sam’s response almost immediately after Bucky’s finished. The brunet’s eyes go wide. “If she can’t handle you as you are, if that’s too much for her, then it isn’t worth it. I like her, man, but I like you a lot better, and you deserve somebody who’s going to take your baggage, embrace it, accept it, and help make you better for it. And you shouldn’t have to settle for anything less.”

Bucky wants to argue, say that you are absolutely worth it, but the words get stuck in his throat. He knows Sam is right, acknowledges that yes, he has more baggage than most, but also that he does deserve someone who’ll accept him regardless of it.

But haven’t you? Eight months in and Bucky had been sure you’d accepted him for who he had been, not just who he is now. But perhaps you’d changed your mind. Perhaps you’d thought long and hard over it and realized a broken soldier wasn’t who you wanted at all.

He couldn’t blame you, but it still hurts to think about.

“I think you need to talk to her,” Sam continues, watching the emotions play out over Bucky’s face - shock, sadness, realization, and finally, utter heartbreak. Sam feels no pleasure whatsoever in telling Bucky this, but he’s never one to beat around the bush. His years as a VA counselor wouldn’t let him.

“Talk to her, and find out where her head’s at. It’s the only way you’re going to know.”

You don’t talk to Bucky for two weeks. After leaving the Avengers compound, you thought it best to distance yourself, prepare your heart for the eventuality that Bucky would break it off. But it’s even worse that he doesn’t contact you at all, and you begin to resent it.

Bitterness ekes into everything you say and do, your very being so clouded by resentment you’re not even sure who you are anymore. You don’t recognize yourself or the cynicism your attitude seems to have adopted. 

You hate it.

In a whirlwind of anger, resentment, and self-loathing, you drive to the compound. Flash the card Bucky had given you for access whenever he didn’t come pick you up himself. The gate rolls open, and your heart pounds with the notion that this might be the last time you'll ever see it.

You take the elevator up to Bucky’s floor, hands twisting together as you sort through every thought you’ve had in the past two weeks. Doing so reignites your anger, puts a scowl on your face that could curdle milk.

Bucky’s surprised to see you - even more so to see that look on your face - when he opens his door after you’ve slammed your fist against it.

“What the fuck is going on, Bucky?” you demand, and he winces, steps aside and waves you in so that the two of you don’t draw attention.

His shoulders hunch, hands sliding into his pockets - a clear sign that he’s feeling out of his element and is trying to make himself very, very small. In the space of his bedroom, your anger cools a little, fond memories of time spent in the space taking you over.

“Are we over?” you ask, outright, and Bucky’s head snaps up in alarm. “I mean, did I miss any hints you might’ve been dropping? Am I just making a fool of myself by being here, trying to fix this?”

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, rendered speechless and dumb by your questioning. It isn’t what he’d been expecting, and it’s caught him off guard.

“I- what?” He shakes his head as your eyes turn sad and manages to connect his brain to his mouth. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Eyes going steely, you straighten your shoulders. “Well, considering you acted like you’d rather have been anywhere else but with me the last time we saw each other, paired with the fact I haven’t heard from you in two weeks? What am I supposed to think?”

He laughs shortly, incredulous, until your eyes flare up in anger again, and he reins it in, but only just. He just can’t believe what he’s hearing from you, how all this time he thought you were bored of him - or scared. Either way, the relief warming his chest keeps the smile on his face.

Your posture is rigid and you move to take a step back as he closes the distance, but his arms wrap around you and tug you into his chest. The kiss he lays on you is firm but warm, an outpouring of emotion that slowly destroys the wall you’ve erected just to face him.

His hands are warm, even the metal appendage, where he grasps your face to keep you close to him. He sighs when your arms wrap around his waist, hands gliding up to his shoulders to grasp his shirt, and he swallows the little whimper you let loose. 

Until he tastes the salt on your lips and he pulls away.

Your eyes are glassy, tears leaking from the corners to slide glistening tracks down your cheeks. His thumbs brush them away as he smiles softly.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he coos. He kisses you again before looking you in the eye. He wants to make sure you know he means every word. “I’m sorry I was a little emotionally constipated. I- I felt it, too, that weird air the last time you were here, and I thought you - I thought you had changed your mind about me, about us, and that you were just too shy to say anything. So I gave you your space even though it nearly killed me to do it. I thought it was what you wanted, but clearly I was wrong.”

Bottom lip trembling, you sniffle and wipe your nose on your sleeve. “No, I... I could have called. I know you felt a little off that night, too. I was just. I didn’t know how much I could push, if you even wanted that conversation at all. I guess I just thought it was your way of saying you were done with me.”

He chuckles, deep and reverberating, and he shakes his head. “Never gonna happen. I love you too much.”

He enjoys the change on your face - the surprise and then the utter elation - and he grins like the cat that ate the canary.

“You what?”

Bucky isn’t sure why he’d been so scared to say it before, not when you’re looking at him like he’s the center of your universe. 

“I love you,” he repeats, punctuating it with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “And I should’ve said it sooner, especially if you were having doubts.”

He’s entranced by the way you chew your lip thoughtfully, shrug a shoulder shyly. “I could’ve said it, too. I love you, Bucky.”

The smile that breaks upon his face is blinding, radiant. This man was born to smile like this all the time. And he’s mine, you think. He’s all mine.

You giggle, tuck your face into his neck as you shake your head. Still grinning, he holds you tight, chuckles in kind when you say, “We’re idiots.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “But idiots in love.”

[amysteryspot]

Better With You - Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Request: If you can could you please do one about Tommy having a sort of possessive claim over you (not in an abusive way of course) even though you’ve never looked at him in that way, and when Michael comes into the family again you two get close, which makes Tommy extremely jealous.

Requested by: Anonymous

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: Thomas has known (Y/N) for all of her life and loved her for most part of his, always disguising his claim on her as friendly protectiveness. What happens when Michael makes his way back into the family and starts to get a little too close to her for Tommy’s liking?

Warnings: swearing, mentions of war, mild smut (?).

Word Count: 3526

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you all have fun reading it too. An especial thank to @the-friendly-editor​ for helping me edit this, it meant a lot to me. Tags are at the end of the post, if you want to be add send me a message. I would love to hear what you think of it, your feedback is always appreciated.

 Things you should consider before reading this:

1. I named the Shelby’s mother Anastasia because I felt like I needed to do that. Also, I know that there is a lot of discussion about Finn and the rest of the Shelbys having the same mother or not. I just assumed that they all have the same mother and she died a little after giving birth to Finn. It is not something groundbreaking for the fic but I wanted to clarify just in case.

2. The boys went to war right at the beginning of it; I just ignored the information given to us by “The Ballad of Tommy Shelby”.

3. I probably forgot to warn you about something, I’m sorry.

 (Y/N) = Your Name | (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname | (Y/L/N) = Your Last Name | (Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color

If you asked Tommy how long he had known (Y/N) (Y/L/N), he wouldn’t know how to answer—fuck, it seemed like the woman had been in his life forever.

He remembered the day his mother had brought him to the (Y/L/N)’s house for them to meet the new baby. Four-year-old Tommy had complained all the way to their neighbor’s house, much to his older brother’s amusement, until their mother had given him a scolding. (Y/N)’s birth had been the talk of Watery Lane. They finally had a sweet little girl for the neighborhood to dote on.

With two sons, Anastasia was more than happy to welcome the little girl into their lives, not so secretly longing to have a daughter, and that was the reason for Tommy to be fussing over going to see the newborn—jealousy.

However, nothing could have prepared little Tommy for what was about to happen when his mother sat him down on the couch and Mrs. (Y/L/N) put the bundle of covers in his arms—his icy blue eyes stared down at baby (Y/N), who stopped crying instantly when she looked up at him with bright (Y/E/C) eyes of her own. From that moment on, Tommy knew that he would always love her.

And love her he did, since that day and throughout all of their lives. He would raise hell at home for his mother to bring him to the (Y/L/N)’s home so he could see (Y/N), and the three adults would all be astonished at how easily the baby would stop crying when she was in his arms. It wasn’t really a surprise that the first word she babbled was “Tom” or that when she started walking, on wobbly feet, it was Tommy she was seeking.

As they grew up, they grew closer, until it became almost impossible to have one without the other. When Ada was born, Tommy was worried about the possibility that (Y/N) would forget about him, that she would be too enchanted by having another girl around. Instead, as the time passed, he discovered that his little sister was one more reason for (Y/N) to spend more time at the Shelby home.

Even when he started messing around with the boys on the street, and she befriended other girls at school, they would still seek each other out whenever they could. They stuck together when their teenage years came, when Tommy started fooling around with girls from school and secretly scaring down most of the boys that showed any interest in (Y/N).

At least, he did until the day she came crying to him about not being good enough or pretty enough for anybody, not like the girls he would go out with, and breaking his heart; that certainly wasn’t what he had in mind when chasing down the boys. All he had wanted was to protect her, to make sure that she wouldn’t exchange him for some other boy. He wanted to ensure that she was his and his only.

That was actually the reason that led to their first kiss—her first kiss—(Y/N/N) had asked him, pleaded with him, through all the tears to just kiss her and get it done. Fifteen-year-old (Y/N) was sure that nobody would ever want her, and she wanted to experience it at least once. She told Tommy he was the only one she trusted with the task.

“It will mean nothing to you, Tom. You have kissed a million other girls already—I will just be another one for you—but it’s important to me. Please, Tom? Please, please.”

Her pleas had won him over, but (Y/N)’s words couldn’t have been further from the truth—the kiss had meant something for him. It had meant more than he predicted when he gave in to her begging, because the moment their lips touched, Tommy realized he was in love with his best friend and the worst part was that she didn’t had a fucking clue about it.

Then Tommy did what he did best; he pretended that it never happened, pushing it away and never talking to anyone about the kiss or his feelings. He stopped chasing down the boys who would show interest in (Y/N) and watched as she eventually started going out with some of them, laughing with him about how stupid she was to think that no one would ever like her.

When her first boyfriend got too handsy and she broke up with him—not before giving him a good left hook that left him with a very black eye, just like Tommy had taught her—(Y/N) had gone straight to the Shelby home, looking for comfort in his arms. Tommy pretended that the gnawing feeling in his chest was nothing but brotherly protectiveness instead of anger, jealousy and possessiveness—a destructive combination, especially on a Shelby boy.

