garfcore writings

“Princess 👑🎀✨,” the text message from Edward glows from the corner of your bed, “Would you 😳 grace me 🤲🙇🤲 with your ever-enchanting 😍😍😍 presence 🤗? I’m afraid I…” Even though the remainder of the egregiously written text is cut off, you can guess what he wants from you. Ever since it got out that you’re a habitual night owl— it’s impossible for you to fall asleep early even after an exhausting day— Edward’s taken to turning to you for a wide variety of manual labor-related nighttime tasks. 

Not that you mind, though. Not bothering to respond or even open the message, you pull your shorts back on and put away the homework you had just gotten too bored to focus on. Tonight’s the night, you say to yourself. If he asks, I’m going to do it.

The warmth of Obscuary’s dorm tingles at your chilled skin, goosebumps covering you despite your jacket’s best attempt at combating the forest’s gloomy weather. No one greets you, which means Lyca’s probably asleep and Rui’s still at his bar. Your footsteps sink soundlessly into the velvet carpet lining the stairs.

Hoping to catch him off guard, you swing open Edward’s door without knocking. The room is in its usual disarray– clothes piling the floor, trash stashed onto most surfaces. Despite the disturbed (and stained) sheets, however, the bed’s usual occupant is nowhere to be found. 

“Over here.” You flinch at the proximity of the voice, turning to see Edward leaning against the other side of the door.

He lowers his lashes at you, every movement as vapidly seductive as always. “Did I scare you, little human?”

“What do you think?” You perch on a clean corner of his bed, immediately giving up at whatever game he’s playing with you. “Anyway, why did you call me over?”

Edward breathes an exclamation, pawing dramatically at his chest as he collapses into the space next to you. His eyebrows clench together in pain. “How cruel! To think my sweet songbird didn’t even read my message.” You watch on in silence, lips twitching in amusement at the charade. 

He catches your stoic facade faltering out of the corner of his eye and begins to cough. “It does no good to play with an old man’s heart. I’m not sure how much longer mine will last…”

"…"

“…I wanted to see how you’ve been holding up.” He finally explains.

“Oh.” Well, that’s not too incredulous. “It’s not looking too good, is it.” Based on what you’ve seen of Darkwick’s power, you’ve long since given up assuming you’ll be saved. At least, saved in a way that keeps you human.

Edward looks down at you gently, his thigh pressed against yours. “Foolish humans. They don’t know what to do with such an innocent little flower.”

“Yep,” you fidget with your hands, a small gesture of uneasiness betraying your nonchalant attitude. “I’ve been focusing more on preparing to die than, um, preparing to live.”

There’s a coyish tilt to his head. “Preparing to die? How so?”

“Like, coming to terms with it. Making sure I have no regrets; I’d rather not become one of the ghosts haunting this place.” 

Talking with Edward too long has the same effect on you as getting buzzed. Some sort of vampiric aura (charm? poison?) seeping through your skin, dilating blood vessels and removing the filter from your words. Even with your clouded judgement, it takes the bravery of a dying woman to get your next sentence out.

“And I’m still a virgin, too.”

It’s hard to tell whether Edward’s mood changes or if you’ve just become hyper aware of everything. He lets out an amused noise. “Are you asking for a favor? What a wicked girl.”

You can’t help but pout, always feeling indignant when he calls you that but especially so now that your face is already red. “Don’t act like it’s a chore when you’ve practically begged for it for months.”

“Ah, but how am I supposed to feel about being used like this, as if I’m some sex toy you ordered online? You should ask one of those other humans you hang around with, I doubt they’d see through your intentions.”

“To be honest…” your voice shakes despite yourself, and you have to fully turn away from Edward to admit what you’ve never felt comfortable sharing. “I’m like, hypersensitive. To all touch, not just,” you gesture instead of conjuring an appropriate phrase. “It makes intimacy really scary, so I don’t think I trust any of the other ghouls to be, um, skilled enough.”

He listens to you thoughtfully, as if you’re reading a story to him. There’s no doubt he can hear your blood jackhammering under your skin, smell the complex mixture of adrenaline laced in your sweat. “I see; you’re quite clever, young boys with too much strength do have a tendency to break their toys.” His arm wraps around yours, sliding across the skin of your forearm to settle a smooth palm beside your wrist.

“But you’ll have to tell me what you want,” he says in a deep, smooth tone.

You take a deep breath, Edward’s jaw clouding the corner of your vision. “I…”

No, dirty talk’s never been your thing. You move to get up. 

