#[ us with a seven hour playlist and still no threads ]

[worthyheir]

Modern / Rock Band AU vibes

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

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

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

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

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

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

word count: 24.2k

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

///

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

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

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

Harry still hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from it, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It felt really nice.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

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

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

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

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

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

I’ll see you there, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

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

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

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

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

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

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

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

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

“Shut up.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

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

“Ask for permission.” 

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

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need interior design advice. 

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

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

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

Genuinely? 

Yup!

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

Alright, shoot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Immature? 

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

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

[ontourhq]

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ* @ONTOURHQ : 𝗪𝗘𝗟𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙿𝙴'𝚂 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗟𝗗 𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗥 !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑛 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒆 !

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄 , the popular rock / indie band composed of six members , has just announced a surprise world tour starting on december 2021 . known for their talented members and well - composed lyrics and melodies , the band has risen to fame since their debut in 2019 and are now very popular across the globe . the band’s inspired by real life bands such as arctic monkeys , the neighbourhood , the 1975 and maneskin , but we’re open to more inspirations ! the group is a semi - appless , small discord roleplay following the lives of a band and their staff during their world tour .

if you have any questions , concerns or suggestions , the inbox is open ! if you want to send your app , please use the submit box . thank you !

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : a semi - appless , small discord roleplay with chill activity , focused on the lives of band members and their staff during a world tour . it is a safe environment & diversity is highly encouraged . we focus on literacy , but one - liners and text threads are completely fine . this is not first come first serve & the admins will go through all apps and pick those we believe fit the group best .

# 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 .

one . basic roleplaying etiquette . muns , muses and faceclaims must be over the age of twenty . no godmodding , bubble rping , ooc drama or discrimination will be tolerated here . since this is a small group , everyone should be welcoming and treat members respectfully . should you have any problems with a particular mun , please message the admins privately .

two . this is a group focused on character development so some sort of literacy is a must . while you don’t have to write five - paragraph replies , paras are encouraged !

three . interest checks will be held weekly to make sure everyone is still interested in the group . you have twenty - four hours to react , otherwise you’ll be removed . if you need a hiatus , please let me know and we won’t remove you from the group !

four . banned faceclaims are those deceased , who do not wish to be roleplayed , anyone below the age of twenty , and problematic faceclaims . if you’re unsure of a fc , google “ fc name + controversy ” . our banned faces include : kardashians / jenners , biebers , kj apa , cole sprouse , camila cabello , ariana grande , ansel elgort , ester exposito , nicola peltz , jack gillinsky , madison beer , dove cameron , cindy kimberly , danielle campbell , joey king , gavin leatherwood & renee rapp . some of these are personal preferences , while others are considered problematic .

five . you may apply for as many roles you wish , but keep in mind we’ll only accept one muse per mun . when selecting the muses for the group , we’ll look into personality , fit with the group and diversity ( ethnicity , body , gender , etc ) . please check all available roles in the app count section below .

six . you may age bend your muse + 4 / - 4 years , as long as they remain over the age of twenty . please do not racebend your muse and cast them according to the faceclaim’s ethnicity / ethnicities .

seven . rumors / secrets around self - harm , suicide or abuse are off limits . if any of our members has other triggers , we’ll add them here .

# 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 .

for the application process , please complete the small app and answer at least two of the questions below in character . if you want , you can add headcanons , pinterest links , spotify playlists , tumblr tags or bios as extras .

( faceclaim , fc age , gender , pronouns ) isn’t that [ FIRST AND LAST NAME ] , one bed trope’s [ ROLE ] ? i’ve heard that they’re [ AGE IN NUMBERS ] years old and they come from [ HOMETOWN ] , is that right ? they look very [ POSITIVE TRAIT ] , but also a little [ NEGATIVE TRAIT ] . rumor has it that [ RUMOR / SECRET ] . i wonder if that’s true ! anyway , i think the concert’s about to start , let’s go ! ( ooc name / alias , age , pronouns , timezone , tumblr username , triggers )

why did you decide to follow your current career path ?

what’s your biggest dream and why ?

where in the world would you like to travel to and why ?

how would you describe yourself ?

do you like music ? what’s your favorite genre and why ?

do you have any hidden talents ? tell us about it .

extras : if you want , you can add any extras to help us feel more of your muse’s personality , background or vibe . this is not mandatory .

# 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 ( 13 / 16 ) .

faceclaims : keeawah , davika hoorne , park junhee , richard harmon , yang hyeji , park chaeyoung, florence pugh , hunter schafer , tripp killpatrick , priscilla quintana , tom holland , tanner buchanan , alexandra savior .

roles : drummer , manager #1 , vocalist , guitarist , bassist , backing vocalist , makeup artist , stylist , makeup artist , photographer , bodyguard .

# 𝐀𝐏𝐏 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ( 00 ) .

vocalist : taken .

guitarist : taken.

bassist : taken .

drummer : taken .

backing vocalist : taken .

manager ( 2 1 spot ) : 1 spot taken .

makeup artist : taken .

hair stylist : -

stylist : taken .

videographer : -

photographer : taken .

bodyguard : -

sound engineer : -

social media / graphic designer : -

chef : taken .

[thatmultifandomhoe]

The Size of a Heart

Pairing: Lee Hoseok (Wonho) and Reader

Word Count: 9,919

Genre: Established Relationship AU - Slice of Life AU - Smut - Angst - Fluff

Overview: Between work and obtaining an MFA, it had been too long since you and   Hoseok had gotten to spend more than a few hours together, let alone be intimate with each other. When he whisks you away for a well-deserved   weekend getaway, just the two of you and no one else, you eagerly jumped  on board, and him. But when you wake up alone left with your thoughts,  unable to escape the insecurities you once put behind you, this weekend  changes your relationship in a way you hadn’t even hoped for.

Warning: Tattooed Wonho, Pierced Wonho, messy kisses, Wonho is a hoe for the reader’s boobs, size kink - body insecurity, body dysmorphia, talk about dieting, talk about starving, talk about binge eating, fasting, self-hatred, self-conscious, use of the term fat in a negative view – explanation of the butterfly project.

A/N: This drabble was perhaps one of the hardest fics I’ve written, and that’s because this story deals with something that I’ve struggled with for many, many years now. With that being said, one of the many things this story deals with is body dysmorphia.

For those who are unaware, body dysmorphia or - Body dysmorphic disorder - is a mental health disorder in which you can't stop thinking about one or more perceived defects or  flaws in your appearance — a flaw that appears minor or can't be seen by  others. I am stating this right now, I have never been diagnosed with body dysmorphic disorder, but I have done many of the things that are mentioned later on in this fic.

This was not an easy story to write because I put in my own experiences with being self-conscious, with hating what I see in the mirror, with seeing an image of myself that isn’t what others see. To be honest, I’ve also left out a lot of the things that I’ve done because of that. There were many moments were I had to stop and walk away from this fic because it was so hard to read the things the MC is going through, and knowing that I did them, that I still do. It’s not easy.

This is just a heads for those who may not be comfortable reading such things. And that’s perfectly understandable. For those of you do decide to read this fic, well, I hope you enjoy. I really do. There are moments that made me laugh, so I promise it’s not all angst lol. I really do.

Master List:

Music Playlist:

Part of the Intimacy Anthology Project

©thatmultifandomhoe 2020. Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

The sky was burning as the sun set for the night, cloaking the city in its familiar darkness. Leaning against the side door, you watched the world blur by from the passenger seat of Hoseok’s car.

Only half an hour earlier did you get a text from him telling you to pack a bag. Somehow, he managed to clear his own schedule, and knowing that you were free as well, he decided that the two of you needed a getaway from reality for a few days, even if it was only to his place. The best of it all, was the promise of spending all day in his bed.

You and Hoseok had only been dating for six months at this point, and while sex with him wasn’t a new thing, this was the first time that you were going to be spending a weekend with him. With all the hours that he put into his tattoo shop, and you working on obtaining your MFA while still working full time as an assistant to a family run law firm, more often than not your schedules didn’t line up. Work and school dictated both your lives, making it near impossible to spend more than a few hours together.

Despite living in the same city, the two of you relied on video chats and messaging apps to stay connected as if it was a long-distance relationship.

Which is why once you had received his text about his plans, you had rushed around the apartment, ignoring the strange looks your roommates gave you as you ran to your room, throwing in clothes from the closet without a second thought and those lacey bra and panties that had been waiting for their moment to shine.

Three nights. Two days. Alone with Hoseok sleeping next to you, was all that you needed and wanted to do. There were no plans whatsoever that involved leaving his bed.

Shifting in the seat, the corners of your mouth lifted when seeing Hoseok glance at you, his eyes lingering on your bare legs as you straightened them out more. He was driving one-handed, the other resting on the console, fingers intertwined with yours as he rhythmically rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Won’t be much longer,” Hoseok said, lifting your tangled hands to kiss the back of yours.

You hummed in agreement, watching the corner of his eyes crinkle as he smiled and chuckled, glancing up at you before focusing back on the road. He had asked for you to be ready to go by seven, that way there wouldn’t be much traffic to deal with.

“You sure you won’t have to work this weekend?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hoseok nodded, kissing your knuckles once more and keeping them against his lips for a few extra moments. “I promise, love. I made sure not to book any sessions.”

Adjusting in his seat, he shifted his knee against the steering wheel, the clicking of the blinkers going off as he pulled into his driveway. Your smile widened as you let go of his hand to gather your purse and backpack, prepared to open the door when the lock sharply echoed in the car. There was no time for you to react because the next thing you knew, fingers were gripping your chin and turning you to face Hoseok. For a split second, his sneaky grin took up the majority of his face before his mouth descended onto yours.

His plush lips were soft against yours, and while he had given you a quick kiss when you had left the apartment, you had been too excited about being with him to be able to properly enjoy it. Now…the bags slipped from your fingers, a dull thud barely registering in your mind as you cradled the back of his head. Briefly you felt him smile, but when you leaned further into him, his hands sliding their way down and around your frame as the kiss deepened.

It had been so long since either of you kissed like this. Usually you settled for soft and sweet, occasionally indulging in his games when he would try to pull you back for a chaste kiss, then another, and then one last one, I promise, until you had to rush to get back to the office or class.

Hoseok tugged on the bottom of your shirt until it was freed from your jeans, eagerly sliding his palms over your back, trailing each bump of your spine and leaving your body shivering with his sudden touch. Threading your fingers through his black hair, you lightly tugged on the locks, his sudden groan shooting you straight in the heart.

“Been too long,” you murmured, shifting in the seat so that you were sitting on your knees in the seat, and for the first time ever, hovering over Hoseok as you leaned back down, hungrily kissing him.

When was the last time the two of you were able to lose yourselves in each other? Without worrying about work and projects getting in the way every single time?

There was no warning from Hoseok except for a squeeze of your hips when you felt yourself becoming airborne for a few brief seconds, finding your new position to be straddling his hips. His hands felt like they were everywhere, lost in the taste of the mint gum he must have chewed earlier to do anything more than moan when his hands slipped into your back pockets to squeeze your ass.

Taking advantage of your open mouth, he slipped his tongue in, grip tightening on your ass as he felt your hips rock against him.

Even with the AC on, the cold air did nothing to cool your body temperature, making the already warm summer day hotter inside the car. Although you knew who to blame for that sudden change.

Your heart was racing as the kissing continued breaching into desperate lust. Your chest was aching from the lack of oxygen, but you refused to give in to such a simple thing like air. In your opinion, this, kissing your boyfriend, was far more important despite how much your lungs were disproving this decision.

It didn’t help that despite being on his lap, space between you and the steering wheel were tight. Needing something to hold on to, you slid your hands up Hoseok’s chest, gripping the sides of his leather. The sudden pull on his jacket had him moving forward, and with your minds preoccupied, neither of you realized the consequence of that action until it was too late.

The horn blared in your ears, jolting the two of you apart at the unwanted noise that only stopped when Hoseok tugged you off the steering wheel and against his chest. For the short moments afterwards, the outside world fell silent, your chest heaving as short gasps escaped from trying to catch your breath. Palms placed firmly on Hoseok’s chest, they moved with him as he tried to regulate his own breathing, and it was there that they shook with his shoulders, his giggles starting out soft and adorable before growing loud.

His laughter was infectious. So much so that you found yourself resting your forehead on his shoulder, cheeks aching from smiling and laughing so harshly. The longer that you sat on his lap, a dull ache settled in your knees, but there was nothing in this world that was going to make you leave his arms, the very ones that were wrapped around you with one of his hands cradling the back of your head. He held you just tight enough to reassure you that he was in fact here and holding you, that this wasn’t just another hopeful dream.