(Y/N) had stayed with him that night, and the both of them slept together like they used to when they were kids. First thing in the morning the next day, right after he left her at her own house, he found her now ex-boyfriend and beat him up. Arthur and Freddie had to get him off of the guy, afraid of what he would end up doing if they didn’t stop him.

After that, Tommy had focused on channeling his frustrations into going out with every girl in town that wasn’t her. It wasn’t difficult, he was good looking and charming and he was very aware of it; that’s how he met Greta, and thought that he could get over his feelings for his best friend with her.

Greta’s parents were against their involvement at first, but he charmed them, so they started dating. His heart broke down when (Y/N) found out and showed genuine happiness for him having finally found somebody to settle down with.

Tommy’s plan was to end things between them. However, Greta fell ill and he didn’t have the heart to break up with her, so he stayed by her side until she passed. (Y/N) gave him support in the only way she knew how: by loving him.

Just not in the way he wanted her to.

When they thought that things would go back to normal, the War exploded and Tommy did the only thing he considered right in his eyes: he enlisted alongside his brothers. Their first fight had taken place on the night he told her he was leaving for France in two weeks. (Y/N) had hit and screamed at him until he was able to take a hold on her and then, then she cried in his arms the whole night, afraid that she would lose him forever.

They did the best they could with those two weeks. Once more, nothing could have prepared Tommy for (Y/N)’s appeal the night before he was shipping to France. She had come to him right after dinner. Her father was preparing himself to leave, too, and both of the (Y/L/N) women were enjoying whatever time they had left with him before he was gone.

As they both laid there in his bed, resting in each other’s arms and staring at the ceiling, (Y/N) made the decision that would seal his fate if he could survive the war.

“Make love to me.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a request—she was simply telling him to make love to her like this was the most logical thing in the world. His breath caught in his throat, preventing him from answering at first, and (Y/N/N) took that as a cue to reassure him.

“It will be like my first kiss, Tommy, just something I have to get over with. I want it to be you. I trust you. Let me give you at least one last good memory of me before you go.”

Again, he caved in, not needing much more convincing than the certainty in her eyes as she looked down at him, propped up on one elbow. Her hand rested unintentionally above his heart. Granting her wishes, he let himself dive into his own desires, touching her the way he had wanted since they had kissed for the first time.

He worked her body like a delicate instrument and pulled at her strings smoothly, engraving every beautiful sound that he coaxed out of her and the feel of her under his fingertips in his memory. When morning came, they were still a mess of limbs intertwined together, trying to hold on to a last thread of hope and imprint the last few hours on their memories.

In a way, (Y/N) was right. The boy that entered that train in 1914 wasn’t the same that got out of it in 1918. Yet, his love for her never faltered; it just became a tad more… dangerous.

Thomas lost count of how many letters they had exchanged during the past four years. He lost count of how many times he dreamt of her, of coming back home and telling her how he felt. However, any courage he had gathered vanished the moment he saw her waiting for him at the train station. He couldn’t condemn her to a life by his side, he had already taken enough from her.

Polly had told him in her letters how (Y/N/N) had helped her with the business, with the house, with Finn, and with any other thing she could. Especially after her mother, who had given up on life after Mr. (Y/L/N) was killed in combat, passed. A part of him felt guilty for not being there for her as much as she was for him when his mother passed and his father left.

“She’s a Shelby now.”

That’s what Polly had said when he asked her if (Y/N) had any remaining family.

Not much changed when they returned. (Y/N/N) still worked with them. She spent more time at the Shelby home and the gambling den than at her own place. The two of them still sought each other out, not talking much, but enjoying each other’s company. It was in those quiet moments with her that Tommy had a little peace.

Thomas drowned himself in work to forget it all, wanting to expand the business, unleashing his ambitions so long smothered by the war. They found the guns, in a strike of luck, he thought. Both Polly and (Y/N) advised him to let it go, but he just couldn’t. It was too good of an opportunity.

Campbell had come because of it, and with him, Grace. At the time, he didn’t know who she really was. He thought that the beautiful, blonde barmaid was just that: beautiful and innocent, everything he and his family were not. So he fooled himself, fell for her, and then she betrayed him and left for America.

Again, (Y/N) was there for him, and again, he found himself sinking into his love for her. The only good thing that came from all this mess was that the business was never better. He thought that it was time to start planning for an expansion, and with that came another thing that he hadn’t quite predicted—Michael.

He had planned to find Polly’s children for her. She had been suffering quite a lot lately. Even if people thought that his heart was as good as gone, he wanted his family to be okay. He wanted them to be happy.

Thomas found the boy and he came to Polly, making his way into the family and the business quickly. That included starting to get close to (Y/N) – too fucking close for his liking.

It was supposed to be natural, he knew that. (Y/N) kept the books at the shop. She was better with numbers than most of them, so it was natural that she would be the one to help Michael when he assumed the position of accounts clerk.

After they came back, he learned that (Y/N) had become very good at sneaking around without getting caught. It was rare to see her with any men whose last name wasn’t Shelby, or wasn’t closely related to the Peaky Blinders. That didn’t mean she didn’t have men swooning over her all the time, or that he was finally okay with that—much like when they were teenagers, he wanted to chase them all down—the only difference was now he was more deadly.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

It was Michael’s voice that brought him back to reality, and his gaze fell immediately on the boy. They were all gathered on the snug in the Garrison. (Y/N) was sitting between him and Michael, Tommy’s arm casually rested on her shoulders.

(Y/N) said, “Oh, no, you would totally get it... after a few more weeks.”

Everyone burst out laughing at her remark, but the only thing he could think about was the hand Michael rested on (Y/N)’s thigh. His own hand clenched around his glass before he downed the rest of its contents.

He didn’t notice Polly’s gaze on him. Despite what most people believed, Tommy had never been a good liar. He could get away with omitting information to people and redirecting the conversation, most of the time, but a direct confrontation was a completely different thing. Polly was always able to read him first, to know the things he wasn’t willing to share.

“Maybe we should just hire you instead of Michael, then.” He ignored the look (Y/N) gave him, taking another drag of his cigarette and looking away.

However, he couldn’t miss the lingering touches, or how (Y/N/N) leaned into Michael when he talked to her, and how she was just so comfortable with him. It made his blood boil.

When (Y/N/N) said she wanted to get home he offered to walk her, and was fairly surprised at how she didn’t say a word to him until they reached her front door.

Then she turned to face him, features painted with anger, and asked, “What the hell was that, Tom?”

He actually rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

(Y/N) huffed, turning around to unlock the door before entering the house, leaving it open for him to follow. She went straight to the dressing room, shedding her coat and throwing it at the table with her purse as he followed her closely.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She was taking her shoes off, and Tommy took advantage of the moment to let his eyes follow her movements. God, was he in love with that woman.

“I’m talking about your attitude with Michael at the Garrison. That was completely unnecessary,” She said.

“Someone had to put that boy in his place,” Tommy said.

(Y/N) turned to him then, and he would be worried with that look if he hadn’t been at the receiving end of her anger for so many years.

“Oh, please enlighten me, Thomas. What is his place?” (Y/N) asked.

“For fucks sake, (Y/N/N), he was all over you!”

She rolled her eyes. “He is a boy, Thomas, a boy. He’s family…”

Tommy never thought that what would make him snap would be hearing her say that Michael was family, but apparently it was.

“He’s family, huh?” Thomas said. “He is fucking family! Then he should know better and stay away from you.”

She stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed, as she seemed to put the puzzle together in her head. “Why would he stay away from me, Tom?”

He turned around to face away from her for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, no. You won’t make me feel guilty for that.”

“Make you feel guilty for what, Tommy?”

He recognized the hint of annoyance on her tone and couldn’t ignore it anymore, the alcohol giving him the courage that he had lost that day on the train station, as he turned around and shouted, “For loving you!”

She held her breath, eyes widening as she stared back at him.

Tommy continued, “Michael should stay away from you because you’re fucking mine and I love you.”

“Tommy, I’m not your property, and you know that I love you…”

“No, you don’t,” he interrupted her, making her look at him with confusion, “You don’t love me the way I love you. The way I’ve loved you since the fucking day you asked me to kiss you when you were fifteen!”

He saw her flinch before murmuring his name, trying to gain his attention but he couldn’t stop now. The truth was finally out there and he just had to go on with it, let it all out before he lost his mind.

“You said to me that it would mean nothing, that it would be just another kiss for me, but you were wrong,” Tommy said, his breaths short.

She looked bewildered, and Tommy held onto a strand of hope he didn’t even know still existed.

“That kiss meant fucking everything. From that day on, I’ve never seen you in the same way as before, because I realized I was in love with you and you didn’t feel the same. So I ignored these feelings while I saw you going out with boys, and I’ve thrown myself into fucking every girl that wasn’t you because I knew I couldn’t have you, not the way I wanted.”

Tommy didn’t notice that he was walking to her until they were just a breath apart.

“Then I found Greta, and I thought that I could forget you, but it only reminded me that you are the only one I want. I was going to break up with her, but she fell ill. You stayed by my side, and just when I thought that I would have a chance to tell you everything, the war happened and I just couldn’t. I couldn’t, because there was no way in hell that I was going to risk going to fight in France and die. I couldn’t leave you here to suffer because of me, either because you felt the same or not.”

“Tommy…” (Y/N)’s voice was all but a whisper.

He couldn’t resist anymore, his hands brought her to him, his eyes observing hers from up close, not giving her time to talk or he would lose his courage.

“I was ready to go there and die, and never let you know how I felt. But you had to give me hope that night before I was shipped off to that fucking hell. You had to…”He took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a brief second, a flood of memories making his heart race faster. “You had to give yourself to me. You had to give me a taste of what I thought I could never have, to make me want to survive the fucking war, to come back to you, and to let you know about all of these stupid feelings.”

Tommy couldn’t wait anymore. He did the one thing he had wanted to since he had returned from France—he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle or patient; no, it was urgent and filled with passion and he didn’t know how to stop, not when she wasn’t pushing him away. He devoured her as a man starved, teeth clashing and hands grabbing at anything they could touch. They were both out of breath when they finally parted.

“You said that you wanted to give me one last good memory and it was that memory that kept me alive during most of the nights when I was stuck in the fucking mud,” Thomas said.