“I think I’d rather go home, actually.”

But Edward rises with you, his legs matching the speed at which you stand. “Little human,” he lightly rests his chin on your shoulder while he talks, gentle as if tutoring a troubled child, “I can’t do anything to you if I don’t know where to stop.” 

The logic behind that sentence grounds you somewhat, helps you cull the panic attack that was slowly rising from the shore. Deep inside you feel surprised that Edward stands quietly beside you, waiting for you to gather yourself. But you know the reason– he’s a slut, it’s just the way he survives.

“Okay, then I want you to take my virginity,” you say as you look down at your feet.

He sighs. “Good enough, I suppose. Come here.”

Although already partially intertwined, Edward guides your arms to wrap around him, your face fortunately buried in his jacket where your embarrassment can stay hidden. Despite all of Rui’s loud complaints that Edward creeps too close to you, you’ve never actually gotten so close that you can smell him, the faint remains of soap and skin. You’ve never felt his hand draw circles on your back; firm yet undemanding touch. It does a good job of easing the tension eternally gnawing at your muscles.

He can feel it too, the moment that your posture loosens. It's the perfect opportunity for him to move aside the hair on your neck, exposing the roots. When he kisses at your nape a violent shiver rakes through your body. A low "mmph" escapes your lips.

"I see," he murmurs into the collar of your sleep shirt. "You really are as fragile as they come."

"Yeah, thanks…"

You're each sitting up straight now, Edward observing your face with a faraway smile. "Typical of you to not only fail to recognize your merits, but to mistake them as flaws." As he talks his fingers mindlessly work towards your waistband. Miraculously dexterous for someone who claims to be unable to put their own socks on every morning. "What a gift it must be, to feel so naturally what many spend lifetimes searching for."

Cool fingertips finally dip beneath your underwear. It's strange just how much it feels like any other touch. Lingering at the base of your groin, he pulls down your bottoms inch by inch until you have to shuffle to finish taking them off.

With every action he takes your heartbeat races full of adrenaline. You feel as if you have no idea how to move things along on your own, so you follow after him like a nervous puppy desperate to be included. In this state of mind, you absolutely fucking hate what he tells you to do:

"Show me how you touch yourself."

A mix of annoyance and embarrassment snaps your thighs together. You try to come up with an excuse, some sort of reason that justifies your inability to masturbate in front of him. But you understand why he's asking, and its not just because he's lazy.

"You better not nod off while you're supposed to watch," you say as you roll into your usual position. Then you shift again, remembering that you have to show.

You tease at your folds, pulling and pinching at the delicate skin. Simple, humping-your-pillow friction's always been your favorite, more so than the vibrator you tried once or even the shower head trick your old friend swears by. Edward's gaze makes your blood pulse heavier in your fingers until they seem to throb inside of you. Gently, you prod at the nerve endings resting just inside your walls, feeling the steady gush of lubricant make its way down your palm. A red flash of tongue slips through his lips.

"May I?" He asks, already reaching for your wrist. Neediness, something you thought you saw the vampire display often but have never truly seen before now, shows on his face— for a moment you could've mistaken him as boyish— as he opens his mouth to suck the slick from your hand. Drool, fangs, warmth; he's so meticulous in tasting your skin that you temporarily zone out to think of that old "humans lick too" creepypasta. Is it possible that that's a real anomaly too? You'll have to ask—

"OW!" Your whole body flinches at the sharp pain slamming down across your index finger. Did he seriously just bite you? Scowling, you jerk your hand away to inspect the teeth marks, but there's no blood.

"No biting? What a shame for our little werewolf." He lays flat on the bed, head fitting into the dent in his pillow. "Here, this position's better for my back."

You question him, but a beckoning motion prompts you to kneel over his face. Holding onto your legs on either side of his head he lingers at the flesh of your outer thigh, encouraging you to sink yourself onto him.

Again, his tongue darts out to meet you. You stiffen immediately at the foreign presence in spite of your best efforts to relax. Part of it's the position… you focus your gaze on the wall in front of you instead of the two large, red eyes below. As soon as he licks in between your lips he moans loudly, unabashedly sighing at your taste. You've never heard the lackadaisical vampire sound anything close to that before, and your body immediately responds. He wastes no time entering your hole, sharp wet noises catching you by surprise as the firm muscle spreads you open.