“Are you okay?” He said, his voice light with his giggles.

Nodding, you leaned backwards to look at him, eyes smiling as bright as his smile. “I’m fine,” you reassured, stealing a glance behind you to make sure that you didn’t hit the steering wheel as you shifted on his lap.

 His soft pink lips were darker and his hair was disheveled from your fingers. Reaching you, you gently fixed the messed up looks, missing the way that his laughter turned to only the occasional giggle, his face softening as he gazed at you. Before you could remove your hand, Hoseok was taking it in his, fingers automatically lacing together with yours as he bumped his forehead against yours.

You closed your eyes at the connection, catching the faintest scent of crisp apples attached to his clothing. It was fresh, yet reminded you of his shop at the same time. He must have come straight to your apartment from working on a client.

Inside your chest, your heart didn’t race, instead it slowed down, comfortably beating as his nose softly brushed against yours. As much as you had missed the passion and his kisses, out of everything, it was the simplest of innocent touches, his familiar presence that you craved and missed so dearly. He had a way about himself that was able to turn the mood up to a hundred, and carefully bring it back to normal.

“How about we leave this car,” Hoseok murmured, his palms resting on the small of your back. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather spend our little vacation inside the house.”

As perfect as this moment was, he was right. The ache in your knees had grown along with a minor fear that if the two of you kept this going in the driver’s seat, that you would once again be getting a rude greeting from the car horn.

Lifting your forehead off his, you raised an eyebrow at him. “Anywhere in particular inside?”

The corner of his lips twitched again, bringing back his smile at full force. “Wherever you want to be.”

A scoff left you too easily. Pushing off of him, you undid the lock and with his hands steadying you, got out of the car and headed in the direction of his front door. A summer breeze kissed at your heated body, the leaves from the trees shaking from up above as small lights blinked in and out around the yard like miniature falling stars. It had been awhile since you last saw fireflies. They were childhood memories and nostalgia that had you diverting from the original plan of going inside, content with staying out for a little while longer.

When a pair of arms wrapped around your frame and hands settled on your hips, Hoseok’s head leaning against yours, it was easy to picture this moment happening over and over again every summer. While it was a little shocking how easy it was to imagine, nothing felt more right than this. Maybe not always right in this spot, but by his side was where it felt perfect. Where it felt natural.

Lips nibbling at your neck had your eyes closing, easily leaning against his body as you were brought back to reality.

“Didn’t know you were into public stuff,” Hoseok teased, sucking at a particular spot on your neck that had you gasping. “I’m not sure how my neighbors will feel about that though.”

You swatted at his thigh, feeling his lips curve upwards before he pressed himself completely against your backside, allowing you to feel every inch and curve of his body. Shifting in his embrace, your eyes widened upon feeling something else pressing against your ass. One that brought back more mildly more recent memories and weren’t childhood friendly, saliva building up and forcing you to swallow.

“Maybe…maybe we should go inside.” you suggested, voice barely above a whisper as you tried to remain calm, taking a shaky breath despite wanting nothing else but to continue.

Hoseok hummed against your neck, leaving one last kiss. Straightening up, he winked and tapped your ass, leaving a hand on your lower back to guide you to the house, all as if he wasn’t walking around with an erection or that he had riled you up. Like this was normal for him.

It only took seconds.

Fifteen seconds to get inside his house. Ten seconds to kick your shoes onto the shoe rack he had, and only five seconds for Hoseok to spin you around and bring you close enough for him to kiss. Like in the car, the lust was quickly ignited once more as you tried to keep up with him, wanting to taste and feel more of him. You wanted him, in every which way possible, to the point where it was an overflowing pot, and yet, even then it wouldn’t be enough.

You would never be able to get enough of the man that was Lee Hoseok.

With an ease that still surprised you, Hoseok gripped your waist and picked you up as if you weighed nothing, making you wrap your legs around his hips to bring you closer. Once he had you like he wanted, he secured his arms around you and carried you away all while keeping the kiss going.

He walked with a clear destination and kissed like he was the devil coming to collect his debt, personally bringing you to Hell’s gates where you knew that only his touch would run hotter than its fires.

A chill erupted along your spine as blankets and pillows gently encompassed your body, only then did the kiss break, chest heaving as you tried to look around the room, but when he nibbled on your shoulder it was game over. You moaned, taking a moment to indulge in the feeling before reaching up to push his leather jacket off. He barely removed himself from you to take off his favorite clothing piece, but he tugged it off and only ended up lightly biting your skin, eliciting a gasp from you.

“Sorry love,” Hoseok murmured, kissing that spot oh so gently that it questioned whether or not his lips had actually touched the skin.

“It’s fine,” you chuckled, tilting your head to kiss him once again.

When Hoseok kissed you for the first time it was after your sixth date. At first you had thought it was strange that he would wait so long for a kiss that most people gave out after a second or third date, but he had never been one to rush things, and by taking his time, it had made that first time all that more special. They had been addicting back then, and as he took you to Paris in the comfort of his room, you found yourself never wanting to stop.

Shirts were quickly discarded and you managed to get Hoseok on his back, taking the advantage of straddling his waist to leave your own love bites around his neck, kissing your way down his sternum, feeling each and every shaking breath that he took before hearing his groans.

A black and grey scale of a lion took up the majority of his chest, strands of its mane peaking up onto his shoulders and the base of his neck that always teased you when he wore a shirt. Due to how large the piece was, the mane covered his pecs, practically hiding the silver bars of his nipple piercings. A dare he had gotten back in his younger years. When he told you that story it was always with a smile. Free piercings and jewelry, I just had to prove I had the balls to go through with it.

A deep moan sounded from above when you kissed his nipple, the metallic taste of the piercing lingering on your tongue, his fingers digging into your hips as he tried to grind himself into you. It only succeeded in sending the fire that was boiling straight to your heart, your nails raking down his sides and causing him to flinch at the sensation.

“We can tease the fuck out of each other later,” Hoseok groaned, undoing the button of your shorts with quick movements. “I’ve missed you too much to wait any longer.”

As much as you enjoyed worshiping every curve and groove from his muscles, he was right. Releasing his piercing, you leaned back up to steal a kiss that he readily accepted. His palms trailed up your body, almost wrapping around you as he rolled you on your back and slipping between your lower half.

Breaking the kiss, Hoseok messily kissed down the valley of your breasts, his fingers making quick work of removing the offending shorts off your legs and tossing them to the floor without a care to where they landed. The bra didn’t last much longer. Once your breasts were free, he descended on the left one, sucking and licking the nipple as he fondled the other, forcing a gasp from you as you felt your underwear grow damp.

The blankets were bunched up and shifting towards the edge of the bed, and when he suddenly let go of your breast, the air in the room suddenly too cold as it made contact with the wet mess he left, you let go of the blankets and chose to hold on to his shoulders when he latched on the right nipple. As if not wanting to let it feel left out, he ran his thumb over the saliva he left, spreading it over your boob.

“Hoseok,” you whined, back arching off the pillow.

He hummed around your breast, lips curling up until he released you with a satisfied grin as the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Sorry love,” he murmured, messily kissing you again. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Take off your pants if you’re so sorry,” you said, raising a leg to push at the jeans that clung to his body.

“Gladly.”

Pushing himself up, his black bangs fell in his face as he worked on removing his pants, the belt clattering against itself as it fell to the floor.

Wetting your lips, you watched, unabashedly drinking in the way your boyfriend had built himself up from all the late night and early morning workouts he did at the gym, even occasionally slipping one in during the middle of the day. All his hard work and protein shakes had paid off, even with his odd obsession with eating ramen at random times.

However, as he went to push them down, you quickly leaned forward to trace the black cursive letters that were tattooed near his abs and v-line, right above the band of his jeans. He didn’t have this the last time you two had sex, and there was no memory of him mentioning getting another tattoo.

“Monsta…X?” You read aloud, glancing up at him.

His smile widened but he didn’t speak, settling for only raising a single eyebrow.

Of all the things he could have gotten inked onto his body, this was perhaps the strangest. Usually he only got tattoos that were important to him. The lion on his chest was symbolic to protecting those he loved. His entire upper left arm was a nightlife scene with bright colors of Seoul, South Korea to represent his home country, and underneath that on his forearm was a small bouquet of yellow daffodils that appeared as if the flowers had grown right out of his wrist, they were so realistic.

Everything had a meaning, so what was so important that he had to get those words tattooed? Especially in a spot that made it impossible to not steal a glance at his…

“You named your dick Monsta X?” You gasped; eyes wide as his body shook with his laughter. “Why?”

“Why not?” He giggled, continuing to remove his pants.

Your mouth opened and closed repetitively, but a slow grin overtook your face and you shook your head, just as amused if not even more than Hoseok was. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“I mean…” Tossing his pants away, he winked as he reached over to the nightstand drawer and pulled out a foil, setting it on the bed next to you as he sat on his knees, his thigh muscles stealing your attention briefly when they flexed, the bulge in his briefs almost straining against the fabric. “You always call it that anyway.”

The sudden laugh was ripped from your throat and you hurried to cover your mouth with your palm. If it weren’t for the fact that he was grinning – his eyes met yours for a moment and his smile softened, almost daring to dip into shy territory before he cleared his throat - and you knew that he had a sense of humor, you would have been trying to fix what you said. Besides, it wasn’t like he was wrong either, it had just been the last thing you expected him to say.

“Now that we got that out of the way,” Hoseok said, still amused while lifting your legs together in one hand as he removed your damp panties with the other, tossing them like a basketball towards the door despite your halfhearted protests. He quickly discarded his own pair without a second thought and after rolling on the condom, with no warning whatsoever he tugged on your legs to bring you closer to him and in-between you once more.

Leaning down, he captured your lips in another kiss. This one, unlike the others, was slower, more sensual as he took the time. Despite the heated impromptu make out session in the car, it still felt like forever since the two of you had last been together. Not just intimately, but in the simplest, and loving ways.

When the kiss finally broke, there were a few beats where the world seemed to stop turning as you gazed at each other. Even though it had only been six, glorious, months with Hoseok, the thought of it one day coming to an end was nonexistent. With him, it felt like you were right where you belonged.

He stole another kiss, then a second, but could one even call it stealing when you’re just as eager to kiss him? As the kisses continued, fingers trailed down your hip and thigh, feeling it grip your leg and moving it around his hip before repeating it with the other.

The night was long, but as the sheets twisted in your grip, you knew it was going to be everything and then some.

Shifting against the sheets, you pressed your face further into the warm pillow, the blankets tucked around your body, ensuring that at no point would the chilled air reach you. Not wanting to move around too much, you stretched a hand out to the side, hoping that Hoseok would feel you moving around and pull you close. He always ran warmer than you, even going so far and to tease about you using him as your own personal heater.

Instead, your fingers wrapped around cold sheets.

The difference in temperature had you yanking your hand back to the safety of the warm cocoon you were wrapped up in as you tilted your head. Blinking, you saw that the side where Hoseok should have been, was neatly made up, with only a single wrinkle from when you tried to feel around for him.

“Hoseok?” you said, wondering if he was even still in the house.

He had promised that this weekend was for the two of you with no interference from anyone. Including work and school. Holding the blankets to your chest, you took your sweet time sitting up. The sunlight that was streaming in through the blinds and decently sheer curtains blinded you for a few seconds, forcing you to tilt your head away from the window. Although in only a short time were your shoulders relaxing as the sunlight warmed the bare skin.

Now that you were up, you were able to see that the floor had been cleaned up from last night’s reunion, the clothes that neither of you had gave a damn about where now in the hamper by the bedroom door, and your purse and backpack were sitting on the leather desk chair with a red silk robe folded over the back. It was the exact opposite from the night before. The only exception was the missing Hoseok.

Yawning, you ran a hand through your hair, recalling the way that Hoseok had brushed the locks away from your face to kiss you. The corner of your lips curled upwards, and you had started to lay back down on the bed, the warmth of the blankets coaxing and teasing the possibility of a few more hours of sleep, you spotted a piece of paper on his pillow.

It was folded in half with your name written carefully on it with a heart, bringing a smile to your face before you had even read it.

Morning love, I promise I didn’t sneak off to work while you slept. I told you that nothing work related would interfere with our weekend, and I’m keeping it that way. So you’re probably wondering where the hell I am then. Don’t worry, I just went to the gym nearby for my morning workout. I should be back by noon, unless you’re still asleep by the time I return, then this letter will be pointless.

Either way, I’ll see you soon.

Always,

Your Muscle Bunny.