(Y/N)’s fingers were clinging to him like her life depended on it, like she was afraid to lose him to the War again.

Tommy took the moment to let the words spill out. “The memory of you and the feeling of you under my fingers, and all around me, and the way you tasted.”

His lips brushed against hers, fingers clawing at the flesh of her hips like they had done the night before he left for France.

He backed her up against the wall, hands trailing down to the back of her thighs, picking her up and trapping her with his body.

Tommy looked straight to her eyes as he spoke again, “How you writhed under me, all the beautiful sounds you made, and I just wanted to come back to you and make some new memories.”

(Y/N) shivered at his words. She gave him just a brief second to observe the rise and fall of her chest and her expanded pupils before he felt her fingers at the back of his head, forcing him to really look at her as she said, “Then let’s work on those new memories.”

Their lips clashed again, and every doubt that he ever felt vanished for a moment. That night their bodies moved together like old acquaintances, skin sliding against skin, hands gripping at each other, lips kissing every patch of skin while chanting a sinful choir of moans and curses alongside their names.

When Tommy woke up the next day, (Y/N/N) in his arms, he realized that he was finally home.

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @internalmess3

[theoreticslut]

The Truth that You Deny // Part 2

pairing: fred weasley x reader x george weasley

word count: 2, 442

warnings: drinking?? nothing much more than that

A/N: here’s part 2!! I’m so glad you guys are liking this so far :) I haven’t written in a while so it makes me so happy to see people still like it a bit. anyways, i still have a few more parts to this so let me know if you’re liking it and if you’d like to be added to a taglist for it.  

taglist - @justmesadgirl @xuckduck @yikesyikesyikes95 @filipi-yes @aestheticwh0r3 @siredkai

you can find part 1 here!

The next couple weeks are more than awkward between the three of you and everyone is starting to pick up on it, but none of them dare ask anything in fear it’ll make whatever is going on worse.

Truthfully, the twins were still acting like themselves around everyone - they were laughing and joking and just as vibrant as they had been before - but it was how silent you had become that created the tension amongst everyone. It was like you to be quieter than the rest of your group of friends, but you had never been as disconnected from the group as you have been lately.

Granted, you were stuck inside your own head analyzing your thoughts and emotions towards the twins and trying to figure out if you did like them or not. Deep down you know the answer, but you don’t want to admit it to yourself yet because once you do that unleashes a whole new set of problems.

“Y/n!” Lee nearly shouts, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

“What, Lee?!” You snap a bit, not knowing why he’s raised his voice to you.

“Have you heard anything we just said?” He asks, the rest of your friends looking at you.

You stare back at him and then look around the group for any kind of clue yet you find none.

“N-no. I guess not.” You sigh.

“I’m sorry. What were you guys talking about?” You ask, glancing over everyone but settling your attention on Stephanie.

“There’s a party tonight and we wanted to check and see what everyone thought about it.” Fred says as you turn your attention towards him.

“What about it?” You ask, not sure what they’re looking for.

“Like if you wanted to go? If so, when you wanted to go, et cetra”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’d like to go. Who’s throwing it?”

“Ravenclaws.”

“Okay. Uh, yeah. I’ll be there.” You say, giving a small smile to try to give the illusion that you’re totally not lost inside your own head.

He nods and looks back around the group to get everyone’s final opinion.

~.~

“Hey, beautiful. How are you doing?” Steph asks as she walks into your dorm.

“Fine. I’m just trying to get ready for the party. What do you think of that dress on the bed there?”

“The white one?”

“Yeah. Do you think it’ll be too much?”

“I don’t think so. If it is then at least you know you’re the best dressed, yeah?”

“I guess so.” You chuckle as you finish applying your lashes.

“Look, y/n, I don’t know if this is really the cause of why you’ve been acting so disconnected lately....but I’m sorry for pushing you about liking Fred and George. I...It’s none of my business and I should have stayed out of it.” Steph apologizes as she sits down on your bed, wringing her hands together.

“No, you were right. I mean you shouldn’t have pushed it so hard, but I...well, I do like them. I didn’t want to admit it to myself because it just makes everything more difficult, but you were right.” You sigh, walking over to sit next to her.

“I’m still sorry. It was none of my business, but what are you going to do now that you admitted it?”

You sit there for a minute thinking about it before you reply.

“Get plastered tonight and hopefully forget about all of it. You?”

“Maybe not get plastered, but get drunk and just have fun.” She laughs.

~.~

“You ready? Everyone else is already inside.” Steph asks as you both click your way to the ravenclaw house entrance.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” You smile as she gives the password to enter.

Once you do, you’re immediately encompassed by the sound of loud music and overlapping chatter broken apart by a few shouts from one person to another across the room. Besides the sheer volume of the room, you’re also hit by the smell of sweaty bodies, much too strong perfumes and cologne that have muddled together into one scent, and various different alcohols.

“Girl! Ugh, You look amazing.” Some 5th year hufflepuff girl compliments as you start to make your way through the room in search of the alcohol.

“Thanks. You too, beautiful!” You smile, admiring her pale yellow velvet bodycon she’s wearing with nude/clear wedges.

“Where can I find the alcohol?” You ask and nod as she points off into the room.

~.~

After a handful of shots taken with a few people hanging around the alcohol table, you find yourself dancing carefree. You honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve just let yourself go and have fun without worrying about the consequences or something else that you should be doing. You’re having an absolute banging time and are thoroughly enjoying yourself for once, which is being noticed by two of your friends across the room.

“Y/n seems to be having a lot of fun tonight.” George points out to his brother as they hang out on the outskirts of a crowd, Fred dancing along with them.

“Yeah, it does. It’s nice to see. It’s not like her to be so down like she has been.” Fred replies.

“I know. I’ve been wondering what’s on her mind. You don’t think we upset her do you?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. We pushed her, but I think whatever it was she’s been thinking about had been on her mind long before that.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right. I’m just glad to see she’s finally getting out of it.” George trails off as Fred nods in agreement, still dancing.

“She looks real nice tonight.” George points out.

“Yeah. She does.” Fred smiles, watching you as you dance with some 4th year ravenclaws and some of their friends both in their year from other houses as well as higher years they’ve met through older ravenclaw friends.

Neither of them could help but look you up and down multiple times throughout the night. You wore a bright white bodycon dress that falls just above the middle of your thighs. That alone is sexy enough, but you had to go even further in getting a dress that had a bit of a slit on the right side that was outlined with a string of crystals that hang over your thigh. Throughout the night, anyone could have found both Fred and George seeming to stare at your thighs, but really they were just in awe with the way the light caught the crystals as you moved. On top of that you wore nude heels that seemed to elongate your already gorgeous legs. Not to mention your makeup. You didn’t wear it often, but in the name of Merlin, you sure knew how to.

As the night progresses, you continue drinking anything and everything you can find that tastes decent enough. As you told Steph, you wanted to forget everything you’ve been thinking about for the last two weeks, and you were almost there.

Way too many drinks ago you found yourself starting to slur, yet you kept on drinking. You’ve started to get wobbly on your feet yet you’ve continued drinking. You’re honestly not sure if you even remember your name or where you are anymore, yet you’re stumbling your way to the alcohol table to get yet another drink.

“Having fun?” You hear someone ask.

You try to turn toward them, but the problem is you’re not quite sure which direction their voice came from.

Eventually you find two...wait four...nope, two red heads behind you.

“Y/n, are you having fun?” The other one asks and you nod even though their words have yet to fully register in your head.

“Y-yeah.” You hiccup. “Lots.”

“What in merlins name? Y/n...are you drunk?” Fred asks, watching as you sway in your spot which he’s positive you aren’t purposely doing.

“Drunk? Not even cl-ose.”

“For merlin’s sake, y/n.” George frowns, catching you as you start to lean too far forward.

“I don’t think we should let her drink anymore, Fred.” George says, taking your cup from you and setting it on the table behind you guys.

“No. No, we shouldn’t. In fact we should probably get her back to her dorm.”

“And how do you plan on doing that without getting caught? I don’t think y/n here is going to be very quiet.” George says as you’re rambling to yourself about one of the songs that just played.

“Uhm, I don’t know? Maybe we could cast muffliato around us?”

“It’s worth a shot.” George says as he picks you up bridal style instead of trying to guide you through the halls.

“Hey! I can walk myself.” You say, awfully slurred, as you try to work your way out of his arms.

He doesn’t budge, counteracting each of your movements and keeping you in his grip. Watching you try to stand still just now proves to him that there is no way to get you back to the gryffindor common room with you walking.

“Hey, you’re strong.” You say in regards to him fighting you and still holding you. “I don’t like it.”

George chuckles and shakes his head at you. You’ve never been drunk around them before, and not surprisingly they find it quite adorable. Sure you guys have had drinks together before, but you’ve never gotten drunk drunk.

“Alright, are you ready to go?” Fred asks having cast the spell.

“As ready as we can be.”

“Okay, well then let’s head out. Here’s hoping the charm works.”

“Your charm works.” You giggle as you wink at him.

He chuckles and shakes his head. Never in a million years did he expect y/n y/l/n to be a flirty drunk.

“Well, I know. Thank you.” Fred smiles, joking around.

“Welcome” you hiccup, following it with a burst of giggles.

“I don’t think drunk y/n knows how to be quiet.” George laughs. it’s such a contrast to your normal personality that he can’t help but laugh.

Normally you were pretty quiet. You knew how to speak up when needed, and were often quick to, but you were quiet the majority of the time. That’s not saying that you were insecure or scared, but that you knew how to listen. It’s impossible to count the amount of times the twins have come to you with one problem or another for you to listen and help them figure out a solution. They adored you for it and that’s part of the reason you three became such close friends. You were a voice of reason to their chaotic energies and in turn they were just the right amount of wild to get you out of your comfort zone.

The twins knew pretty early on into your friendship that you were more to them than just some casual friend. Hence why you’ve been over to the burrow at least twice a year since your second year of school. They loved having you around and when you weren’t, they could feel that something was missing.

They both loved you, even though neither of them were quite aware of that fact.

“We’re almost there.” Fred whispers. George nods, adjusting the way you’ve settled into his arms.

Even though you’re beyond drunk, George can’t help but admire the way you’ve curled into him. You’ve somehow twisted just enough that you’re facing him, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Okay, we’re here.” Fred says.