"Mm," you whimper quietly. Edward's tongue fucks you easily, already sending you close to the edge with a only few pulses against one particular bundle of nerves. He moves a hand inwards to the front of your groin, pulling the skin above your clit taut. You cum with a shudder. Waves of tension grab at the unfamiliar object inside of you, silently pleading for more even as his hands and mouth continue moving.

"Barely enough time to whet my appetite." He pulls his face away to speak, filling you with two of his fingers instead. He curls them into the same spot as before and it's hard to tell whether you cum again or are still feeling the rough aftershocks. "Forgive me for needing more," he says before licking a long stripe along your underside, catching your arousal like it's melting ice cream.

You gasp for air. "Fuck." Squirming, you try to back away from Edward's attack on your senses. "Pervert; I'd rather just give you a blood sample." He holds you in place tighter with a laugh that shakes through your body. Strangely, you'd forgotten how close he was to you.

Unfortunately Edward doesn't seem to care about your offer. Instead his tongue continues its objective, squishing around your insides as he gazes up at you with clouded, half-lidded eyes. Your legs start to feel so unsteady that you resort to leaning against the (strangely sticky) headboard. All the energy in your body pools in your core, your head filling with static the more his nose presses into your heat. I might die of a heart attack before I cum again.

Before either of those things can happen, though, you're released from your seat as Edward pushes himself upright. You brace yourself as you sit eye-to-eye with the flushed vampire, his breath almost as labored as your own. Without thinking you reach up to fix his dishevelled hair, a part of you still shocked even now that he sweats and blinks and looks at you with emotion just like anyone else would. He mirrors the motion with tender fingertips combing your scalp. Maybe something snapped in you after being so overstimulated, because you lean into his touch with a noiseless sigh.

"…Thank you. For indulging me," you say.

He looks at you with amusement. "Were we done? I wasn't aware."

Your eyes widen. The fuzzy tingling across your scalp and between your legs throbs. "I guess not. I just thought that was plenty?"

"We have an agreement." As he talks, you find yourself being laid down on your back, the pillow you were previously kneeling under now sliding under your hips. "You're such a tightly wound little thing, it took you so long to loosen up for me."

Your heart beats differently as you look up at him instead of down, pulse jumping in your throat in a way that makes you feel unwell. Of course, his cock is now out as well, jumping from his pants with such ease it seems natural to your eyes. Last-minute panic fights the already dizzying chemicals numbing your head and you spread your legs to invite him closer.

"Also, you shouldn't thank a vampire for sex." You raise your eyebrows at the sudden advice. He grabs each of your hands with his and weaves his fingers through yours, gentlemanly pinning you down. "Although I'll gladly let you think I have good intentions."

The tip of his head nestles into your hole. He briefly makes eye contact with you as you watch him stare at the contact. It's not so much pressure, but a fear of your skin ripping instead of stretching that builds the further he pushes in. Squeezing his hands perhaps tighter than you realize until finally the thickest part of him is nestled inside. You focus back on his face.

"That's the worst of it, right?" You ask.

He smiles. "I wouldn't know."

"Really? You've never bottomed, not even once??"

"Hm, people often use that word in chat, but I'm unsure what it's referring to." As the two of you were talking, Edward slowly must've been thrusting into you, because you now feel more of him both in and around you. He lets go of one of your hands, sliding under your shirt and resting a palm over your lower abdomen.

It pisses you off when he plays dumb to tease you, but you don't find yourself mad this time. Not when he starts massaging the spot where his dick meets your stomach. The rhythmic, rolling motions make it feel like he's fucking you from the outside, simultaneously pleasuring you both while further loosening your knotted-up muscles.

"I could spend all night mapping out your erogenous zones." His voice is as feathery as his touch as he lifts his hand along your inner elbow. Finding your vein elicits a shiver; he lingers there. "Imagine all the entertaining ways you can fall apart."

"You feel really good," is all you say in response.

He laughs, softly. The muscles in your stomach are about ready to snap when he finally begins moving his hips. Slow, even movements, his dick filling you like the rise and fall of ocean waves. You're not sure where to look; closing your eyes seems stupid, but the euphoric flush framing his eyes as he looks down at you is too perverted for you to handle. He easily touches places inside you that your fingers never quite reach, forcing another orgasm out of you with a broken sigh.

Again you feel thankful for choosing Edward. His pace remains languid, savoring the simple rush of skin against skin without overloading your senses. In fact, you might be feeling more than you've ever felt in your life— for a minute you swear you can feel him through every inch of your body.