Despite the fact that he was still gone, a grin appeared and you were pressing your face into the pillow, still holding onto the letter as muffled giggles filled the room. He was never going to let you live that down, but even then, it was so true.

Hoseok was without a doubt jacked up and he took the time to research, spending hours understanding the muscles that he wanted to work on and finding the best exercises to achieve that. Making protein shakes in bulk. There had been many conversations where you’d ask and he’d go on and explain it all to you. At times it made you wonder why he never became a doctor.

But then there were those moments – the rare times the two of you managed to find time together – and he’d be the one tugging you closer for cuddles, sometimes laying on top of you with his head resting on your chest while watching a movie and playing with his hair. When it was hard to find time to meet up for dates, instead of going home to your roommates, you found love letters addressed from him, each one handwritten asking how you were and catching you up on his life. They were personal, each one containing a faint whiff of his cologne, sometimes little mementos that he thought you might enjoy, a slip of poetry or even ones he created himself. Every one you received was carefully placed in a box that you kept on your dresser, more often than not rereading them when all-nighters were the only way to get work done.

He was buff and strong, but at the same time he was soft and didn’t care who knew.

A true muscle bunny.

Rolling over on the bed, you set the note on the nightstand, making a mental note to save it for the memory box when you got back home. The clock had revealed that it was only eleven in the morning as you got out of the bed, quickly nabbing and covering yourself with the robe before going anywhere else.

Without having Hoseok home, the place was quiet as your footsteps papped against the wood floor when you went down the hallway to the bathroom. If he was at the gym then he’d be hightailing it to the shower, unless he wanted to be mean and give a sweaty hug, and you wanted to take advantage of the hot water before he got back. Living with a group of undergrads to try and save money had come with many pros and cons, but the true loss had been the long hot showers you treasured. It was a luxury if you were able to snag fifteen minutes without someone banging on the door.

The fact that he had written out a note instead of sending a text kept the smile floating as the water heated up, your favorite playlist playing loud enough to be heard from down the hall. It was the little things that he did that made you wonder if it was right to tell him those three special words. Since the two of you started dating, it was impossible to imagine yourself with anyone else, and while you didn’t want to jump the wagon and declare that you were ready for marriage, being able to say I love you and hear him tell it back to you, sent butterflies dancing in your stomach.

Reaching in to check the water, you hung the robe on the hook, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. Purple hickeys dotted all over your body, primarily centering around your breasts and neck. Unable to help yourself, you stepped closer to the mirror as you let down your hair, tracing the shape of the marks that he had left out of love last night.

When you thought back on it, he had been so focused on your breasts, his hands remained on either your hips or your face, tilting you constantly so that he could kiss you in whatever position he put you in. But never once had they touched your stomach. Eyes falling to your torso, the lack of any curves had you biting the insides of your mouth, ignoring the dulled pain as you swiped away the fog that had gathered on the mirror.

At least, you thought they had been out of love.

There were no curves. It was just a square. You were just a square. No wonder Hoseok had ignored your stomach last night. He was constantly working out and even with his abs and broad shoulders, his waist still had the slightest curve that was obvious when he wore tight shirts, giving his body the appearance of an upside-down triangle. He put in the time and effort for his muscles and here you were, just a square.

Your workout routine? The most of a workout that you got involved walking on campus to get to each class and then your car for home or work. You couldn’t remember the last time you had carved out a set amount of time to go to the gym or do a home workout. There was barely any time to yourself.

The hot water raining down on you was a momentary distraction from the thoughts swirling around. It only lasted a few short minutes. Like wildfire, they ignited memories and beliefs that you swore you had locked up and burnt to ash years ago. Especially when you have been doing so well recently.

Numbers of a scale rapidly spin each time you stand on it. The black and white numbers playing wheel of fortune as they decide your fate for the night. Did you lose? Or did you gain? The cards were always held by the ringmaster that was the small scale and whether or not they were what you originally wanted; they were never good enough when they were finally dealt out.

It was never enough. Never good enough. You always had to push it and even then, it wasn’t enough. The image you saw in the mirror convinced you to take smaller portions of meals, pushing the hours in-between meals before suddenly cutting off eating after a certain time, because the way your stomach twisted in pain and begged for some sort of substance had you convinced that it was working.

Days. Weeks. You’d be so good at keeping up with it, but there was always a hiccup that sent you plummeting in a spiral. It could be a snack, a small cherry tomato or even a cracker, and the next thing you knew all the containers were on the counter as you shoved whatever you could down your throat without a care in the word. Even then it wouldn’t be enough. It was never enough. You’d be eating, but your stomach would feel like a bottomless pit because you were so hungry. Hungry to the point that you wouldn’t be able to recall what the food you ate tasted like.

Then the scale would be mocking you all over again.

Leaning backwards against the wall, the water from the showerhead made it impossible to distinguish between the tears sliding down your face. You just pressed your lips together, just staring at the floral shower curtain that was hanging up, the shampoo bubbles sitting in your hair as you remained still.

You have been doing so good lately. The past hadn’t even been lingering thought and when Hoseok entered your life, everything just seemed to be falling in place.

Yet here you were, standing in the shower with water that was steaming but you felt nothing, rehashing old thoughts that were crawling their way through any empty space that was available. The tiniest crack of an opening was all they needed to enter uninvited.

He didn’t know about this. Hoseok. You had been so good with eating, no longer cutting back or bingeing that it never crossed your mind to tell him. But as you moved under the water to rinse out the suds, your fingers grazed the hickies he had left in his place. All over your chest and neck. Avoiding your stomach. Your thighs were barely even grazed. Everywhere but your stomach.

He knows, you thought, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, gasps and whimpers filling the bathroom but drowned out by the music as you cried. There was no other way to explain it. He saw what you used to see, what you still see. The square. Nothing more than a body with rolls that hung on you. It was a miracle he was able to still have sex with you last night. How could he be with someone like you when it was so obvious that he put effort into maintaining his own body.

Body on autopilot, your hands went through the motions of washing out your hair and then applying conditioner while your mind detached itself from the mundane task at hand. The idea of him seeing you like this, with no shape at all, what you considered to be a square...no. A square was too nice of a term. You were not a square. A glance through the opening of the curtain let you see your reflection in the mirror, and your eyes watered up once again. Not a square, you thought. A blob. A fat, overweight blob, taking up his time and space.

Twisting your hair, you stared at the locks as water poured out before abruptly shutting it off, fingers gripping the handle that controlled the temperature as you pressed your free palm against the wall. The bathroom was like a sauna. Even after with the water shut off, the room was hotter than hell.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push away those thoughts. They were leeches clinging to the inside of your mind and no matter how much you pulled, they weren't coming off. In a daze you manage to straighten up and get out of the shower, wrap a towel around yourself and hair, all while biting down on the inside of your cheeks in an attempt to push them away. When you looked up however, the smear mark from when you wiped the fog off the mirror was still there, allowing you glimpses at yourself. For a split second you saw bloodshot eyes stared back and purple hickeys staring at you, but you looked down towards the floor to hurry out of the room, unable to push those thoughts and images away.

That’s because it’s you.

That blob is you.

It’s you.

Last night was wonderful. Beautiful. Perfect even. But now all you could think about was how Hoseok had avoided certain areas of you on purpose. That perhaps, he didn’t think you were as beautiful as he thought.

You didn’t recall changing. One second you were entering the bedroom in nothing but a towel and the next when you looked down to grip the fabric tighter, you were dressed in one of his black t-shirts and a pair of panties you had packed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the towel fell from your fingertips and in an attempt to hold on to something, anything to keep you from floating away, you slid them over your face and into your hair, twisting and gripping the locks until there was a hard ache on the side of your scalp.

“Go away,” you softly whispered, tugging a little hard to make those pesky leeches leave you. “Please go away. Please”

They needed to go. Disappear. It didn’t matter if you had to burn them to a crisp and leave behind a permanent scar. You just needed them to go away, because spiraling was not an option. Not again.

The house was silent when Hoseok arrived, his keys jangling together until he closed his fist around them, making him wonder if perhaps you were still asleep. A small smile formed as he quietly toed his shoes off, the first destination in his mind was to go to the bedroom and see if you were there.

Last night, neither of you had gone to sleep, or truly slept, until dawn had begun to peep through the curtains – because apparently the night didn’t last forever like the two of you had thought. A fault that was perhaps all on him and he should have known better. He was supposed to be older, wiser, more experienced, but how people liked to forget that he was still a man only in his twenties. Just…later in them.

But as he neared the bedroom, he remembered full well how you had wrapped your limbs around him, coaxing him back for more, kissing him not only on his lips but in everyplace where his skin wasn’t dotted with purple love marks from you.

Since he wore tank tops to work out in, the marks had certainly left an impression on the guys at the gym, receiving more head nods and grins than usual. The older man at the jewelry store however, had been less impressed. Then again, that could also be because Hoseok had gone straight there after working out, skipping out on his shower to pick up his order before the store closed for the day.

Not exactly the best decision that he’s made in life so far.

Carefully pushing open the bedroom door, his smile softened upon seeing you curled up on the bed. Not wanting to disturb you, he quietly set the box on his nightstand and left the room, going straight for the bathroom to shower.

As much as he would have loved to tease you, you didn’t deserve waking up to him smelling like dried sweat.

However, he frowned upon seeing the floor mats placed on the floor and condensation covering the mirror, droplets of water covering the entire surface of the bathroom. He turned to look down the hall, but he couldn’t hear any movements or your voice calling out his name.

Maybe she was still tired even after showering, Hoseok thought, shrugging it off as he shut the door behind him, hoping you hadn’t used up all the hot water.

Water dripped from his hair as he entered the bedroom, the towel tightly tied around his hips and confirming every single imagination and daydream. A glance over at your body revealed that you hadn’t moved at all in the time that he was gone.

Smirking, he kneeled on the bed, moving until he was behind you, pressing a hand on the mattress in front of you to maintain his balance while he leaned down to kiss your neck.

“Wake up love,” Hoseok murmured, dragging out the kisses as he took his sweet time in trailing them up to your jawline, last night once again reclaiming his mind. It was a joke to even consider that it had left in the first place.

He wasn’t going to lie and say that he hadn’t missed the sex when the two of you were apart more often than not, sex was great, amazing, otherworldly and even more with you. But that wasn’t even number one on his list. More often than not, he missed being able to sling an arm around your shoulders or waist to bring you in for a hug. The way that your fingers would run through his hair when you thought he was asleep, and the way your eyes always lit up when you talked about something that happened in your classes. Or when you would bump his leg with your foot to ask him about a word that was just on the tip of your tongue, but just conveniently out of reach at that second. It was always a simple word, but the way you exaggerated your arm motions while trying to describe it were fascinating to him.

Hoseok missed you.

Feeling you shift underneath him, his lips curled into a smile as he lifted his head, prepared to give you a kiss that you deserved, only for that mindset to suddenly change when he saw your watery eyes.

That was not how you normally woke up.

The last time he had seen you crying after waking up was when you had gotten your period in the middle of night. It had been a week early and the cramps came out of nowhere, leaving him clueless with what to do but willing to do anything to help ease the pain. Which meant a late-night run to the twenty-four hour convenience store, looking at a picture of the brand of pads you used on his phone, along with buying your favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream and the big bottle of Advil.

He already had a heating pad at home for days when he overworked himself and his muscles got sore. Before leaving for the convenience store, he had set it up for you.

“What’s wrong love?” Hoseok asked, shifting so that his weight was on his left hand behind your back, hovering over your body to try and see your face better.

Before he could do it for you, you were quickly wiping your face with the heels of your palms. “Nothing,” you hurried to say, moving to sit up with the mindset of rushing out of the bedroom to make a run for the bathroom, hoping he would believe that it was a simple eyelash in your eye.

But he was too quick for you, his hand gently capturing your wrists and moving them down as he cupped your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Baby, it’s not nothing. What happened while I was gone?”

Sniffling, you shook your head. No. Why would you point out the obvious? He knew what you looked like. He saw. So why was he playing this game with you?

He sighed at your stubbornness, but that didn’t mean he was going to give up. Not caring if he got the blankets and sheets wet, he settled down beside you and slipped an arm underneath your body to roll you over and into his embrace where he securely wrapped his other arm over you. Once you were nestled in, Hoseok rested his chin on top of your head, drawing a lazy shape on your back, patiently waiting for the moment that you found your voice again.

The second Hoseok hugged you, the back of your eyes burned and you tightly squeezed them shut, not wanting to see anything, an old way to tell yourself that if you couldn’t see, then you wouldn’t have to see what was being reflected back at you.