“Where? Are we at another party?” You ask, really wanting to get another drink.

Fred whispers the password to the portrait so they can get inside and, hopefully, up to her dorm.

“Party?” You ask, frowning as you enter your common room to find complete silence.

“No more parties, unless you wanna have a slumber party. Alright?” Fred tells you as him and George make their way up to your room.

“Is there alcohol?” You ask, stumbling as George finally sets you down inside your room.

“Not anymore. C’mon let’s get you to your bed.” George says, leading you towards your bed.

“But I need another drink. Wanna forget.” You mumble as you fall into your bed.

Both the boys stop, looking at each other confused before looking back at you.

“Forget? What do you wanna forget, love?” Fred asks as he starts taking off your one shoe as George works on the other.

“Thoughts.” You yawn, trying to curl up onto your side but George is still working on getting your shoe off so he keeps you from turning.

“What kind of thoughts?” George asks, finally getting the buckle part undone so he can slide off your shoe.

“Boys I like.” You mumble, finally able to curl up on your side.

Even though you’d deny it if directly asked, you were beyond tired and the twins knew it. If they ever wanted to figure out who you had gone so quiet over, they’d have to keep you talking.

“Can you tell us about them?” Fred asks, looking over at you as you shiver a bit.

It’s honestly no wonder given it’s nearing the middle of winter and you were wearing this. Neither of the twins could say that you didn’t look stunning, but it really wasn’t that hard to believe that you’d be cold. Nonetheless, Fred helps you to get under the covers.

“Hmm?”

“Can you tell us about the guys you like? They’ve got to be mighty special if you go silent over them for a whole two weeks.”

You smile as you think about them, not realizing that they’re the ones with you right now.

“They’re my best friends.” You mumble, smiling dreamily as you’re half asleep.

Fred looks over to George who is looking over at him. Both had the same thought run through their head - us?!

“They’re funny....and brilliant....absolutely adorable....they’re kind.” You continue mumbling as both of the boys watch you, a warmth igniting in their chest. While they couldn’t place exactly what the sensation was, it hadn’t been the first time they’ve felt it when thinking about you.

“Yeah?” George asks, smiling happily at you.

“Yeah,” You hum. “I love when they’re around and just thinking about them makes me happy, but they’re my best friends....and I don’t want to screw anything up between us, but I think I really love them.”

“You do, hmm?” Fred asks, not able to help a smug smirk play on his lips even though this admission overjoys him.

“She’s talking about us, isn’t she Fred?” George asks, smiling at the thought.

“Yeah, George. I believe she is,” he smiles, looking over your sleeping form. “She won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”

[dameronology]

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 4

summary: it’s the morning after the night before. time for a very awkward conversation.

warnings: warnings, very very brief alluding to smut but rly only if u squint 

song for this chapter is best friend by rex orange county! also the series masterlist can be found through the link to my main masterlist in my bio :) enjoy!

- jazz

You were’t sure what you needed more the next day: painkillers, to help your hangover or another round of drinks, to help you forget what you’d done night before. 

Or should I say - who you had done the night before. 

You didn’t sleep with your co-workers, much less your boss. God, it was almost as bad as if you’d slept with Merl - no, you couldn’t even let your brain go there. You’d already thrown up twice that morning (once into Jack’s toilet and then once into the subway tracks) and you didn’t need to make yourself do it again. Your stomach was churning and it felt as though the Blue Man Group were rehearsing their drum set in your frontal lobe. You’d tried to nurse it with a large block coffee and a half a packet of painkillers but alas, to no success. 

Somehow, though, your physical pains were the least of your worries. The fact you’d snuck out of Jack’s apartment and left without a word was playing over and over again in your head - so much so, that you almost didn’t come into work. Almost. Not even this situation was enough to make you take a day off. 

‘Is there a reason you’ve been stood outside the office for fifteen minutes, agent?’ You jumped at the sound of Champ’s voice. He glanced between the Starbucks coffee in his hand and the bruise around your left eye (fuck, you’d forgotten about that), quirking an eyebrow. ‘Rough night?’

‘No.’ You quickly answered. ‘Sir.’

‘So you what...walked into a door?’

Got drunk, tried to square up to a guy, got punched and then fucked my boss - thanks for asking. 

‘Yeah.’ You nodded. ‘I’m not normally clumsy but I forget that doors in America...go the other way? You know, drive on the other side of the road, use a different weight system, doors that go-’

‘- you can stop now, Percival.’ Champ cut you off. ‘Make sure you look after yourself.’

‘Right.’ You nodded. ‘Thank you.’

With the agent staring you at expectantly, you had no choice but to go into the office. You forced a smile, using your weight to budge open the door and step inside. 

The sound of your heels against the floor announced your entrance; the faint smell of Jack’s aftershave wasn’t normally that noticeable, but that morning, it wasn’t doing you any favours. You stood in the door way for a moment, letting it shut behind you as your eyes landed on the cowboy. 

He didn’t even look at you. Why wasn’t he looking at you? Fuck, had you upset him-

‘Nice of you to make an appearance, Percy.’ He suddenly spoke, flashing you a smile as he tore his eyes away from his computer screen. ‘How’s the shiner? Your buddy sure did pack a punch, huh?’

‘Uh, yeah.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘It’s fine, a little sore.’

‘You should pop down the lab on your break. Ginger will sort it out in no time.’ He leant back in his chair. 

‘Are we just not gonna talk about the fact we slept together last night?’ 

Jack suddenly jumped in surprise, eyes widening. Right, clearly not. 

‘I was trying to find a way to bring up such a sensitive subject.’ He replied. ‘But I guess I don’t gotta worry.’

You sighed as you walked over to your desk, placing your bag down and taking a seat. Fuck, your head was killing. You rubbed your eyes and cleared your throat, forcing yourself to continue the difficult conversation you’d just unwittingly started. You got the vibe that people in the South probably didn’t talk about sex so crudely. Twenty-something years of hanging around Eggsy Unwin had de-sensitised you to the idea of it being a taboo subject. 

‘I’m sorry I left this morning without saying anything.’ You sheepishly murmured. ‘When I do stuff like that, it’s usually with random guys I found in a bar.’

The biggest question that kept playing over and over in your head was why? 

Why Jack? You’d rebuffed Tequila’s advances before he could even finish the damn sentence and yet you’d slipped into bed with Jack with ease. It was probably to do with the fact he’d been such a good kisser, and the rest did not disappoint. It had been good. Really good. Possibly the best you’d ever had, actually. He’d said at the beginning of the night that he was going to help you kick back and chill out and...yeah, he’d done a pretty good job. 

‘It doesn’t affect me, sugar.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I don’t see why it has to change anything between us.’

Of course. Had you forgotten who you were talking to? This was Whiskey, the biggest flirt at the fucking agency. He’d probably had a different girl the night before you, and he was probably going to have somebody else tonight. He hadn’t said or done anything that could have lead you to believe it meant something more. Sure, you’d become friends and saw each other day and yeah, he drove you home sometimes because he didn’t want you to walk home in the dark and he had invited you out to help you de-stress when you needed it most. 

Did you like Jack? Did you want it to be something more? Did the last few weeks all....add up to something? Then again, maybe he was just being nice. Maybe he was just looking out for you, because you were a young woman, alone in the city. Perhaps last night had just been...a fluke. A glitch in the system. A wobble in what was otherwise a completely professional relationship.

‘No, you’re right.’ You nodded, scratching the back of your neck. It really felt like you should have said something more, because it felt like something more. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

He quirked a brow at you. ‘So we’re good?’

You forced a smile. ‘Better than ever, Whiskey.’ 

You’d had one night stands before. They were standard, really - but it was rare you found yourself thinking about them the next day. Something between you just worked. You couldn’t put your finger on it, in the same way you couldn’t spell out the sudden urge to kiss him last night, but some things just couldn’t be explained. Your attraction to him certainly couldn’t be - he was older, used the worst nicknames and spoke to you entirely in Southern metaphors. But, as aforementioned, he’d also looked after you.

Maybe that was what you needed. Maybe it was what you wanted-

- You stopped yourself there. No time to unpack all of that, especially when you were this hungover and spent most of your waking hours spitting fire about how independent you were. You’d had Tequila pinned to the wall less than twelve hours ago for trying to make move on you.  It was probably something to save for therapy (which was on your to-do list). 

The tension in the room felt a little more reflective of a fight between a couple than it did of two friends who had casually slept together the night before. Normally, the room was just calm, filled with the only sounds of you two occasionally cracking jokes or your fingers desperately tapping away at your respective computers. Now? It was tense. Suffocatingly so, as though it could have swallowed you whole. 

‘I’m gonna get more coffee.’ You announced, abruptly. ‘And I guess I’ll pay Ginger a visit to sort out this annoying fucking bruise. You want anything from Starbucks?’

‘Didn’t you just go?’ He observed. 

‘Yeah, but I want some fresh air.’

As you passed Jack’s desk on the way out, he reached out and grabbed your hand, quickly tangling your fingers in his. He peered up at you, brow furrowed - you were off. He knew you were off. He’d proven time and time again over the last month that he could read you like a fucking book. You were a clown for thinking that he wouldn’t notice the fact you’d completely retracted into yourself, or that you’d suddenly from from Jack to Whiskey. 

‘You’re annoyed at me.’ He observed.

‘I’m not annoyed at you.’ You didn’t try to pull your hand back. ‘I’m annoyed at...myself, I guess.’

‘Why?’ 

‘Because I let last night happen.’ You explained. ‘I shouldn’t have made a move on you, I shouldn’t have broken every professional boundary between us for one night of meaningless-’

‘- what if it wasn’t meaningless?’

You froze, suddenly snatching your hand back. What were you meant to say to that? You couldn’t work out if you wanted it to mean something. There was so much to untangle but your main concern was sorting out your sore nose and banging head ache. 

‘Jack...’ you murmured. ‘I can’t talk about this right now. My head is on fire and my nose is fucking purple.’

He stood up, reaching for his jacket. ‘C’mon then, I’ll take you down the lab.’

‘I can get there myself, really.’

‘D’you know where it is, sugar?’

‘I can work it out.’ You shot back. ‘I’m smart-’

Before you could finish your sentence, he had a hand on the small of your back and was guiding you out the room and down the hall. That was new; he hadn’t really shown you any signs of physical touch - excluding last night, obviously - but the progression felt...natural. Heck, Jack hadn’t even realised he was doing it, and you didn’t feel the urge to complain or push him off.