Leaning in, his breath burns your ear. "Where do you want me?"

You had thought about it beforehand. There's no need for a dying woman to worry about getting pregnant, your curse is probably too strong by now for that to even be possible. In response, you lift your legs to trap him against you. "Here," you say.

You don't realize he's started cumming until something thick starts spilling out of you. He hums happily, thrusting into you several more times before pulling out. When he does, he takes a finger to your folds and cleans his semen from you. To your surprise, he holds out the sticky hand in offering.

"I'd assume you'd like to try this, too?" He asks.

Head still hazy, you carefully dip your tongue in the sticky glob before it drips from his finger. It's saltier than you expected, but otherwise bland. Almost too bland, like dust.

He blinks at you, confused and smiling. "Now that's interesting," he says over your struggling to catch your breath. "I didn't know you could laugh so hard."

“Enjoying your night?” You say with a neutral tone, still unsure whether he was genuinely upset or has a resting bitch face.

He smiles with all of his face muscles. “Of course, I’m the king of having fun!” You can’t help but snicker again. “Sorry if you told me earlier, but what’s your name again?”

You tell him as you shift your grip on your purse; your hands are always sweaty at these places. He watches the movement, repeating your name back at you.

“You’re just in time,” he says. “I was about to throw an after-party alone, but now I have a guest~”

“Huh?” But before you can generate an excuse to get away from the clearly unhinged man in front of you, he steps forward and reaches— almost timidly— for your free hand.

Madara holds your fingers in both of his hands, raising them up to his face as he stares into your eyes. “Please be my princess for tonight? I promise that’s all I’ll ask.”

Thinking back to the ceremony, Madara didn’t win the huge award he was nominated for. He doesn’t seem like the sort who cares about that stuff, but maybe he really does just want to blow off some steam.

“Where to?” You ask.

His smile deepens, turning mischievous. “Dunno!” He says as he takes off on a jog, pulling you along. Your shoes clack loudly in the empty entryway as you’re forced to keep up. “Are you hungry? I could go for some ramen.”

The air outside is dry and cold, an incredible relief to the slight headache you’d been battling for the past hour. Madara walks you to the end of the block before finally letting go of your hand. “There’s a place nearby with really good shio…”

“Really?!” He laughs boisterously, a little too loud for the time of day and you subtly look around to see if anyone seems bothered. “Lead the way, then!”

It’s difficult to name exactly why you find talking with Madara so easy. Maybe it’s that you each take the other’s energy at face value, neither probing for more context nor dismissing what’s given. Or maybe Madara talks easily with everyone; a more likely answer considering how naturally he makes small talk with the owner of the shop. Two years now you’ve been a customer here, and you hadn’t known the man’s name until now. 

Despite not drinking at the event, both of you order beers after your meal. He asks you why you entered this line of work while you take a long sip. You take your time setting down the glass, considering how you want to phrase your answer.

“I suppose I hate the version of myself that chose anything else,” you say.

He tilts his head at that, smiling. “So it’s pretty important to you, huh?”

“Everything you do is important,” you implore. “When life is so fleeting, even the sound you pick for your alarm clock matters immensely. So I decided a long time ago that I’d force myself to only do the things I really want to do.”

“Ah,” the sleek fabric of his suit jacket creaks every time he bends his elbows, “so I didn’t pressure you into coming with me after all.”

“Well, you did.” 

You burst out laughing, enjoying the opportunity to tease him. “But this makes me a lot happier than just going to bed early, so that’s why I let myself get pressured.”

There’s a pause in the conversation as he smiles, finally shaking his head with a chuckle. “There’s nothing I can even say to that, I’m just glad you feel that way.”

A lot of idols are likely incredibly insecure, you ponder to yourself. Which is a bit of a shame, because in any other world the young man that stands next to you as you wait for your taxi would be undeniably successful, practically a king.

“I think you should’ve won tonight.” your fingers start to numb from the cold, but you love the atmosphere of the quiet darkness too much to complain.

“Hm? But I did win something,” he says as he glances up at the cloudy sky. 

Your eyes roll over to him just as a pair of headlights slows down on your side of the road. “I only agreed to one night, you know. I’m not planning on being your friend.”

“Princess,” he corrects you. You ignore him as you walk up to the taxi, even as he follows your line of sight to open the door for you. “And the most important thing to know about me is I’ll always lie to get my way!”

“Stay safe out there.”

“You too.”