But wrapped up in Hoseok’s arms, with his heart beating like a sweet lullaby, arms strong enough to fight off anyone who tried to hurt you, even he was unable to find and protect you from the leeches that forced you down the path that was littered with the broken glass and bloodstains that was your past.

His heart broke at the sound of your cries echoing in the bedroom, feeling the tears slide down his chest as he rubbed your shaking body. There was nothing he could do or say to make you feel better until he understood what was happening. All he could do was be here to hold you until you were ready.

Time passed by slowly, but at some point, the tears began to dry up, and the gasps for air had calmed down, allowing you to be able to breathe normally again. The only time you had physically moved was to cling to Hoseok, despite not wanting to tell him what was swirling around in your mind, you didn’t want him to leave you.

A blob.

You’re just a fat blob.

Do you really need to eat lunch today?

“Make it stop,” you whimpered, fingers clenching on the pillow behind Hoseok as your fist dug into his back.

His body jerked at the new bump but he ignored that, choosing to focus on what you were saying. You didn’t know it, but the entire time you had been crying, tears had fallen silently down his cheeks as he watched them fall into your hair. He hated seeing you in pain.

“Make what stop love?” He softly asked, moving a hand to be able to stroke your cheek.

“My mind,” you cried, not yelling, but your voice cracked as the emotions swirling inside you forced it to raise. “Please, make it stop. Shut it off, anything, please.  Please, make it stop!”

If the world was to crash down around him, Hoseok knew that it would only take seconds, or even minutes, for it to crash and end him. Six months ago, you had agreed to go on a blind date set up by a friend of yours who had gotten a tattoo done by Hoseok. It had been a spur of the moment, neither of you really searching for anyone, but the thought of being in the company of another person instead of alone had tempted both of you enough to say yes.

Six months ago, you became his entire world and here you were, crashing around him, begging for him to stop whatever it was that was going on in your mind. Something that he had no feasible solution for. If he knew how to fight the demons that only you were able to see, he’d do it in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t, and knowing that, had him feeling like he was failing you in every possible way imaginable.

Gently, Hoseok shifted your body and moved you next to him on the bed, and when you tried to look away, he cupped the side of your face with a tilt in his direction. There was no avoiding in seeing the pools of tears building up and over his eyes.

“Tell me what’s wrong love,” he whispered, stroking your cheek once more. “You’re scaring me, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this.”

God, he was hurting. You hadn’t expected him to react in such a way.

Lie. Tell him you’re fine. He’ll believe it if you believe it.

You’re fine.

Everything’s fine.

Wetting your lips, you repeatedly opened and closed them, feeling like a damned fish unable to breathe and in search of water. Instead of suffocating, you were drowning.

“I…”

An ache built up in your stomach, reminding you that you truly hadn’t eaten anything since last night. Twisting and curling, the sharpness of running on empty was the cold kiss from a toxic lover. Memories of binging on food after midnight cuddled you from behind, weighing you down with iron shackles locked around your stomach.

“I…”

Skip lunch, eat a little bit of dinner so he won’t worry.

Tell him that you’re fine.

“Please love,” Hoseok begged, his fingers smoothing back locks of hair that had begun to fall in your face. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me. You don’t need to carry this by yourself.”

Lie dammit.

“I’m starving,” you whispered, watching his eyebrows pull together, fingers pausing on your skin but you reached up with a shaky hand to cover his, gripping tightly. “It hurts. So much Hoseok, but I don’t want to eat. I tell myself that it’s better if it hurts, but I…I can’t anymore…I can’t.”

The leeches were shrieking in your mind, white tips of a burning fire were touching them and they were dropping to the ground, yet the fire didn’t hurt one bit. For the first time in so long, the shackles of your secret came undone allowing you to step away from the broken path you had set yourself on.

Hoseok had turned his hand to run his thumb across your knuckles, the realization of what you meant hitting him. Eyes watering up, he opened his mouth to speak, only there were no words that felt right. You were hurting so much right now, the last thing he wanted to do was say the wrong thing without meaning to.

But like a dam that had suddenly burst, the words that he couldn’t find, were flooding out of your mouth. “I…I was so good, better than I have been in years, but last night and this morning, it was one thing after another and I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop my mind from going there and it was all I could think about and I…I don’t want to think like that anymore. I don’t wanna be that person anymore.”

“Last night,” Hoseok softly repeated. What had he done the night before, a night that he had thought was so perfect, that was able to nearly cripple you this morning? The idea that he hurt you without even knowing it made him clench down on the inside of his cheeks.

You shook your head, knowing that you weren’t saying it right, implying that it had been his fault when it hadn’t. “While you were gone, I was showering and I…it’s so fucking stupid, but I saw my reflection and your note saying you were at the gym I just, I just started comparing myself to you. You’re always working out, doing what you can to stay fit and it was like years of self-hatred suddenly came back, reminding me of how gross I was, how fat I am and I couldn’t stop it…it was like once it came back it wasn’t going to leave and I – ”

Except you didn’t get to finish. Between the tears once again clogging your throat and Hoseok yanking you back to his chest, his shoulders shaking as he started crying because there was no way in hell he was able to hold it in anymore. The words died off, but you both knew where it was heading.

The fabric of his shirt that you wore wrinkled under his hands, the soft fabric of the towel that he wore grazed your legs. How it hadn’t managed to come undone from all the moving around was a tiny thought that stuck inside your brain.

“Don’t.” Hoseok’s arms tightened around you, almost painfully, but his grip was in only one arm as the mattress dipped underneath your bodies, and the next thing you knew he was pulling you to sit on his lap as he sat up with his back against the headboard. His eyes were rimmed red, cheeks flushed. There wasn’t a time where you recalled being able to compare his eyes to an ocean. Not until now at least.

His chest was heaving as he leaned his head back against the wood with a soft thump, bottom lip trembling while trying to form together something to say. Words. He needed words. “I…you never…not once did you say anything to me.”

“Because I was good when we met,” you cried. “I hadn’t been doing anything, and I’ve been so good this entire time, but this morning it was like…like I was suddenly drowning in it because it’s always been like this, always coming in waves. And I wanted to start it all over again.”

Despite how much it hurt, how hungry it made you, there was that painful satisfaction of seeing the numbers go down on that evil scale. To be able to wear the clothes that you never could before. The way your stomach aches and cries out at one, two in the morning yet you deny it the simplest thing it wanted, because for a period of time, you were the one in charge. You had control over what was happening in your life and it…it was fucking addicting.

“But you’re already so small.”

The tears had slowed down, always slipping down his cheeks faster when he thought of how long you’ve been hurting, and he had never known.

Bottom lip trembling, somehow, you managed the weakest of smiles, voice cracking as you spoke. “I know.”

You always had been, but the reflection you saw in the mirror, never was real. For years you were purging yourself of a you that never once existed.

The person that Hoseok saw when you thought he wasn’t looking, the one who gently swayed to her favorite music, who had a love affair with words and their meanings but more often than not forgot them. The woman he saw who, on their third date hurried him over to the park to watch the fireflies dance in the night sky because they were the only type of bugs that you liked, and the woman who he reached out for when waking up first thing in the morning even if he hadn’t spent the night at your apartment, was not the same one that you saw.

You saw a version of yourself that you hated, so much so that the only way you would be happy with your reflection, was to destroy yourself.

Instead of speaking, Hoseok simply hugged you tightly to him, resting his head against yours as he felt you curl yourself around him. To say that this wasn’t how he had pictured this morning to go was a mild statement, but as he left a gentle kiss on your shoulder, he simply wanted to love you, and show you what it was like to be loved.

Time ticked by slowly, but when Hoseok finally lifted his head off yours, the tears had stopped falling leaving his eyes itchy and dry. He barely glanced at the clock on his nightstand. Instead, his gaze went to the black jewelry box he had set there. With everything that’s happened, he forgot that he had even picked it up.

“It’s – it’s not my place to tell you what to think,” he softly said, reaching over to retrieve the box. He felt you shifting and knew that you were watching him, a glance at you showed the curious frown you wore. “But I think you’re wrong. To me, you’re not gross. You’re not overweight. Ever since that blind date, six months ago, you’re the only woman who I care about.”

Without any ceremony, he held the box out for you to take, gently smiling and nodding when you looked up at him as if to ask if it really was for you.

Carefully, you opened the lid, feeling your heart nearly collapse at the sight of the necklace that delicately laid a bronze gold heart on the white fabric. On the side sat a tiny firefly, and in the center in elegant cursive read, ‘You’re the reason why my heart beats.’

“I love you,” Hoseok finally confessed. Lifting a hand, he brushed the hair back out of your face, his fingers gently grazing your cheek as he did so. “All I want is for you to be happy, love. You mean the world to me, and I want to help you through this. To me, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world and I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, but now that I know that’s not what you see, then I’ll help you. So that one day, you might be able to see what I see. Whenever that may be.”

His image blurred once more. Instead of hiding your face from him, or wanting to get away in general, you reached up to pull him down for a kiss despite the tears. Each one was short and sweet, but like an addiction, you kept going back for just one more.

Even if he didn’t understand it completely, or maybe he did, but he was willing to learn to help, because that wasn’t a life you wanted anymore. You just…you just didn’t know what to do, or how to do it by yourself. Not when those leeches were able to corrupt such an amazing night in seconds.

Hoseok wasn’t one to break away from a kiss but this time, he leaned back to take the necklace from you, undoing the clasp and hooking it on for you. The heart rested right in the middle of your chest. Right where it belonged.

“Now, I know I promised to not bring home any work,” Hoseok said, gently wiping away a few stray tears on your cheek. “But I remember you talking about getting that tattoo done one day. If you want, I can do it for you.”

“I never decided where though.”

His eyes softened. “I heard someone talking about this thing called the butterfly project. The idea is to draw a butterfly in the place where you’d hurt yourself, and by having it there, it’s supposed to help stop those urges. Maybe…maybe we can do something like that.”

The room fell silent.

You had been wanting to get your fireflies tattooed for years now. They were a favorite reminder of a simpler time. When the world was kind and beautiful and not harsh like you had painfully learned it to be. Sitting here with Hoseok, he served as the reminder that despite the hurt, there was always hope nearby. Whether it was from him, the world, or even deep within yourself.

Hope and love had a funny way of coming together in the darkest hours of our lives.

The tattoo gun buzzed loudly in the kitchen.

Hoseok pressed his lips together, eyebrows pulling in concentration as his gloved hands skillfully moved the machine while he began the process of outlining the cluster of fireflies on your thigh. When this was all over, there would be fireflies flying around at dusk on your body forever.

It was something you loved, in a spot that you passionately disliked, but even now you smiled. Because how could you look at something you loved with hatred?

None of this was going to be easy. Gazing at Hoseok, a small smile appeared. Perhaps he felt your gaze on him, but as he lifted the gun to wipe the area, he glanced up at you. A soft smile instantly appeared.

This wasn’t going to suddenly fix things. That was far from the truth. But that was okay because in reality, that was life. There was the good, the bad, and everything in between that got thrown at you.

Life isn’t perfect, but with Hoseok…it felt like it was.

[shockdowndefiance]

1, 7 and 11 for Allison Shepard and her preferred love interest?

Answering from this post here. Not specified which sections so I'm going to do one question from the top 3.

This is for Allison Shepard and Kaidan Alenko

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

In a Systems Alliance base in Jacksonville, FL, where Kaidan and Joker were joking/veering on mocking who their new XO would be, when Kaidan notices a Staff Lieutenant* in fatigues and with a sea bag over her shoulder. He doesn't think much of it - this is an Alliance base (one of the busiest on Earth, up there with Vancouver, Shanghai etc.) and being his polite self he asks her if he can help her with anything.

Allison doesn't say anything for a moment, eyeing him up, then Joker, then the ship, then back to Kaidan. As soon as she starts to speak all the pieces fall into place and he instantly recognises her the moment she says "Staff Lieutenant Allison Shepard. I believe I'm your XO."

* Yeah I got fed up with the ranks as they are in game/canon, so I made my own system. Shepard is a Staff Lieutenant, Kaidan is a Lieutenant, Ashley is a Gunnery Sergeant as of ME1

GENERAL

7. Who takes the lead in social situations?

Allison. No question about it. It's not that she's necessarily the more forward or outgoing of the two, but being a War Hero (and before that, daughter of a First Contact War veteran) she's more than used to plastering on a smile, making casual small-talk, and lending an ear to someone for one task or another, but always making sure to never promise anything completely.