That was probably saying something. 

--

‘There we go.’ Ginger murmured, slowly dabbing at the bruise with...something. ‘Good as new.’

You felt as good as new. After putting a weird paste on your nose and forcing some fancy, top-of-the-range painkillers down your throat, your hangover was gone and your nose was no longer stinging. You’d been out here thinking that Kingsman had been far ahead with their medical technology, but this place made it look Victorian. You were tempted to ask if they had an amnesia-inducing medication that could make you and Jack forget the events of last night, but then you realised something.

You didn’t want to forget.

‘Thank you, Ginger.’ You smiled. ‘I really appreciate it.’

‘What did you do to end up with a busted nose and black eye, anyways?’ Ginger raised her eyebrows. 

‘Our girl tried to deck a man twice her size because she thought he was following a woman into the bathroom.’ Jack replied, gently rubbing your shoulder. That’s fine. That was totally fine. You were fine. 

‘I had the right intentions.’ You muttered. ‘Anyways - Calahan isn’t gonna catch himself, so I gotta get back to work. Thank you again, G.’

That was code for Jack and I are about to have a very awkward conversation. To be frank, you would have begrudgingly left at the whole ‘it didn’t mean anything’ point, but he’d been the one to push it, to float out the idea that it could mean something. You’d thought it, but he’d been the one to say it. That was the huge difference between the two of you. You could compartmentalise your feelings when they proved to be an inconvenience. Jack Daniels, however, was...brash. When he felt something, he had to say it. It was a blessing and a curse. 

You both walked back to your office in silence, once again with Jack’s hand resting on the small of your back. He knew you didn’t need looking after - hell, you’d proved that ten times over - but it almost like he was keeping an eye on you. He’d seen you square up to two different men in the last twenty four hours. It was for your safety, really. 

The minute the door had shut behind you both, that tension immediately returned. This time, however, there was a little hint of excitement. Anticipation, maybe. 

‘So...’ you trailed off, leaning against your desk. Awkwardly playing with your hands, you peered over at him. ‘Let’s recap: we slept together, I snuck out, we said it didn’t mean anything and then two seconds later, you retracted that statement.’

‘I didn’t retract it.’ Jack insisted. ‘I was just reading your signals - which are confusing as fuck, by the way, sweetheart - because you were the one who walked out.’

‘My signals?’ You scoffed. ‘You were the one who invited me out the in first place! And the one who drives me home every damn night so I don’t have to walk alone!’

‘You’re the one who’s being as skitterish as a calf at a goddamn smoke out-’

‘- as a what at a what?!’ You spluttered. ‘You’re the one calls me sweetheart all the time!’

‘Yeah, well, you’re the one who kissed me first-’

‘- just shut up a second!’ You held your finger out to him. He silenced immediately. 'I feel like we’re overcomplicating this.’

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘We are?’

‘Whi - Jack.’ You took a deep breath. ‘I am going to ask you this once, and once only. If you say no, I’ll move on and we can act like this never happened. If you say yes...we can discuss it, okay?’

‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘Go for it.’

‘Did last night mean anything to you?’ You asked the question slowly, in the same tone you might ask a child what small object they had in their mouth. 

‘Not at first.’ Jack replied. ‘I didn’t go into it with the intention of it meaning something.’

You frowned. ‘Do go on.’

‘I was gonna come in this morning and pretend like it never happened. Then I saw you, with that stupid bruise and stupid smile and I realised that you’re brash and dumb and fucking gorgeous and ...shit, you’re spiteful as hell and I’m a little terrified of you but damn, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fucking obsessed with you.’

‘Well, shit.’ You murmured. It was the answer you’d wanted just...in a lot more words. 

For a long time, your head strong nature and inability to tolerate ninety-nine percent of the human race was something people had used a reason not to like you. But Jack? Oh, no. Not him. He saw it as a challenge, maybe. He had an urge to cut through the thorny outside and trying to see what you held on the inside. He’d see little bits of it here and there - your smile when you spoke about Eggsy, or the way you’d gone out your way to try and protect that woman - but he was determined to find more. He wanted to find more. You were an enigma, a vortex of swear words and brash decisions, and hell, you were sucking him right in.

‘You gonna say anything more than shit?’ He urged. 

You’d never been all that good with words. Didn’t actions speak louder? That’s what your mum had always said, and it had proven true in your line of work too. Punching the daylights out of someone was always a clearer threat than a concerning phone call. Pulling your weight on every mission was more proof of hard work than gloating to your uppers about your achievements.

And kissing your boss was a much clearer sign of telling him that you liked him too rather than just verbalising it.

Jack almost veered backwards when you lunged at him, just about catching you in his arms. Your lips crashed together - it was a little more desperate than last night, but then again, so was the whole situation. His arms caught you at the waist, holding you against his chest as he kissed you right back.

After a few moments, you pulled back for air. Neither of you said anything, instead choosing to just stare at each other with disbelief.

‘That was very unprofessional of me.’ You admitted. ‘But I do like you Jack and I’m worried it’s going to be a problem-’

‘- since when has mutual attraction ever been a problem?’ Jack practically snorted at the idea. ‘I like you. You like me. I don’t get what’s so complicated about that, sugar.’

‘Because it’s unprofessional! You’re my boss and I’m here to work.’ You suddenly took a step back, complex feelings finally colliding. ‘To prove myself and get a promotion!’

‘And you’re doing that just fine!’ He shot back. ‘Better than fine! You work your ass off ten times harder than any agent I’ve ever met. I don’t know how those uppity goddamn suit-makers haven’t realised what an asset you are.’

‘Are you saying that because you like me or because you mean it?’

‘Ouch.’ He murmured. ‘Even if I couldn’t stand you, I would still recognise the fact you’re one of the best agents I’ve ever seen.’

‘Wouldn’t that be an ideal world.’ You snorted. 

‘How about this?’ Jack reached forward, taking your hands in his. ‘It’s clear that whatever happens now, we probably can’t go back to how things were. I can try, but I promise you it won’t happen.’

You nodded in agreement. 

‘So, you can back track on everything we’ve just said and let it affect how we work together, or we can just lean into this whole stupid thing.’ He continued. ‘We’ll work together and play together. Two birds one stone, just until you go back to London.’ 

This was something of a rare opportunity: mutual attraction. Aside from the occasional one night stand in London, you barely had the chance to have fun. After years of hard work, maybe you deserved it. It was just...fooling around. You’d both admitted you liked one another but it was hardly a grand declaration at love. There were some feelings at stake, but not enough for you to be worried. 

‘We need ground rules.’ You replied. ‘I like you and you like me but we have to put the brakes on it there. You have to promise not to fall in love with me. Obsession only, okay?’

Jack tilted his head to the side, as if to say fair enough. ‘Sure thing. Anything else?’

‘The minute this starts to interfere with my work, I’m cutting you out.’ Your tone was a little sterner. ‘Heck, the second it happens, this stops. It’s...an addition to my work, not a replacement.’

‘As your superior...’ he said the words teasingly. You hated that you loved it. ‘I will make that doesn’t happpen.’

‘Good.’ You gave him a curt nod. ‘Then it’s settled.’

You stuck your hand out for him to shake. Jack peered down at it, almost waiting for you to retract it and break into a grin. But that didn’t happen. You were completely serious. Could he put it down to British weirdness? Probably. 

‘You drive me fucking insane.’ The cowboy grabbed your hand, yanking you towards him and capturing you in another kiss. 

tags: @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​ @imananxiousdriver​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @66wookies​ @paintballkid711​ @waatermelon-sugaar​ @hepburnwritess​ @haileyybird​ @xjaywritesx​ @jabbajambler​ @the-mandalorian-clone-lover​ @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @wickedmuse​ (message me if you wanna be added!) 

[whumpmatsus]

hmmm Jyushi getting comfort from his s/o (any pronouns) after having a bad migrane? Maybe s/o cuddles with him after.

aaaaa gosh I’m always a bit shaky writing Jyushi because like damn he’s such a wild card BUT this was fun!! I’m always up for migraines :D

enjoy your Honey Nut Feelios =‘)

-

As much as the Matsuno brothers all take care of each other, it’s also nice for one of them to have someone outside the family who wants to do that, too.

Even though Jyushimatsu probably would have been fine with (Name) coming over to look after him, the migraine that’s had him knocked down for the past day or so has made it kind of difficult to think clearly. He would usually argue and go over to his partner’s place himself… except trying to move makes him too dizzy to get far.

He’s already thrown up once, when he woke up feeling like this and tried to move, and he really doesn’t want to be sick again. He needs his brothers’ help to sit up and take medicine, so there’s no way he’s stepping a foot outside the house.

By the point he realizes he wants (Name), it’s hard to communicate that. He remembers telling his brothers that he wanted to see his partner, only for one of them (Choromatsu, probably) to shush him and say, “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea… let’s wait just a little bit, okay?”

And maybe it’s for the best. He doesn’t want to argue the point, plus he really just feels like resting. If (Name) were here, he’d want to be awake and talking to them; he doesn’t need the temptation while he’s trying to sleep. Vaguely he wonders if that makes him bad or mean because he doesn’t feel the same with his brothers.

Those feelings are quickly forgotten in favor of trying to feel better. He spends most of the day in the futon, with all the blinds closed and curtains drawn, his brothers filtering in and out. The first time he falls asleep, he’s gathered snugly against Choromatsu’s chest, burying his face in his big brother’s shoulder to shut out all the light.

When he wakes up, it turns out he hasn’t been asleep for long, but he wakes up with Ichimatsu’s arms around him. Seems like the others are taking shifts to make sure he knows all of them want to take care of him. Each time he’s asked if he wants to take some painkillers, he’s too dizzy and nauseous.

It’s only when Karamatsu rouses him shortly before dinner, urging him that if he can swallow the medicine, it might take the edge off. So Jyushimatsu lets his older brother get the painkillers and some water into his system. It might not be a bad idea anyway; he needs to drink some water so he doesn’t get dehydrated, since he knows that makes it worse.

Toward the end of the day things get a little bit better. Osomatsu is able to coax his baby brother into drinking some soup, just a few sips of clear broth, when the nausea tapers off to the point he thinks he can eat without throwing up. Although his head is still spinning, and he still sees funny, hazy shapes at the edges of his vision when he opens his eyes, it’s more bearable.