☆☆☆

True to his word— or more accurately, lack of word— you find Marada waiting in front of your office after work around a month later. It’s not very surprising considering your job is about all he knew about you, and you’d had a feeling he would contact you again somehow. Regardless, you stiffen when you recognize the figure leaning against a motorcycle seconds before he spots you walking out the door. When he grins his features take on a fox-like quality, like the ones painted on summer festival masks.

“Long time no see!” He greets you like an old friend, and you have to admit— he looks exactly how you remembered, despite only meeting once.

“Here for work?” You ask, but a side glance to the second helmet resting on the bike behind him causes sweat to form on your back.

Madara follows your gaze, “Not exactly,” he offers you the helmet, “I was told I need to learn more about treating women right, and as you might imagine from hearing that, I don’t know many women who could help me with that.”

Holding onto the helmet with both hands, you subconsciously squeeze to marvel at how solid the layers of foam and resin are. “That’s…” you almost say funny but change your mind. “Sad.”

“Isn’t it?” He watches as you continue exploring the helmet with your hands, prodding and patting the various components. “Never ridden a motorcycle? If it scares you, we don’t have to use it. I can park it properly somewhere…”

“It’s fine. I’ve always liked the idea of driving one, I just don’t want to crash. If I get to sit in the back, though, I don’t have to worry about it.” When you put on the helmet you get the unstoppable urge to punch your head, the sensation strangely both restrictive and provocative. He giggles, leaning down to conk his helmeted forehead against yours. The sound muffles around your ears.

You've never seen the sunset like this before, furious orange melting the city skyline as the stiff, smoggy highway air whips around you. Riding on a motorcycle means the g-force of every movement keeps you tense and alert. At one point Madara stops abruptly and you instinctively push on his back for balance, still ending up banging your helmet against his. "Sorry, sorry!" You yell over the roaring engine, re-adjusting cautiously in fear of the skin-searing exhaust pipe you were warned about. His back— you only just realized how much larger it is than yours — shakes with laughter.

It doesn't take very long to reach your destination, the streetlights flicking on as Madara helps you to your feet. You've parked along a shopping district mostly filled with tech stores and other "geeky" wares. He leads you towards a manga shop and you recall chatting about various serieses with him.

"Okay, I can see how you could be a bit much for people, especially women," you say with a small smile.

He looks down at you with a furrow in his brow. "Is it the motorcycle ride or the store?"

"The fact that you're aware of both issues and did them anyway is probably the real problem." The thick scent of paper and ink fills your head as you step into the shop, and you're pleasantly greeted with a display stand of your favorite on-going series. You resist the urge to squeal. "Yes! They have the new volume."

Madara looks at the cover as you show it to him, picking up a copy as well. "Something this graphic gets you excited?" You choose not to respond, focusing instead on the special bonus artwork at the back of the tankobon. He huffs, shaking his head despite tucking the book under his arm as you move on.

Deeper into the many aisles of shonen you remember something you wanted to say. "I don't think it's about treating women better," you speak to the densly packed shelves, "as much as it's about learning to pick out people on your wavelength. If you don't click with someone, then there's no use bending yourself out of shape to try and force it."

"But what if I want to?" He runs his thumb over each spine as he reads it.

"You'll hate yourself for no reason, I guess?"

"Sounds perfect!"

You side-eye the man, but the bitter sarcasm comes so naturally that his face maintains an easy, placid smile.

He moves closer to you with the skills of a Cheshire Cat, looking at your face from over your shoulder by the time your attention focuses on him again.

"What?" You ask.

"Nothing~" You stand still, silently pressuring him into continuing. "It's about time I take you home, yeah?"

Checking the time on your phone creates distance from him. It's almost 8. "Not even getting dinner?"

"I have some late-night work to do." The muscles of his face falter despite his usual lilting tone. "Don't worry about me, though! I'll make sure to eat plenty of convenience store food when I'm done!"

"Yeesh, good luck. Make sure to dye the grey hairs in the morning, too."

He pats your head as he laughs, causing you to blush in embarrassment in front of the cashier. You hate feeling childish, so you steal his small stack of books and add them to your pile.

"Here; I'll pay for yours too, Mickey."

He blinks. "Mickey?"

"Surely people call you that, right?" A snicker erupts from your nose. "It suits you."

"Heh, you must be the only person on the planet to say that…" he takes the heavy bag of books from you, slugging them into the basket of his motorcycle once you're back outside.