As of ME1 Allison's been in the limelight for near-on seven years, received invites to multiple high class events (and when a tour of hers accidentally or accidentally overlaps, oh I'm so sorry I would have loved to come but duty calls) and is basically the Alliance's biotic, N7, and later Spectre poster child.

Kaidan is definitely the more withdrawn of the two, though he opens up enough around close friends and maybe a little alcohol in the mix. When he and Allison are out about their relationship, I imagine that he is quite affectionate in parties, always wanting to be by her and touching in some way (hand on elbow, holding hands, knees touching).

LOVE

11. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

Hoo boy. I have a playlist of 88 songs, totaling almost 6hrs. This does cover the entirety of Allison Shepard's story up to (and a bit beyond the Reaper War) so not all of them are romantically linked. Of the ones that are, these are my favourite/tell the story in the best way:

Mass Effect 1:

Florence + The Machine - Cosmic Love - more for the melody and the title than the lyrics themselves. Allison is a Spacer, so there's a bit of romanticism around stars, the galaxy etc. around their relationship.

Sixx A.M. - Starts (Explicit Lyrics) - "Do you wanna go to heaven tonight...Do you wanna be my lover tonight...Do you want to see the stars before they fall". The romance scene between Shepard and Kaidan on the way to Ilos. Again a cosmic-linked song but the moment I heard this it became the Shenko song for me. Remember this one

Black Stone Cherry - Remember Me & Johnny Cash - Hurt - "Today was a hard day, I still can't believe that all of this is true...When I am gone, will you stay strong, don't cry, this is not a dream. When heaven calls, and stars they fall, believe, will you remember me?" & "What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know, goes away in the end"

AKA the ooof ow my heart songs. Needless to say this is after the destruction of the Normandy SR-1, both from Kaidan's viewpoint. The relationship between the two of them wasn't expressed, so while Allison's family can grieve and mourn in public, Kaidan cannot - and even to a point where he can't be that upset over his CO, can he?

Mass Effect 2:

Shinedown - If Only You Knew - "If you only knew, I'm hanging by a thread, the web I spin for you. If you only knew, I'd sacrifice my beating heart before I'd lose you." This is Allison post-Horizon, when things are heavy. She's pulled her head above water somewhat, but Horizon pulls her back down.

Shinedown - Through The Ghost - "Speak of the devil, look who just walked into the room, the guilted and faded notion of someone I once knew. All the perfect moments are gone, all the precious pieces are wrong." This was originally an ME3 song (Vancouver) but story-wise this now places at the end of ME2, when Allison is heading off to Aratoht. Hackett sends along Kaidan and this echoes her feelings when she sees him.

Mass Effect 3:

Sixx A.M. - Stars (Cinematic) - I told you to remember this one. In any official soundtrack this would be a reprise, the same song but in a more mournful way. Allison and Kaidan are now officially together, and while the spark of what was back on the ME1 is still there, the galaxy being at risk puts a damper on their ability to take time and enjoy being with each other.

Florence + The Machine - Bedroom Hymns - pure romance scenes song. Nothing else to add. Smutty lyrics.

Conchita Wurst - Heroes - "So let the walls come down and the colours light up the sky. We could be heroes, we could be heroes, tonight. Where the hearts break loose and love is like a battlecry, we could be heroes, we could be heroes, tonight".

This one takes a bit of explanation. On the approach to Earth for the final assault, in the small hours of the morning, a thought pops into Kaidan's head. He turns to Allison and simply says "Let's get married." Allison half-laughs but goes "Sure. When?" and 30mins later they're in the shuttle bay, wedding officiated by Joker.

This song (or at least the chorus) is what I imagine whenever I think of that scene. Allison and Kaidan do quick vows, exchange simple fabricated rings, and prepare for the assault. Their wedding day, not that they know it at the time, is also the day the Reaper War ends.

And Beyond...

Black Stone Cherry - Sometimes - "Couldn't we pretend that I'm fine, and this ain't my life. It's not the way it ends for me. Couldn't we pretend, you're not gone, you're still here, it's not true. It's not the way it ends for you.". I spent so long swapping this and Remember Me (in the ME1 section) around and I think I am happy with their placement.

The Reaper War is over. Casualties are many. Allison Shepard is in the hospital, in a medically induced coma, with multiple injuries. The Normandy and her human crew are reported as MIA with no one knowing their status.

This song is, in my mind, a duet sung between Allison and Kaidan, Allison on Earth and Kaidan who-knows-where in the galaxy. They both believe the other dead, and this is them both wishing that this is not the case, that maybe the other can find a way back to them.

In short, another ooof ow my heart song

Skylar Grey - I'm Coming Home Pt. II - I'm sure this is on a lot of people's lists. The Normandy systems are functioning, they're going to make it to Earth, and Kaidan finally gets in contact with the Alliance in London. He discusses what happens with the brass, and turns his head and hides a sigh when yet another higher up is introduced to him.

"Alenko. Good to see you again."

"Allison?!" His eyes snap back front and centre. She's alive, standing in front of him in the QEC. It's a hologram, but it's her. She's alive, on Earth. They made it. Both of them.

And the blood will dry Underneath my nails And the wind will rise up To fill my sails So you can down and you can hate But i know no matter what it takes I'm coming home, I'm coming home Tell the world that I'm coming home

❤️

[jonah-aesthetic]

That One Pt.3 I Jonah Marais

Jonah Marais X Reader / Ivette X Daniel Seavey

Plot: Jonah kidnaps the reader into showing her who he is. They’re something like friends as she faces the deal her dad gives her to change her career path. Ivette couldn’t be more supportive for her best friend. 

Word count: 5.6k

Author’s Note: Um this series is longer then I thought oh well I’m proud of it. I wish I put in more Jonah, but next part with hopefully have that as your relationship blossoms. Um I just realised Jonah is a pianist and not a guitarist I feel so dumb for making that mistake. Not edited.

Rating: 16+ 

One Two

---------

Days continued to past by like seasons, painfully slow. As if you were waiting for the October breeze in the middle of summer. Finals came and gone shedding you of dreading nights of studying, coffees with seven espresso shots, and long early 2000s playlists. You haven’t heard from Trey since the night of the party and you assumed weren’t going to hear from him again. 

You were still furious with Jonah, he had you in his bed and said nothing about it. He was probably use to having girls in his bed and didn’t bother making an excuse. Your heart grew fonder from him as the days went on as your brain’s resentment bloomed stronger. The great battle between the brain and the heart has begun. 

“You know you could come with us.” Ivette’s voice sliced through your thoughts. You both were curled into each other on your double bed in your one person dorm. A soft white fleece blanket cover in orange pumpkins engulfed the both of you, Bottles of pop scattered all around you as well as bags of candies and chips. The light was off as you both watch To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before for the tenth time this week. 

“To the gala?” You asked with an amused eyebrow. The gala in question was the annual auto auction for richest families in the city. This year it was a 1956 Breathtaking Chevrolet Corvette Convertible. Gorgeous metals, pristine cherry red paint, and an engine purred like nothing before. It was a car that you’d probably kill for.

“Yes, I know you hate them-” 

“I don’t hate them, I severely don’t like them. There’s a difference.”  

“There’s really not. Anyways it’d be fun if you came. You’d get to mingle with hot Richies and maybe take one home for the night.” Ivette made her voice as innocent as she could. Leaning more into your side with brown puppy dog eyes. 

“You’re going with Daniel I don’t want to crash the date and Julie thinks Jonah and I are together.” You sigh looking at your moving feet under the thin blanket. They poke out revealing your still healing wounds, starting yo close with nothing but tiny scars. Jonah was very precise with disinfecting them. Without him they would’ve been infected deeply right now. 

“Okay, it’s up to you.” Ivette didn’t push. She knew there was something going on between the two of you. Your best friend didn’t know exactly what but it was something, she didn’t tell you what to do wanting you to figure it out on your own. Sometimes you wish she’d push ans prod at you about it, but at the same time you were grateful for her. 

“I love you.” You say giving her a small smile, she returned the words and hugged you close to her. Your phone rang and buzzed on your night stand cutting the moment you were sharing with your best friend. You felt Ivette move as she reached for it,  confusion etch into her dark brows. “Who is it?” you ask.

“Its..It’s your dad.” You sat up at the information, shock running in your veins. “What.” You asked dubious, you grasp the phone into your hands not believing what she had said. Your dad’s name glowed at the top on the screen with the a blank picture. He didn’t deserve one. You glanced at Ivette, she shared the same expression you did. Then you answered it.

“Y/n How has the semester been going?” His voice was almost robotic. Of course the only thing he cared about was the family legacy that you didn’t want.

“Why are you calling me?” You ask coldly remembering  the last time you interacted with him. In your room throwing everyone of your paintings is a box telling you that this wasn’t a career path he wanted you on. He never saw the hours you spend on them, never cared to actually look at what you brought to live. 

He found a premed program and you were going to attend weather you wanted to or not. Of course he told you he didn’t want to see your life fade out and he was doing this because he cared about you. Your dad continued to put your life’s work into the attic with no further discussion. At that point you were mentally drain and didn’t fight him on it. 

“Look I know I haven’t been fair to you. I just..I didn’t want to see you sit there and do nothing with your life. I thought painting was a hobby not a passion, but I went up into the attic recently and saw them tucked into the corner. I was amazed at what you created with a brush and a little colour.” His voice had more expression in it. 

“What are you getting at? I was busy,” You say glance at Ivette sitting against the head bored observation written in her eyes. Chewing at her raw finger tips. 

“If you can sell one of your painting for two grand you can drop out. And I’ll put you through art school.” He sighed like he was already regretting his discussion. 

“Are you serious?” You asked not being about to control your excitement. He was giving you a chance even if it was just a sliver it was something. 

“Yes you’re miserable I know this because you haven’t said anything me for two years.” regret dripping in his voice.

“Two grand for one painting?” You asked as if you didn’t hear him word for word.

“Yes those are my conditions, don’t make me regret it.” The line goes dead and you stare at the wall flabbergasted still processing the information.    

-----------

I pressed his body against the wall with the all the strength I had. He could over power me with any wrong move I chose to make. The silver tip of my dagger tug into his throat, olive skin sizzled under the touch of it making the Alpha seethe at the pain you were inflicting on him. 

Do you think you can over power me little Omega the humour in his question was like venom

Where is Kaden I growled at him, the anger and fear raiding off me. 

I killed him, I couldn't have my precious mate fall in love with a pathetic human 

Without thinking you ran the dagger across his throat, the skin parting and burning at the touch of it. Red blood erupted from the cut, flowing down the blade and my hands. Shock was written in his eyes and a whimper left his lips. 

I loved you he accused as his blood choked out of his mouth and bubbled at the fresh cut on his throat. I never loved you it was a lie to get him back. I seethed at him, 

Ungrateful I gave you this kingdom. I ga-  the dagger found the way into his heart cutting off his wretched words. Warm blood splattered across my face and it felt like sweet sweet revenge upon him. I plunged the dagger deeper into his chest, feeling the way it pierced through his heart. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, body falling limp to the ground your grasp on him faltering. 

I felt the second he died, the breaking of the matting bond and the power of the alpha swarm into my body. Redemption w-his green eyes stalked onto me-wait that didn't happen!

The Presence of Him tore you from the beautiful universe of werewolves. Ink appeared on the pages of the book between your fingers again. Jonah leaned against a book shelve half covered by your book. You narrowed your eyes and glared at him. Sighing heavily you reluctantly put your book down, you were at a good part and wasn't exactly happy to be interrupted. 

“What do you want? I’m currently busy.” You Grumble at him from a bay window inside the library. The sky was reaching a midnight blue as the stars gleamed and sparkled. Lights inside didn’t shine as bright as the ones at Chocolate Shop, those ones were luminescent. Threading through Jonah’s curls and making them gorgeously lighter. His eyes were a bright green that seems to call your name-stop!

“Sorry to interrupt, must of been a good part from the expression you were making.” He says leaning against a book shelf watching you from your little nook. The leather jacket he wore circled his lean biceps flawlessly, He wore all black. His bruises before had faded and healed clean as the grey lion pendant dangled at his chest. 

“You did. But now that you’re hear might as well get on with it.” You say now wondering what expression you were making awhile reading. 

“Ivette didn’t tell you? Her phone must be dead.” Confusion was displayed on his sharp features. At the small mention of Ivette being in trouble you scrambled for your phone. Mind scattering on what could of possible happened to her when Daniel was on watch. Heart picking up speed as you found that the useless device in your hands was dead. 