At least, by the time Totty gets home from work, having had a later shift than normal, the ice-pick feeling is starting to become duller. While the others are sleeping in the spare room, likely fighting over the sofa and the guest futon, to let Jyushimatsu have the quiet bedroom to himself, Totty slips in beside his big brother to sleep. Jyushimatsu’s last memory of the day is falling asleep to his only younger brother stroking his hair.

Today he’s feeling much better, the headache part of the migraine has faded into a soft throb, and the torment of the fuzzy aura plaguing his eyes is starting to go away. The nausea has subsided into brief twinges. He’s only lightheaded when he moves too fast.

More than anything, he just sort of feels tired from the horrible day before. So he’s glad that he actually feels excited when (Name) walks into the room.

“Heyyy, there’s my boy,” they coo as they drop down, settling in next to him. “Your brothers told me you weren’t feeling so good yesterday. Sorry I couldn’t be here with you.”

He shakes his head twice, a brief, slow swing from one side to the other. “Nooo… it’s okay. Everyone else was probably keeping you away! Choromatsu-nii-san said I should rest… and with you here, I’d be all excited, haha.”

They laugh and move to pull him into their arms. He comes without a fight, allowing them to snuggle him as close as they’re physically able to. “I think I could have gotten you to rest, but it’s okay. How are you feeling now?”

He hums, closing his eyes so he can nestle into their chest. They’re so warm; just feeling them right beside him like this makes everything… okay. Although he wants to think that maybe his brothers were wrong, that them being here wouldn’t have made it a challenge for him to sleep, he feels excited to be hugging them like this. A little too excited to drift off into sleep… not so excited that, well, other places are an issue.

Their heartbeat is in his ears. It’s a steady thrum, and it hurts his head only a little bit. It’s not so bad? Not bad enough that he wants them to move. The last day was more painful than this, and having them next to him makes him happy. Happy people heal better, right?

“I’m okay,” he finally says. “I’m really tired, but it doesn’t hurt as much and I’m not super dizzy. It’s nice that I can cuddle with you now. I’d rather be playing baseball with you… it’s okay, though. Maybe tomorrow when everything’s all the way better.”

They nod, then he can feel himself melting when they start to pet his head. Their touches alternate; a gentle comb through his hair, then a kiss to the top of his head, then back and forth… back and forth… it’s relaxing. “Yeah, maybe tomorrow. This doesn’t hurt, does it? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

He can kind of understand their concern. If someone’s head hurts, it might stand to reason that any touch there would be painful. Except… they’re being really careful with him. Their touches are the same as his brothers’ were while they were taking care of him ― cautious, tender, being mindful of the pressure they’re using, as if he’s made of glass and might shatter if treated too harshly.

And despite the fact that he can take a lot of punishment… it’s kind of nice to have people be gentle with him sometimes. Especially when the pain he was feeling yesterday isn’t that far away from coming back, it’s easier to keep calm and not be overly excited when someone is touching him in a feather-light way.

“No, no, it feels really good.” There’s a bit of a hazy wobbling in his vision when he opens his eyes to look at them, but it’s a lot better than it was yesterday. At the very least, it makes them look kind of cute. Sort of like he’s looking at them through a kaleidoscope, just not as intense. “Thanks, I like this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, mhm! You’re so nice to me, haha.”

They snort, and kiss the side of his head. “Well, you are my boyfriend, and I do love you, and you were just knocked out for a day with a migraine. It would be pretty horrible of me not to be nice to you since I love you so much.”

He nods lazily before nuzzling into that comfortable little place between their neck and their shoulder. “Hm, I guess… if you aren’t nice to the people you love, then you probably don’t love them very much, right? And you love me a whole lot.”

“That’s right, I do.”

His usual smile is starting to come back. Maybe a little weak, but it’s there. “I love you, too. A whole, whole lot. More than anybody’s ever loved anyone.”

He can feel the smile in their kiss when they set their lips on the crown of his head. “My cutie pie. Sweet ball of sunshine.”

“Mmmh. I don’t really feel like a ball of sunshine right now… hey, can the sun get tired?? Maybe I can just be a tired sunshine ball.”

They giggle. “Well, that doesn’t sound like a very far-off idea, you know? I bet the sun gets tired all the time. Nighttime is probably the moon taking over so the sun can sleep.”

Huh. When they put it that way, it makes a lot of sense. Then maybe it’s okay that he’s a tired ball of sunshine right now. It doesn’t mean he’s not himself. After all, his brothers get migraines too, and everyone is always just super exhausted the day after they’ve had one. It’s just been a while since he’s had one this bad… he might have just forgotten what it feels like for something to totally drain him like this.

“That’s probably it,” he murmurs, and lets all the tension, even the excitement, the good, happy tension, slowly slip away from his muscles. It’s okay if he can just rest for a little while. “Hey, (Name).”

“Mh? Yeah, babe?”

“Will you be my moon?”

He can feel their arms around him just a little tighter. And another kiss. And they’re all around him, wrapping him up so he can just be tired for a bit.

“Of course I will, sunshine. Of course.”

[bts-storys]

Bathing a bomb (m)

Author: bts-storys

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Rating: mature content, 18+

Genre: Strangers to lovers/ Lush Store AU/ Smut

Word Count: 5,901

Summary: Your job at the Lush store isn’t what you would call extremely exciting. That is until one customer just won’t stay out of the shop. And for that matter he won’t stay out of your head either.

Warnings: oral (female receiving), fingering, dirty talk, graphic description of sex, penetration, lots of stuff with hands, because I feel like that's what lush is essentially about, Seokjin being handsome as ever, some daydreaming about a shower

A/N: I changed my narrative perspective a bit, I hope everything sounds better now. I won't lie, this piece gave me a real hard time, so happy so present to you what I worked on the last weeks.

„Damn it! “

You flinch when you hear an angry voice right on the other side of the wall, sitting upright again in the process. The door bursts open and someone marches right into the break room.

“Are you okay, June?”, you carefully ask your co-worker. When you catch a glimpse at her hands you cock an eyebrow. “Did you touch the lilac soap again?”

“Yes, for god’s sake!”, she grumbles while digging in her bag. “I hate this damn allergy!”

“I told you to wear some gloves or at least call me to take care of it instead”, you say in a judging tone.

“I know, I forgot them. And you’re on break Y/N!” She looks at you with an apologetic expression while opening a jar of cream from her bag.

You laugh. “Well I was until now. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the customers and you do something about your hands, you look like an angry lobster.”

You put your coffee aside and your customer smile back on your face. Walking through the door, the overwhelming smell of hundreds of different scents washes right over you. When you first started working at the Lush store a few months prior, you found yourself with a headache at the end of every day from smelling so much all the time. When you had told June about it, she gave you a painkiller and assured you it would get better soon. She was right at the end and you grew into loving all the different scents. Nothing relaxes you more than the familiar fragrances in the store after a hard day of studying. You shake your head to get rid of the memory.

Even though June had been working here far longer, she just can’t deal with her lilac allergy due to her extreme stubbornness. Nara, your other co-worker is talking to a customer so you get back to one of the shelves and finish putting in the soap. Right at the last piece, someone behind you makes a coughing noise.

“Ehrm- Excuse me?”

You turn around. The speaker is a tall guy at least one head-length taller than you. He has broad shoulders and the most handsome face you have ever seen. His skin has a perfect shine as if he uses the exact right amount of moisturizer every day and his head looks perfectly shaped. His black hair matches his dark coat and the pair of boots he wears. His body-position gives off a high level of self-confidence, much contrary to his worried expression. His complete appearance is quite overwhelming and it takes you a second or two to get over yourself.

“Hi, what can I do for you?”, you smile at him.

He smiles back at you and you feel your heartbeat increase. “I was wondering… how many different bath bombs do you sell at the moment?”

Inwardly, you let out a sigh. Chances are pretty small, a handsome man like him would ask about bath bombs without the intention of giving them to a boyfriend or girlfriend. On the outside you maintain your customer smile.

“Right now, we have 20 different types of bath bombs here at the store. Do you have a specific fragrance you’re looking for?”

“N-No, not exactly. I want all of them…please.”

You look at him with confusion. “You want to buy every bath bomb in this store?!!”

“No!”, he quickly corrects. “I want to buy one of every type, if that’s possible.”

You start to laugh.

“I’m so sorry”, you tell him after getting a hold of yourself. “Of course, that’s possible, let’s grab a basket for you.”

He sends you a smile that gets right to your core. “Don’t worry, I know that it's a weird request. You have a cute laugh though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, quickly turning around, reminding yourself that he is still a customer.

“Thank you, Sir. Let’s get to those bath bombs.”

“It’s Seokjin, actually. Please don’t call me ‘Sir’.”

You hide your surprise behind a straight face. “Okay Seokjin, follow me, please.”

You get to the counter where the bath bombs are stored, aware that he is right behind you. While filling the little basket with colorful shapes, you just can’t resist the curiosity.

“Soo, is there a reason to your special request?”, you ask him while scanning the stacks for more bombs.

“Um, I guess I just want to know what color they would produce. You know, all together.”

You turn around again, seeing him gulp.

“You want to use them all at once?” You try not to sound like you are laughing at him again, maintaining a neutral expression. “I’m finished by the way, so follow me to the checkout, please.”

You get behind the cash register, scanning the items before dropping them into a bag.

“Should I pack them as a gift?”, you try asking without raising his suspicion. Maybe he is still getting them for his SO or whatsoever even though it seemed like he was flirting with you for a brief moment.

“No, thank you”, he says, looking right into your eyes. The dark brown of his iris seems to pull you in, until you snap out of it after a few seconds. He pays and takes the bag from your hand. His gaze lingers on your form behind the apron you are wearing and you feel your breath hitch for a second.

Then the moment is over.

“Thank you for your kind consultation, Y/N.”, he says with a look at the tag on your shirt. At the mention of your name, you feel heat shooting through your body like he just set you on fire. Suddenly, you find it difficult to concentrate when he gives you one last look and leaves the store.

“DID GOD SEND US AN ANGEL TO GET 20 BATH BOMBS?!”, you hear June yell behind you.

“Who the hell was that, Y/N?”