“What happened to her?” You ask abruptly, getting to your feet and forgetting about your book. “Calm down, she’s fine. No limbs missing and all her blood is in tact.” Jonah says easing your raging mind. “Ivette’s tire pressure was too high, she ran over a massive rock and it exploded.” 

“Well what are you waiting for lets go.” You insist walking past him urgent to see if Ivette was truly okay. Sure Jonah said she was but you had to see for yourself. “Your book.” Jonah called over his shoulder, still in the same position watching you amazed. “Right my book.” You mumble to yourself as you go back and retrieved it on the velvet cushion. 

Jonah’s Jeep had the harsh contrast of Ivette’s Range, while hers smelled of cherries and light vanilla Jonah’s had smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon. The heavy aroma of a male was evident in the seat of the passenger seat. Radio hummed like that night of the party, Jonah’s fingers drummed to the beat. His rings clanking against the steering wheel and you wondered what they’s feel like dancing on your soft skin. What would his warm fingers feel like gripping your chin while he made you look into his green eyes. Stop. 

“What street was it on?” You asked still looking outside the passenger window. Head resting in your palm watching the trees pass on the highway. You wondered what happened to Ivette’s heels, because they weren’t sitting on the floor of Jonah’s vehicle anymore.

“I lied.” Jonah says coolly, your head snaps to him. “What do you mean you lied?” Your voice furious. “Ivette is at the fraternity watching Frozen 2 with Daniel and Zach.” His voice nonchalant as he kept his eyes on the road. 

“Stop this car Jonah or I swear I’ll jump out.” You threatened, your hand on the door knob. “You’re not go-” You unbuckle your seat belt, pulling the door open. The interior light beams on. His face falls watching you scoot closer to the door. The adrenaline from the rage you held for him blocked all rationality. The pavement races past the tire as the wind kissing your legs and cheeks, whipping through your hair with a wicked breeze . 

The Jeep swerves as he grabs your wrist yanking you back in the car.  The vehicle behind him honks as he swerves the Jeep again to reach across from you and slam the door shut. The silent anger on his stone cold face deflates yours. you finally got under his skin. You smile to yourself as you look out the window again. 

“Why would you think of doing something like that?” The roar of his voice made you flinch. You didn’t dare look at him knowing he was burning holes into the fabric of your shirt. That angry passion for your well being was attractive to say the least. 

“Honestly Jonah why do you care all of a sudden?” Your voice flat. If you acted like you had no feelings for him maybe you’d be able to trick your heart into thinking it was real. 

He said nothing as if he didn’t have an answer. But he had multiple and had no idea which one to pick. He didn’t and let the silence fill in. He glanced at you every ten minutes that passed, you could tell by the way the leather groaned at his movement. He drove forty-five minutes out of town just to show you the view of it on a massive cliff. 

He yanked the steering wheel all the way to the left taking a sharp left. With fast hands he spun it all the right and reversed to the edge of the cliff. You watched him with observant eyes as Jonah popped the trunk, unbuckling himself as he got out of the Jeep. Not saying a word to you as he crawled into the back. 

Why did he bring you here? why had he reacted the way he did when you were trying to hop out of the moving Jeep? Although you had to admit that it was a tad bit too much, even for Ivette. There wasn’t a clear answer for him. 

The open of the passenger door had you jumping out of your skin. Heart skipping a beat, confused you didn’t sense his presence reach you. Looking up at him with doe eyes, his complex soft in the moonlight. Not an ounce of anger in sight. 

“Come,” his voice gentle offering his right hand to you. The softness of him reminded you of how he took care of you that night at the ice cream shop. Cleaning your wounds and feeding you ice cream. Maybe that’s why your chose to place your hand in his. Warmth crawled up your forearm and stopped at your shoulder blade. His hand fit in yours like a puzzle piece like it was meant to be there. 

Silently Jonah guided you to the back of the Jeep, keeping you close to his body as he parked fairly close to the edge. You leaned into him closer once your foot kissed the edge and dirt flung off the cliff. Breath catching in your throat as your heart dropped in your stomach. “I got you.” Jonah whispered pulling you closer into his side. You looked up at him, all you saw was his jawline but you were beyond grateful he didn’t feed you to the cliff. 

Your fingers ached to gasp the back of his neck and pull him to your lips. He was making it harder each day to resist the urge of him. Warm hands wrapping on your hips had you gasping, digging into the fabric of your shirt he lifted you onto the back of his Jeep. Blankets coated the hard plastic floor of the Jeep making it more comfortable. 

The view of your city in the dead of night was breathtaking. Street light, traffic light and store light illuminated it. Like is had been the only star left in the sky. “Gorgeous isn’t it?” Jonah’s breath hits your neck and you now realised how close he was sitting next to you.

“What am I doing here, Jonah.” 

You turn your head to him, noses almost grazing each other. You’re meet with his eyes and a small sigh leaves your lips. The green was the exact colour of an oak tree leaf, small flecks of brown floated into his flawless swirls of green. You could spot each individual stand of his curls upon his forehead. Light stubble mingled onto his jawline reaching his cheeks vaguely. There was a faint scab on his eye from a previous wound you wouldn’t of spotted out if you weren’t  so close to him. 

Fuck. 

“I wanted to show you view of the city, stunning from the outside at a certain time. But if you reach inside you can spot all the flaws it has to offer and yet you’re still in love with it.” Jonah swallows harshly and you could see how his Adam’s apple bob. You finally pull your gaze away from him hearing your heart pound in your ears. 

“It’s the point of view you look at it. You could despise it from the pollution it causes and end up leaving. Or you could love it know it’s flaws and help take care of it.”  You spot Chocolate Shop close enough to see the glowing brown letters. 

“You only see the outskirts of me, I’m here to show you the inner point of view of thee Jonah Marais.” You turn to him again and raised your eyebrows at him amused.

“and who is Thee Jonah Marais.” You mocked him playfully. 

“I’m serious. Let me show you and you’ll find out along the way.” He shrugs his shoulders as in question towards you. 

You’re quiet looking at him searching for anything. Not green eyes looked to the side and there was no biting of the lip. Zero fidgeting and zero wavered octave in his voice. He wasn’t playing around like you thought he was.  If he was willingly to reach out, trick you, and make the effort to tell you then you’d let him with no resistance.

“Who is Jonah Marais?” You asked, 

He tells you the entire story of his life, every year of his life he could remember. How he was just a kid in his room going live on Younow to finding his the guys and starting a band with them. How it was a rocky begging with barely any gigs to being booked every weekend for six weeks at a time.To adopting Sawyer and moving out for college. Jonah held this rock star persona about him scared to let people in. You were so wrong about him and you felt like shit for it, maybe he’d forgive you for it. 

Now You were curled up into the corner of Jonah’s Jeep covered in blankets. The cold breeze of the night air getting to you. He strummed his acoustic guitar that he seemed to always have tucked into the back seat. Fingers changing against the strings making a beautiful melody. He sat at the edge of the Jeep letting his legs dangle off, his back to you as he hummed. 

I can’t even hide it 

I haven’t stop thinking about your lips

mm, your lips, yeah I losing my mind

It’s been too long, I’m missing your kiss

yeah, your kiss

Jonah’s voice is soft as it tangles with the stings of the instrument perfectly. Almost the same octaves of an angel, gentle and flawless. No scratch that a god the sound pulled you to him which felt slightly strange to you. Your body wanted to be by his side watching his fingers pick at the strings. Instead you nuzzled into the blankets further. 

you

you’ve been there through it all

you answered all my calls

you

I can’t believe I let you go

Beautiful, you let the thoughts of him flow freely. Not scolding yourself for thinking them. It was like you were meeting him for the first time, a side of Jonah you’ve never seen before. Even his vaguely muscular back was perfect, They were most likely sculpted by god himself if Jonah wasn’t already him.

Tears and slamming doors

I’m falling, now on the floor

Begging, begging please

you don’t want me no more.

A small innocent yawn passing your lips halted Jonah’s voice and finger picking. Looking back at you with a tired glance full of worry. Looking into his green pools you yawned again like a kitten and Jonah couldn’t help but swoon. Sleep was swarming your body and Jonah could tell by the dopey smile on your face. But all you wanted was him to start playing the guitar again. 

“Don’t fall asleep again you’ll end up in my bed again.” Jonah warns, 

That makes you stare at him blankly full attention on him, “How did I wake up in your bed again? ‘Cause all I remember is the ice cream and the lights were out after that.” 

He tells you, including the part where you woke up, Coddling Sawyer’s head in your lap. Throwing an old t-shirt at you in hopes you’ll change out of your dress. Prepping the couch for a hard’s night sleep.You wanting him to stay until you fell asleep, but not wanting to sleep. 

“Oh.” You look at the blanket not wanting to look at him. “I asked you to sleep in bed with me?” You voice so much softer then before. “Yes.” was his only response. You believed him, who would he lie about something so small. You’re upset with yourself that you let your feelings take the steering wheel. 

“Look you were intoxicated and half asleep, everybody wants someone when they’re like that. Don’t beat yourself up.” Jonah says scooting a little closer, placing his guitar down, tiny reassurance that it really was okay.

“Thank you.” You glance back up at him giving Jonah a delicate smile. He returns it, “Let’s get you home, the sun is rising.” he says offering you a hand. Just past his head you spot light blues and pinks blending in with the bright yellow of the sun. You spent the entire night with Jonah and you didn't even realise, Talking with him only felt like an hour, give or take. 

“I guess it is.” You say letting your hand slip into his. You flinch at the warmth it caused to bloom in your shoulder blades, you haven’t gotten use to it. 

---------

Ivette drove you to your parents house the next weekend. You needed to pick a painting to sell or at least put it up for bidding. Your car was still in the shop. It’s been months and you’re about to give up on it. But Ivette was gladly willing to drive you said it was a quick road trip. 

The attic’s floor creaked with every step you took searching for that breathtaking painting. You would see between to floorboards into the den and began to wonder if it was safe to be up here. “What about this one?” Ivette’s optimistic voice left you perplex. Glancing up you sighed staring the painting in the eyes. 

“No body in there right mind would pay two grand of a a faceless watercolour painting of Phcahontas.” 

“I would.” Ivette shrugs before putting the canvas back into the bin that said watercolour. You shake your head and laugh playfully. “That’s because you’re my best friend Ivette.” 

“Yes, and the painting your selling I’m buying.” 

“Um. No, you’re not...Ivette I swear if you buy this canvas. I won’t speak to you for a month.” You threaten digging through the landscape acrylic paint. 

“It’s only a month.” Ivette says pulling up a cafe picture done in all pencil crayon. You and you shake your head. 

“I’m serious. I have to do this on my own.” You say honestly, flicking through watercolour ocean life. Multiple bins were full of stories you created with your hands. Divided by the media you used to make them and the surface you made them on like canvas or card-stock. 

“Fine. What happens if you sell it for lets say five-hundred-thousand?” She asks her attention mainly on picking out art piece she thinks are worth it.  

“None of my paintings are worth that, but if and that’s a big if. Pay you back for all the things you gave me.” You say still digging and now realising they were sorted into years. Damn you painted anything you could think of. 

“No you’re not!” Ivette basically yells at you and your eyes widen in shock at the random out burst. 

“Okay you fucking psycho. I would get a vehicle. A used one that would run on four wheels just fine.” You say really thinking about it, that’s what you loved about Ivette she listened to you and never judge you for anything. 

“I think that’s a perfect stat.” She purred like that was the answer she was looking for. An hour whizzes by scavenging for the most likely candidate and goofing around with Ivette. Skipping directly over painting of your family you did, surprisingly there’s a lot. Like the one with your dad painted into the king of hell, or Ivette painted as a goddess. 

“I think I found it!” Ivette shouts so loud it causes the family dog to bark. Your face is blank as you stare at the canvas hanging from her finger tips. The second painting you had painted for spirit animal week back in high school. First you painted a doe. Your art teacher said it was un-gradable by how perfectly you captured yourself in it. 

That lion dangling from your best friend’s fingers was of Jonah’s spirit animal. You had a brief thing for him back then and if anyone saw it back then they’d know exactly who it was.  he always carried himself like the king. That school was his domain to say the least, not to mention he always wore the lion pendent around his neck. The same one he wears to this day. 

“That’s the one.” you say reluctantly. If you were going to sell an art piece for two thousand it’d be this one. You’ve spent hours on that one piece, it was your most dedicated painting as embarrassing as it was to admit. 

You took a few pictures of the painting before packing it into the trunk of Ivette’s Range. Posting it on a few website for bidding you hoped it go for the wanting price. Giving her a small nod Ivette started the hour drive back to campus with a coffee run.

------

The sun stretched through the massive window of Ivette’s gorgeous loft. Kissing the top on her glass table top. Notes and text books of your other classes spread along the glass leaving small gaps between. Nothing big was coming up but you liked refreshing your brain with the keyed information. This hack saved you from getting confused in your college courses, only god knows how perplexed in high school classes. 

Sure your dad gave you a sliver to dodge all of this but you weren’t going to relay on it. Of course you prayed to the sun and the moon that it would sell. And that’s why the painting sat in your dorm room waiting to rot. 

Taking a sip of your iced coffee you sighed in bliss, nothing like a well made coffee to chase the worry away. On the couch you could spot Ivette’s head tucked into Daniel’s shoulder. God they were so fucking cute. 

“What’s the colour scheme for the gala?” Daniel hummed into her forehead before planting a kiss there. “I was thinking somewhere between red and white?” It was a question, a chance to see what Daniel was okay with.

“I think red is amazing. Wine, ruby, burgundy, or blood?” He answered her with a question. She Beamed at it the knowledge for the colour. “Ruby.” She said before bringing her hands to jawline and pull him to her before kissing him. 

Your attention turning back on the notes in front of you. Ivette was undeniably happy with him and you wished she had the courage to stay with him this time. No matter what she says she deserves to finally be happy with him. 

“Y/n?” Your whips up and eyes connected with hers. “You should come, I know you said no already. But it’ll be fun. You’ll be my plus one since the Seavey’s are invited.” Her eyes softened and formed into her famous puppy dog eyes. Bottom lip rolling out into a pout, a pleading that worked for a good percentage of the time. 

“It’s in two days. I don’t have time to gather a worthy gown.” You resisted her charm. “I can make a quick call or two.” She practically begged you. 

Daniel glances at you with a mischievous ocean glint in his eyes. Flashes a smirk before leaning into Ivette, what was this one up to now? He’s always in the centre of Jonah’s treacherous plans. He whispers into her ear and a small wave of shock washed over her. She’s nodding before Daniel has a chance to pull away and agree to what he said to her. 

“Fine It’s up to you.” Ivette shrugs trying to brush of the fact Daniel whispered his evil plans in her ear. Which were differently about you if he had to whisper them to her. 

“Whatever you’re up to Seavey keep me out of it!” You narrow your eyes at him. Wide doe eyes Daniel begins to throw his hands up in surrender. Trying to seem innocent but failing miserably and looking suspiciously guilty. “I Wouldn’t speak of such crime.” 

He winks. 

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

You haven’t gotten wind of their devious plan for twenty-four hours,  you felt safe enough to say you were in the clear. You took a seat at your favourite coffee shop Golden Biscuit, the one Trey worked at. You asked about him and they had said he stopped working a week ago, the day of the party. which felt oddly suspicious. 

Trying to bury yourself back into the steamy werewolf romance your phone buzzed on the table top. Shaking the entirety of it yet you reluctantly reached for it. Ivette’s name flashed at the top “This better be life or death.” You mumble to yourself. 

“Where are you!?” You could hear the tears and desperation wrapping in her words. It was rare for Ivette to call you in hysterical breathes of cry. But you knew exactly what it sounded like a the first breath that left her lips. 

“Hey calm down. I’m at the coffee shop. What happened?” Your voice soft as your attention was on the situation at hand. 

“Bonnie sent me the wrong size! I need your help to fix it please!” You could hear her hiccup in her distressed striped voice. “Just take a breath, I’m assuming your in my dorm. Hold tight Ivette I’m on my way.” You soothe knowing how important these galas were to her. It was the one night a year where she could replenish her statues of a Richie and not feel guilty about it. 

“Okay, okay.” she says finally breathing through her nose. “I love you.” You say into the phone gathering your book into your bag and your coffee into your hand.”I love you too.” She replies back sounding less hysteric almost making you halt at the sudden change in her voice. You waved it off as a mind trick continuing to rushing out of Golden Biscuit and towards campus.  

Shouldering the door open you clatter to the floor of your dorm with an exaggerated oof. Chest tight and legs feeling like jelly as you pull yourself up, door wide open as your keys dangle from the knob. A few passing students pier in with wondering eyes. You huff before kicking the door shut closing it on anymore prying eyes. You’d remind yourself to fetch your keys later.

As soon as you collected your breath you saw no sign of Ivette and her hysterics. You rolled your eyes knowing she tricked your gullible little ass. Those theatre class we really paying off, Ivette really knew how to act and knew you’d come running in her signs of panic. 

A large crisp orange box sat a top your bed along side a black bag. Cautiously your hands reached for the gift bag pulling tissue paper out. Glancing inside you spot your silk green dress and Ivette’s heels. In your hand the dress condition was pristine as if it’s never been worn. Confusion your hands dart for the heels and you began to inspect them, not a single blood stain upon the velvet straps. Were these replaced?

Setting the thought aside you begin to open the box, a top white tissue paper was a clean envelope. Inside the wax seal was the Marais family crest, breaking it you fingers find a letter inside written in delicate swirling loops. 

A little birdie told me your dress size. Now forgive me for the colour there wasn’t much option in a day’s notice. Daniel and I will fetch the both of you at her house. By the way I took your green dress on a trip to the dry cleaners. 

- Jonah Marais

As soon as you think you’re in the clear it rolls into view. He didn’t give you a chance to say no, clever you didn’t think you could because the gala was tomorrow night. All Jonah brought was stress upon you and your perplexed feelings. But now you felt more friends then enemies but there was still the instinct to stay clear of him.

sighing you places the letter down and unwrap the tissue paper. A gorgeous sapphire ball gown with a sweet heart neckline sit inside. mesmerised by it’s workmanship you grasp it in your hands.  Silky texture nothing like your green dress,this was higher quality thick in fabric and softer. You wondered the price. It stayed a mystery because no tag dangled off the dress. Ivette most like told you about your fear of her expensive gift and removed it with his hands. God those hands plucking the strings of his guitar.

This wasn’t a reality it was written deep in some fantasy book you’ve read before. You were dreaming or you’re hallucinating, that’s the only explanation. It was a rare occasion you got the man and the gown, This shit was only in between the pages of fiction. 

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

Thank you so much for the people who have stuck with this series you’re god sent I swear. 

Which was your favourite part? Do you guys like the other elements of the story like the reader selling the painting and the Gala? or are you all about the romance?

Don’t be afraid to message me if anything offended you with my POC characters. This is a safe space for everyone and I want to make it right!

Taglist:  @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @someinsanefangirl​ @evans-dejong​

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Sexiled (Part 23/23) ~ Steve Rogers x Reader ~ College!AU

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Happy Friday! I hope you all had a good week and are staying safe and healthy. This is it. The last part of this story. It’s been a joy writing and sharing with you. I hope you enjoy this final part. A big shout out to @captainscanadian​ for listening to all of my rambles as I tried to finish this fic. Love you! 

Summary: You and Steve finally go on your first date! 

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Brief -  Bucky, Wanda, Sam, Tony

Rating: T 

Warnings: Language, some mild suggestiveness maybe,

Word Count: 2492

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

After keeping you thoroughly focused on him and making up for the lack of quality time over the past few weeks, Steve finally dragged himself out of your bed around six, which left you with just an hour to get ready for your date.

Relief over being done with the semester and the excitement of going public with Steve had you giddy. You turned on your favorite feel good playlist and danced around as you got dressed and did your hair and makeup.

You grinned at your reflection as you made sure your lipstick was perfect. Doing a quick turn in the long mirror, you adjusted the bright blue lace sleeves of your dress so they were even just below your elbows. And you made sure that your skirt was fluffed properly, falling just above your knees. You’d even opted for your favorite black heeled booties that had bows on the back. While they weren’t your trusty converse, they were the most comfortable fancy shoes you owned, and you were more than willing to put up with any minor discomfort to complete the look.  

At seven o’clock on the dot, Steve knocked on your door, and you raced to open it.

Steve’s eyes went wide as he took you in.

“Wow,” he breathed. “You are stunning, sweetness.”

“Not so bad yourself.”

In truth Steve looked amazing. Black suit and a dark blue button up. He’d forgone a tie and you momentarily lamented the fact you couldn’t yank him down by it, but his lapels would have to do.

“Whatcha hiding there?” you asked peering around him when you noticed that he had his hands behind his back.

“Oh,” he produced a bouquet of red roses from behind his back. “These are for you.”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you,” you pecked him on the cheek

He went to kiss you properly, but you’d already ducked out of his arms to find something to put the flowers in.

“Tall and narrow,” you muttered to yourself, eyeing the container you kept your sharpies in.

“What? No kiss?” he pouted.

“Steven Grant Rogers, expecting a kiss before you even take me out to dinner. I am appalled. What would your mother say?

You dumped out the markers and filled it halfway from your water bottle and dropped the flowers in before turning to him with a faux shocked look.

Steve quirked an eyebrow, but you held his challenge. You were about to give up the game when he spoke.

“You’re right, sweetness. Ma would kill me. It’s probably for the best anyway. Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty lipstick before we get to dinner.”

You shivered slightly at the implication, making him smirk and you couldn’t hold his gaze.

The charged moment quickly passed, and he cupped your chin to lift it. You saw that his smirk softened into a genuine smile.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered brushing his fingers along your cheek.

““You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”

“Are you ready to go? I haven’t stopped thinking about this since you said yes.”

“Me neither. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”  

Steve helped you on with your coat, and once you had double checked your purse, offered you his arm. If you hadn’t been wearing heels you probably would have skipped along next to him.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

You both froze when Tony’s voice drifted lazily out of the common room.

“Should we make a run for it?” Steve whispered.

You glanced down at your heels in answer.

“I’ll carry you,” he laughed.

“You know we can hear you right?”

Tony and Bucky were now grinning at you from the doorway and you decided it was best to humor him. You reluctantly backtracked a few steps. Bucky opened his arms for a hug, which you happily gave him.

“Hey, doll. Sorry about sexiling ya last night.”

“It’s okay, Buck. I’ll just bill you for the chiropractor.”

He rolled his eyes and went to ruffle your hair but your glare warned him off.

Wanda snickered before cooing at you from her seat on Sam’s lap.

“Aww you both look nice.”  

“Thanks, Wan.”

“Where are you two off to?” Sam asked as Bucky plopped down on one of the chairs, swinging his legs over the side.

“Just going out to celebrate the end of the semester,” Steve shrugged.

“And you didn’t invite us,” Tony shook his head.

“Well, we’d love to stay and chat…”

“But we’ve got a reservation. So we’ll see you later,” You finished for Steve.

“Wait are you coming to brunch tomorrow?” Sam yelled.

“Yes!” you agreed poking your head back in the room.

Steve led you towards the elevator laughing silently at the not quiet comments your friends were making.

“Is it just me or did they actually get their heads out of their asses?” Sam asked.

“Nah, Nat said they’re still being dumb,” Tony argued.

“Tonight sounds pretty romantic,” Wanda countered.

“It does,” Bucky agreed.

“Are you two still standing by your bets? There’s still time to change them,” Tony comment.

“Absolutely,” Wanda said with confidence.

“I’m good as I am,” Bucky announced.

“It’s your cash.”

“We get a cut when Bucky wins right?” you giggled as the elevator shut.

“Oh definitely,” Steve nodded.

The T was crowded with everyone out celebrating the holidays, so Steve held onto the pole while you held onto him. He would kiss you on the forehead randomly and you’d kiss him on the cheek.  And he held you tighter when you wobbled in your heels.

It was only a five minute walk from the T to the restaurant in the North End Steve had picked out, and you happily walked hand in hand, ignoring the cold. But you were early for your reservation and had to wait outside. Steve quickly pulled you close, letting you steal his body heat.

“Sorry, sweetness.”

“Don’t be. I really don’t mind snuggling with my boyfriend for warmth.”

He grinned down at you, somehow tugging you even closer.

It was only a few minutes until the hostess called Steve’s name and led you to a table in the corner. You could feel the heat from the wood stove, and it helped take the chill off.

“This place is so cute,” you gushed once the waitress had taken your drink orders.

“I thought you’d like it.”

“How’d you find it?”

“Well I had made a list. But Bucky recommended this one when he found me staring at an excel sheet,” he admitted with a chuckle.

“You made an excel sheet of restaurants in the North End?”

Steve went pink to the tips of his ears.

“Well… I technically made one for all of the restaurants in Boston that I thought you’d like.”

“Was it color coded?” you grinned.

He pointedly read his menu.

“Oh my god it is, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he sighed, looking at you. “Among other organizational systems.”