“That was Seokjin and he wants to know what color they would produce all at once”, you answer like you’re in a trance.

“He WHAT- now?!”

For the next few days you try not to think about Seokjin too much. To tell the truth, you fail miserably. The main reason to that is certainly June who just won’t let go of the story, but if you are honest, you think about him as well. Even without her help. Seokjin piqued your interest and you want to know more about him.

You even start looking him up on social media in your work breaks but either he doesn’t have any public appearance or your fbi skills just aren’t good enough to find him.

The next week starts without any major events if you don’t count the old man who tries to eat a whole bar of shower soap and the middle-aged woman who just won’t understand the usage of a massage bar. After the third attempt of explaining she doesn’t need a lighter for the process, she just leaves and you try to stay calm. Suddenly, you hear someone call your name from behind.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You turn around and immediately feel like you’re not ready for the sight you’re greeted with. Seokjin is wearing a white, half-transparent shirt with long sleeves combined with skinny black pants.

They look too tight.

Your lungs feel tight too.

He even remembered your name. And how the hell are you fangirling over someone you only met once before?! A quick look around shows that both Nara and June are busy with customers so you pull yourself together and return his smile.

“Seokjin. How can I help you today?”

For a moment he looks a bit lost but quickly recovers.

“I loved how everything smelled the last time I was here, so I thought I’d get something else. You do sell shower gel, right?”

“Yeah, of course”, you say, turning around to get to the other side of the shop. While walking in front of him you try to relax your shoulders a bit.

Arriving at the shower themed area you try to get back to being professional again.

“Do you have anything special in mind? Maybe some ingredient you like?”, you ask him while scanning the stacks.

Your gaze comes to a halt when you spot a sign right next to his handsome face saying “prince charming”. Normally, you love the shower gel that is advertised, but right now you curse whoever chose its name. The real prince charming in front of you has the audacity to smirk at your irritation.

“I like products that smooth my skin when I’m in the shower”, he says looking you dead in the eye. “Maybe something that feels good when you apply it.”

You can’t do anything about it, the picture just appears in front of your inner eye. Seokjin standing in the shower, water floating over his shaped body. He rubs his damped skin with nourishing oils, his lips sinfully parted. His body looks perfect surrounded by the steam from the hot water. You visibly shudder.

“Are you cold?”, Seokjin asks, bringing you back to reality.

“N-No!”, you hastily say. Quickly, you grab a bar with a minty color from the shelf, showing it to him.

“What about this one? It’s really good for your skin, it’s based on natural ingredients.”

He leaves you completely stunned when he takes your hand into his, bringing the bar to his nose. His palm is soft and warm, embracing your small fingers with his. You feel like you float and the feeling tingles. Every inch of your body is on edge, not missing a single second of the moment. His touch is light and gentle, giving you the opportunity to pull away. Obviously, you don’t. Further, you don’t even breathe until he lets go of you again.

“Yeah, it smells nice", he says. "I’ll take it."

Your wobbly legs take the two of you to the checkout, where you wrap the soap bar.

“Do you work here every day?”, Seokjin asks you casually. “If you don’t mind answering”, he adds.

“I don’t”, you smile. “I work from Monday ‘til Thursday after my college courses.”

He looks impressed. “You study and work at the same time?”

You laugh at his expression. “Something has to pay the rent, right? Also working here is more fun than it looks like.”

“I mean, if you like working in a giant flower meadow, then yeah”, he jokes. “What’s your major though?”

“International Management”, you say sheepishly. “Probably not the most interesting- “

“Awesome!”, he exclaims. “I work in the management area myself, you know.”

“You do?” Secretly, you had put him into modeling or maybe he really was an angel like June had noted multiple times.

“I work at a small music label with some of my friends”, he explains further. “Maybe we could- “

You don’t get to hear what he wants to say.

“Y/N? Can you please go and help June? I swear to god if she touches that damn soap one more time, I’ll tie her hands behind her back!!”, Nara shouts at you from the other side of the store.

“I’m sorry.”

You and Seokjin both apologize at the same time.

“Here’s your recipe”, you smile and hand him the package with his purchase.

“It was nice talking to you Y/N”, Seokjin says, giving you one last look before leaving the store.

You look at his broad back longingly before rushing to get to June before Nara can live up to her promise.

On Friday, you start your day off with working on an essay for your finance course. After finishing a couple of pages, you get ready to meet June at the fairground. Apparently, her roommate works there, selling crêpes which are “not from this world, maybe even from another galaxy”, as June claims.

At the end of the day you wonder if you may have lost some of your sanity, because on the weekend you can’t stop thinking about Seokjin at all. The picture of him touching your hands and looking at you in such a deep way seems to be burned into your brain. You also start to ask yourself if he feels the same about you. He must have felt something the second time he went to buy the shower bar. At least you hope he did. Maybe you’re completely out of place and he was just being himself? It’s not only the girls who get mistaken when they’re just being super nice, you remind yourself.

You could ask him out the next time he buys something. If there is a next time. Or would that be unprofessional at your workplace?

Without finding a solution to your problem, you nervously wait for the next workday to arrive. Who doesn’t arrive though is the person in question. June comments on your stiffness a few times but other than that nothing happens the entire week. You’re exhausted from studying and working afterwards but most of all from wondering if you will meet Seokjin again.

The next Monday comes and goes while your hope slowly dies. On Tuesday, you’re stacking up some massage bars catching yourself daydreaming. You can see Seokjin right in front of you. He’s wearing a dark blue sweater that makes a great contrast to his skin tone and reminds you of a deep ocean.

Only then you realize that he is indeed standing right in front of you. You’re not dreaming, you’re staring and it’s getting damn awkward.

“Seokjin!”, you screech, quickly trying to change to professionalism again.

“Hi, Y/N”, he says, completely oblivious to your thoughts. He’s really here, you think, getting more and more excited. It’s as if someone just lifted a grey filter and every color gets brighter again.

He points at the bar in you hand. “What’s that?”

“That’s a massage bar”, you say, happy he picked a topic other than you ogling him. “It can be used for a massage or as a body lotion after showering. It contains cocoa butter and mineral oils.”

The shower image comes to your mind again but you quickly shove it back.

“Sounds lovely”, he says and for a split second his gaze falls to your lips. At least you think it does. Internally you take a deep breath, working up some courage. “Do you want to try it?”, you ask in a rush.

He looks surprised but quickly recovers, nodding and pulling up one sleeve. You’re greeted with the sight of his slender hand and the visible veins running down his arm. Holding back a shiver while taking his hand you softly rub some of the product onto his skin. Then you start massaging the back of his hand with gentle strokes. Your gaze lingers for a moment and your heart most definitely skips a beat when you look up again. All the angelic features of Seokjins face have vanished. His eyes are half closed and he looks almost sinful. A small noise escapes his parted lips and you think you might faint.

It feels exciting and intimidating to touch him like this.

In the middle of the store you’re working at.

For each and every one to see.

When the realization hits you, you drop his hand in embarrassment. His eyes snap open and he looks equally as shocked as you are. He takes a step back in the same moment you find your voice again.

“I’m sorry, do you- eh do you like the product? Should I pack it for you?”, you ask, trying to deescalate the situation.

“Huh?” Seokjin looks at you like he sees you for the first time today. “Ah no, thank you! I-I think I need to leave, actually.”

Before you can even do so much as blink, he rushes out of the door. You’re left with the massage bar in your hand and your heart at your feet. How come you didn’t notice it was involved until now? Why did he leave, did you do something wrong?

You feel like you’re about to cry but fight it successfully. Okay, maybe you did develop a crush on a customer. And maybe some part of you was convinced that it was mutual and Seokjin had a thing for you as well. Obviously, he had not.

The last time someone ran from you as fast as he did was at a fetching game in elementary school. Either way, now is definitely not the time to dive further into your feelings. While leading another customer through the store, June brushes your shoulder.

“What the hell did just happen?”, she whispers, keeping up her façade smile at the same time. You just shake your head, unable to answer because honestly you don’t know. Maybe you did cross a line but at the same time you felt like Seokjin had actually liked it.

The rest of the shift you work on auto-pilot. Your customer smile never fades but inside you feel empty. Even if you had interpreted every sign Seokjin gave you wrong, you felt as if there was a connection between the two of you. How could you be so false about that?

By the end of the day you feel exhausted, looking forward to crying in some of your pillows. Maybe there’s still ice cream left in your refrigerator. A miserable scene starts playing in your head and you quickly shake it off, as you finish cleaning the last counter.

“I’m heading home, okay?”, you exclaim, earning a thumbs up from Nara and a worried look from June. Luckily, she stays silent giving you the space you need right now. With your jacket and bag draped over one arm you leave the store. It’s dark outside but still pretty warm. Only a few people are out, most of them heading home as well now.

Maybe the rejection will hurt less in a few days, you think to yourself. Just as you turn around the corner, someone tall bumps into you. You squeak and jolt backwards when you realize who you just ran into. Seokjin. It had to be him out of all people. A thousand different thoughts cross your mind.

How do you react? What is he doing here? Did he come back to talk to you? Should you be angry at him?

Your stupid heart betrays you by skipping a beat and then starting a race in your chest. Still, it starts to hurt just as much when you hear his voice again.

“Y/N!” He seems to be just as surprised as you are. “Shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Even with a shocked look on his face he’s still gorgeous and you feel like crying again. Avoiding his gaze, you look down and realize that he’s waiting for an answer.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine don’t worry.”

Even a total stranger would notice the shakiness of your voice. You really need to escape this situation. Now.

“Look, I’m okay. I’ll just head home now, so… have a great evening.”

You awkwardly try to shuffle past him but he catches your arm holding you back.

“No, please wait!”

He’s so close now that you can smell his cologne. Something really sweet mixed with soap that makes you want to get closer to him. Instead, you try to free yourself from his grip. You still don’t know why he left earlier and it hurts being near him.

“Let me go please, I need to- “

“Just listen to me, I swear I’ll make it quick!”, he interrupts you.

His voice sounds really desperate which is why you feel yourself slowly nod.

“I owe you an apology for what happened today.” After his first words the scene starts to play in your head again and you slightly stiffen at the memory.

“I’m really sorry that I just left like that. It wasn’t your fault at all, I was just- you know I- shit this is embarrassing.” He sighs, stumbling over his own words.

By now you’re even more confused than before.

“I don’t understand”, you say. “Why did you leave?”

Seokjin runs a hand through his hair. You can see that he’s frustrated but you don’t know why.

“Ah, fuck it”, he mutters under his breath and then looks right into your eyes.

“The first time I came to the store, it was because I lost a bet with my friends”, he admits in a rush. “I felt stupid and embarrassed, but you were so nice and extremely cute so the next time I came, it was because I wanted to see you again.”

The world stops spinning. At least you feel like it does, because you’re suddenly out of air after his confession. He came to see you?

Not noticing any of this, Seokjin continues.

“I know, it may sound really creepy, I realize that, but you seemed to be having a good time as well, so I figured you felt the same?” At this he pushed his fingers through his hair again. It’s an irritating gesture because you know you shouldn’t stare at them like you do right now.

A tiny part of you wishes he would touch you instead.

“One time I almost asked you out, but we got interrupted and I lost my courage, I guess. And when I saw how shocked you were today after what happened, I just thought that I completely misinterpreted everything. I didn’t want you to feel pressured if you really don’t feel the same, that’s why I left. So- yeah, I realize now that I probably acted like an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“You were an idiot, that’s true.”

Seokjin looks startled.

Gaining courage, you openly smile at him.

“I feel the same about you”, you softly say. “Talking to you is so easy, I feel like I could do it all day. I’m sorry I reacted like this back in the store, I just remembered where we were and you’re a customer…I panicked.”

You take a deep breath.

“And when you left, I felt devastated. One moment you’re there and it’s going great and we're touching and the next second you run off. It just hurt…” Your last words are only a whisper escaping your lips.

At some point during your confession, Seokjin decided to take a step closer, now standing only inches away from you and his scent is all around you again.

“So, you liked touching me?”, he asks with a small smirk on his lips. Those beautiful pink lips you want to feel so badly. You quickly nod, heat rushing through your cheeks.

“And Y/N”, he says while moving the last bit closer. “Do you feel like panicking right now?”

“I don’t think so. “

His lips are on yours in an instant. Everything becomes less important to the feeling of Seokjin kissing you. It’s as if the whole world went silent at once just so you won’t get interrupted.

When his thumb starts caressing your cheek, you part your lips, giving him access to your mouth. His tongue plays with your lower lip before licking into you softly. He tastes amazing and you feel yourself getting lost, when he suddenly pulls away.

“This is okay, right?” he asks, panting heavily.

Instead of answering, you pull him in again. This time it’s different though. The first kiss was sweet and new. This one is pure hunger. You feel your skin burn where he touches you on top of your shirt. In return, you let your hands wander beneath his blue sweater, tracing his skin with your fingers. Seokjin growls against your mouth.

He then starts to tilt your head so he can bring his lips to your neck. And boy, he knows what he’s doing. His lips place wet kisses on your sensible skin and when he starts sucking right below your ear, a tiny moan escapes your lips. At this you push lightly against his chest. Again, this is sadly not the right place. You’re still out on a street.

He takes the hint and stops kissing you. His lips look swollen and wet and you have to force yourself not to kiss him again. He opens his mouth, possibly to say anything including some stupid apology, but you quickly take his hand.

“Let’s continue this some place else. Maybe somewhere without an audience?”, you suggest.

Seokjin laughs, visibly relieved and starts pulling you into the direction he originally came from.

His voice seems darker than before. “I live right around the corner, we can go there.”

You hum in approval, not missing the fact that he doesn’t let go of your hand.

On the way to his apartment you keep up a small chat about some of your courses and the work Seokjin does. Still, you can feel the tension in the air between you. On the outside you maintain interested, when all you can think about is his skin against yours.

Finally, you arrive in front of a small building with a blue painted wooden door. Seokjin fumbles with his keys while you can only look at his beautiful hands. You crave his touch and the feeling of being in his arms. The door opens and he pulls you inside. A staircase later you’re in front of the apartment door.

“I do have a roommate, but he’s out of town at the moment”, he explains while unlocking the door. Inside the hall you don’t even get time to look at the furniture before Seokjin pushes you against the wall.

“God, you’re so beautiful”, he whispers right before he kisses you again.

His lips are rough, and you meet them with the same amount of hunger. After all, you missed them since the last touch. You can feel his hands on the back of your thighs when he suddenly lifts you up without missing a beat. His mouth is still working against yours but now you’re just too aware of a certain hardness between your legs that shoots heat through your spine.

You feel yourself getting wet and pray that he won’t notice.

When Seokjin flips his thumb over your hard nipple you can hardly hold back a moan. He searches for permission in your face and upon finding it, pulls your shirt over your head. He’s met with the sight of a mint green bralette hugging your breasts. When he’s teasing you again over the fabric, you’re forced to close your eyes, moaning his name in pleasure.

The next thing you feel is his mouth engulfing your nipple. It’s hot and wet and you automatically arch your back to get closer to the feeling. He swirls his tongue around you, drawing soft noises from your throat.

“Please don’t stop”, you beg while pulling at some soft strands of his hair.

“You’re driving me crazy, Y/N”, he admits. “I can’t wait to feel you.”

“Then don’t”, you simply say, tugging at the hem of his sweater. He complies, pulling it off and you gasp lightly at the sight of his naked torso. Your fingers trail down the lines of his shoulders and your lips connect again, this time it’s sweet and full of anticipation.

You can feel the wall behind you vanish as Seokjin starts walking towards his bedroom, never breaking the kiss. He lays you down on his bed as if you were made of glass and starts taking off your jeans in the same movement.

“Come and sit here, will you?”, he says.

You do as you’re told and when you meet his eyes again, you forget how to breathe. Seokjin is on his knees right in front of you, his black pants hanging loosely on his hips, his dark hair messy from your hands. You don’t even think he looks human anymore.

“Open your legs for me, princess.”

The new nickname makes you shiver, as well as the cold air meeting your wet panties as you comply. The man in front of you uses a long, slender finger to tug your underwear to the side and is rewarded with the sight of your glistening folds.

“You’re so wet princess, is this all for me?”

You moan as a response, unable to form a proper word in your head. No one has ever made you feel like this before.

Seokjin lowers his head and you lose every train of thoughts when you feel his tongue on you.

He licks up a stripe and your legs tremble out of pleasure. He starts sucking on your clit, leaving you a moaning mess, your hands grasping the sheets so you won’t lose balance.

Your breath hitches as Seokjin introduces a single digit to your entrance. His other hand is still holding you in place, while he works you up simultaneously with his tongue and finger. He starts pumping in and out faster, hitting your soft walls with every push. You’re on the edge, all you can think of is more, more.

“P-Please”, you say, breathing heavily. “I want to feel your cock inside of me. I need you. Now.”

He looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

“You think you can take me, princess?”, he asks while getting up.

You nod a bit nervous at the sight of Seokjin taking off his pants and boxers at once. He’s way bigger than you had imagined. Like the rest of his body even his cock looks perfectly shaped, his tip already wet with a few drops of precum. You bite your bottom lip, can’t help but stare at him in awe. It’s the first time you see him completely naked and you try to take everything in at the same time.

Seokjin starts to crawl above you, keeping eye contact while you shuffle back until you hit the bedside. He pulls you down again by your legs, bringing his lips to your ear.

“I keet imagining this moment since the first time we met. Your hands all over me, while I pound you into the mattress until you scream my name”, he whispers.

Your answer is a kiss. On his lips you can taste yourself, mixed with the same impatience you feel building up inside of you. You reach down, slipping a finger over the head of his cock, bringing it back up to your mouth. Seokjin looks like he’s about to choke. Next thing you know, your panties are abandoned and he’s rolling a condom on himself that just appeared out of nowhere.

“Look at me while I fill you up so good”, he demands as he positions himself at your entrance. You both sigh at the feeling of him entering you inch by inch. He pauses when he’s completely inside of you.

“How can you be so tight? Your little pussy was made for me, right princess?”

You feel your cheeks get red, but there is no time to be ashamed of anything.

When he starts moving, you can feel how big he really is with every push. Seokjin flips at your nipple again before his mouth is on yours again and your soft moans get mixed with needy whines. His left hand is stroking your curves, coming to a halt at your hip, to keep you in place while he starts to go deeper.

His lips find your neck and you mewl loudly when he bites down on it. The next second the short pain is gone as he licks over the hickey he just created.

All of the sudden, he lowers his pace and you feel him even more, stretching you out deliciously. With a small movement, he starts to hit you at a specific angle, still going slow and making you feel him all the way.

He presses light kisses behind your ear, whispering “You’re fucking gorgeous Y/N”.

And then you feel his hand between your legs.

Seokjin stops kissing you to look at your face as he starts stimulating your clit with his fingers while moving faster again. You moan uncontrollably at the pleasure that takes over you.

“P-Please!”, you choke out.

“What is it princess? You need to use your words. Tell me what you need.”

His hot breath is on your face. Never in your life has anyone made you feel so precious and vulnerable at the same time.

“Please, S-Seokjin! Make me cum, I need you!”, you whine, while he proceeds to push you to the edge with every hard plunge of his cock.

“Say my name again, princess, I’ll make you feel so good!” His clenched teeth tell you that he’s not far from coming himself. His fingers and the feeling of him bouncing in and out of you almost make you faint.

“Seokjin!”, you cry out and your world shatters as the orgasm rips through you. A few pushes after, you feel Seokjin spill himself into the condom.

You’re both painting heavily when he rolls off of you and you feel his gaze from the side.

You turn your head, giving him a soft smile and the look, he rewards you with, makes your face heat up again.

“I think that was the best sex I ever had”, you admit sheepishly, holding your breath for a few seconds before releasing it again.

Seokjin smiles his angelic smile and brushes a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear.

“Me too.”

For a moment you both remain silent. Then he clears his throat.

“I hope this isn’t too late, but I really meant what I said before. Will you go out with me Y/N?”

“Yes”, you say wholeheartedly. “I would love to. There’s only one last question I have.”

“And that is?”, he asks with a confused look.

“What color did that bathtub have at the end? You know, the one where you put all the bath bombs together?”

“Y/N, I swear to god…”, he says and the rest of the sentence is drowned out by your laughter.

© Bts-Storys, 2021. Do not copy or repost without permission.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading all of it! I'm still working on my smut writing skills, I hope you can see some improvement.