“If I wasn’t already in love with you, I would be now.”

He chuckled and shook his head, but his smile was bright, blue eyes sparkling.

“That’s because you’re a nerd.”

“And proud of it,” you assured him, raising your nose into the air. “I have it on good authority that nerds are cool now.”

“Well whoever told you that definitely has a crush on you.”

You tilted your head curiously.

“You think Tony has a crush on me?”

This time Steve laughed outright.

“You are ridiculous. And I love you.”

“I love you too.” You squeezed his hand, holding on to it as you perused the menu. “I do hope you kept the excel though. It’ll make picking date night spots for the next three years a lot easier.”

“Three years,” he repeated softly, goofy grin crossing his face.

“For starters,” you added.

His grin only got wider. 

Dinner was delicious - filled with stolen bites and giggles. After a quick stop into Mike’s Pastry to get treats for brunch the next morning, you walked to Faneuil Hall arm threaded through Steve’s and your hand resting on his bicep. You popped into a few stores, finishing up some Christmas shopping.

“So are you still full from dinner or are you ready for something sweet?” Steve asked as you were leaving the candle store.

“I’m always ready for something sweet. What did you have in mind?”

“Ghirardelli is open. We could get some hot chocolate before we keep walking around?”

“Perfect.”

Warm from the hot chocolate, Steve led you towards the far end of the marketplace, checking his watch.

“Are we heading home now?” You couldn’t hide your disappointment.

“Not yet. Come on let’s sit for a few minutes.”

You eyed the cold wood warily, but Steve sat on the bench, patting his leg for you to sit in his lap.  

“Are you ready?” he whispered once you were settled.  

“For what?”

He tilted his head towards the rest of the marketplace.

“Watch.”

Moments later the lights that lined the tress began flashing in time with the music now playing over the speakers. You watched in wonder at the beautiful display, Steve’s arms wrapped around your waist. It was magical.

“Tonight was perfect,” you murmured as you walked back to your room.

“I’m glad, sweetness.”

Steve stopped you outside your door.  You tilted your head, confused.

When he kissed you on the cheek, whispering, “I had a really good time tonight. I hope we can do it again soon.” You realized what he was getting at, and stifled a laugh.

“Me too. In fact, I don’t know that I’m ready for the night to end,” you flirted. “Why don’t you come in for a little while?”

“I don’t think it would be proper, Y/n. It’s only our first date.”

You pouted and shrugged, “That’s too bad. Have a good night, Steve. Thanks for a great date.”

You pecked him on the cheek before sauntering into your room, closing the door behind you.

You giggled and waited ten seconds before opening the door to a grinning Steve who was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“Date officially over?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Good. Get in here.”

He crossed the little hallway with a step and half and you in his arms in an instant.

“That was fun,” he chuckled as he twirled you into the room, kicking the door shut.

“Yes, it was.” You kissed him once. Twice. Three times, as you gazed up at him. “Thank you for making tonight so special.”

“You’re welcome, sweetness. You deserve to feel special. I’m so glad we get to do these things now.”

“Me too. Speaking of which, I think it’s time for that post.”  

“Do you know which pictures you want to use?”

“Mhmm,” you used his shoulder to balance as you slid off your heels, groaning in relief.

You sat on the bed and after shrugging out of his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves (which wasn’t distracting at all) Steve pulled your feet into his lap and started massaging while you made the post.

First you added a selfie the two of you took that afternoon while you’d stuffed your faces. Frankly, you looked like gremlins in it but you loved it. The second photo was Steve kissing your temple as you smiled serenely in front of the Christmas tree. And the third was you and Steve kissing in Times Square, taken by Becca during Thanksgiving.

You quickly added the caption.

Three versions of celebrations.

1.       The end of finals

2.       Our First Date/2 Months (Yes both can be true)

3.       1 month of dating (PC: @BeccaBarnes) (Did I mention I loved NYC?)

Which is your favorite? @SteveRogers Happy two months, handsome! I love you.

When you were happy with the pictures and the caption you showed it to Steve who grinned and kissed you.

“Perfect.”

You hit post and squeaked in excitement. “It’s done.”

“How long do you think it will take for them to see it?”

“Four minutes?” you guessed, though that was probably an overestimation.

“Probably. Well, I have something for you in the meantime.”

You couldn’t help but perk up.  

“Really? I actually have something for you too.”

You reached into your top desk drawer and produced the neatly wrapped package while Steve retrieved his jacket and pulled something out of the breast pocket.

“Happy two months, sweetness.”

“Happy two months, Steve. You go first,” you encouraged bouncing on your knees.  

Steve happily tore off the paper, before looking to you wide-eyed. You hoped that was a good sign.  

“This is too much. You shouldn’t have.”

He ran his fingers over the gold lettering of his name embossed on the dark blue moleskin journal.

“I wanted you to have something a little bit special, and I know you mostly have bigger sketchpads, so I thought it would be nice for you to have something to carry around.”

“It’s perfect. And it’s a lot special. Thank you,” He kissed you tenderly. “Now open yours.”

“Okay.”

You carefully undid the paper and lifted the lid of the lavender box. Inside lay a silver ID bracelet that was engraved on both sides.

“I love you,” you read aloud as you examined it before you turned it over.

“More than yesterday and less than tomorrow,” Steve recited with you.

You couldn’t hold back the tears.

“Oh, Steve.” You shot forward, throwing your arms around him. “It’s so beautiful. And perfect.”

“Just a little something for the days when I’m not beside you to remind you.”

“I’m never going to take it off. I love you so much,” you sniffled.

“I love you too, sweetness.”

Leaning back on your heels, you held out the bracelet to him so he could clasp it. He pressed a kiss to your pulse point before began to trace his way up your arm.

However, violent vibrations drew your attention from each other.  

“I think they saw the post,” he chuckled.

“I think so. Should we face the music?” you asked as you retrieved your phone.

He plucked the device out of your hand and silenced it. After doing the same with his own, he placed them both on the desk.

“They can wait. I have much more important things to attend to.”

Steve reached out to cradle your cheeks, keeping you still as he leaned up to kiss you. He hesitated for just a hair’s breadth away from your lips. For a moment you thought he was going to ask if he could kiss you, like he did that night in October. But before you could say anything his lips met yours, and you melted into the kiss. The wash of contentment that rushed over you was similar but somehow even deeper than the first kiss you’d shared. You were certain it was because you loved each other more than you did then. And the thought of how much love you would feel in your future kisses had you smiling against Steve’s lips.

A/N: So that’s it for this story! I have loved writing for them and I hope that you’ve enjoyed reading this story. Thank you so much for all of your support and patience. It means the world to me. On to the next project! 

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[akitokihojo]

Welcome Home

Haha ha.... ha..... ha.

pwp :)

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Seventeen days, eighteen hours, and forty-two minutes. That’s how long it had been. Specifically, since Inuyasha had woken her up to kiss her goodbye. She hated when he left on long business trips, and even more than that, hated watching him walk out the door with a suitcase in hand. She knew he’d come back. She knew the separation was always temporary. It didn’t help her feel any better, though.

As per usual, Kagome had walked him to the front door and given him the best kiss she could manage to hopefully tide him over for the bout of time he would be gone. Then, she gave a small smile that was intended to be happier but, unfortunately, did nothing to hide the sadness she was fighting back. His ears wilted, he kissed her forehead, he opened the door, he kissed her again, he gave her a hug, he turned around and grabbed the handle of his suitcase, he gave her one last kiss, and then he walked out to his awaiting cab.

He was supposed to have been home after approximately sixteen days, seven hours, and so many minutes of separation, but he had a layover in New York where they had to wait for this huge snow storm to pass. He’d texted the moment they were finally cleared for take off, and since then, she’s basically been sitting by the window, watching for oncoming cabs to turn on their street. As soon as one pulled up, braking beneath a gleaming lamp post, her heart jumped for joy in her chest, and Kagome had to practically stop herself from doing this overly-giddy dance and running right out into the freezing cold night to greet him. She absolutely could not do that. She had a plan to execute. And he’d kill her given what she was wearing.

Inuyasha shut the trunk of the car as quietly as possible, hoping to prevent a loud noise in the silence of the night from waking his fiancé. It was passed eleven, and she was no night owl. The girl had the sleep regimen of an eighty year-old, and a slamming car door was not the way he was going to alert her that he was home. A tender kiss was bound to do the trick just as efficiently, and it was the best way to personally watch her expression go from sleepy and confused to excessively happy.

The cab drove off and he gently stepped his way up their tiny, cement porch to glide his key into the bolt lock, twisting it slowly and cracking the door open to receive a fresh whiff of burning, scented candles. Warm vanilla. A subtle aroma that didn’t offend his sensitive nose. Was she awake?

Inuyasha’s golden eyes traveled from the ember lights of the few glowing candles around the dimmed room as he pushed the door open further, finally landing on the woman at the far end. Kagome sat in the grey reading chair, her legs crossed, her dark eyes inviting, and a glass of wine held to her lips. As she lowered the glass an inch or two, a hint of red staining the plush skin of her mouth, she smiled, taking her bottom lip within her teeth. Her long hair twirled over her shoulders in the way of their natural waves, contrasting with the paleness of the flesh of her exposed chest, and he consciously only allowed himself to take her in further after kicking the damn door shut. Her arms were covered by an old, white button-up of his, one she never let him get rid of even though it was a little too tight on him now, one that was currently falling off of her left shoulder to reveal what the other side managed to conceal. It attracted his eyes to follow the trail of her skin, illuminated with hues of yellow and orange from the candles around, his sight inadvertently jerking for a momentary halt to examine the thin lace covering her breast. Black, transparent, a seam line running right over her nipple - as if it did anything to actually hide it. The bra really worked to accentuate her cleavage, pushing up her tits beautifully, the shadows in the room acting as if they had a paid contract with the lingerie and artistically plumping the swell even more. Though she sat in a pretty lax position, leaning back into the cushion of her chair, a small crease still lined the center of her stomach, her navel hidden as the curve of her crossed legs simultaneously deprived him and gifted him. God, he loved the way the fire played with her silky flesh, her thighs adorned in shadows and faded light. And, all he could manage to do was respond with a shallow sigh, an enticing smile curving his lips as he was left speechless.

Kagome watched Inuyasha set his bag down and twist to lock the bolt, his eyes never leaving her. She absolutely loved when he looked at her like that; hungry, awed, like if she never even let him touch her, he’d still be perfectly satisfied with the sight.

“Welcome home.” She said in a whisper, taking one last sip of wine before placing it on the small table next to her. She uncrossed her legs, slowly standing, his shirt slipping just a little further down her arm, and she noticed as his golden eyes drifted to the matching panties he’d yet to see. He cocked a brow, shaking his head minutely, a devious smirk taking over the grin on his face.

“I missed you, too.” He breathed, watching the way her smile seemed so playful yet so sinful. She sauntered his way, and he practically felt immobilized, hypnotized by the way she moved, by the way she glowed, by the confidence she was radiating, by the way his clothes always looked so much better on her than on him. Her body heat was almost enough to make him melt as she deliberately and slowly welcomed herself into his chest, her warm fingers gliding within the opened front of his jacket and over his tee-shirt to scorch the skin of his neck. He felt her body raise against him as she pressed to her toes, her lips hovering so close to his but still too short to actually reach, but she knew - and he knew she knew - that there wasn’t a single part of him willing to resist her.

Inuyasha bent down, her kiss tender, the softness of her lips molding perfectly with his. Kagome arched into him a little more, her fingers threading into the nape of his pulled-up hair, sucking in air through her nose as she deepened the moment. His own hands pushed the edges of the shirt she wore away, allowing his palms to glide over the wonderful skin of her waist, and causing her to flinch and giggle into his mouth. He’d forgotten his earlier reluctance to touch her, knowing his hands had to be cold, and quickly pulled them away, only allowing himself to touch her over the material of the button up. She never stopped kissing him, though. No, he knew her. Even if he hadn’t rectified his mistake and kept his hands glued against her, she’d have only kissed him harder until she adjusted.

As her fingers danced their way back down the sides of his neck, she gripped the opening of his jacket swiftly pushing it over his shoulders so he’d take it off. He used the brief break in their lips to speak. “I have to shower.”

And she’d expected as such, nodding, smiling, kissing him again, and whispering against his mouth, “You better make it quick.”

Kagome stepped backward, her eyes glued to him, the playful grin on her face growing wider as she ran her tongue over her teeth, turned at an angle, bent over with fully extended legs, the supple curve of her ass just barely poking from beneath the shirt, and gave a small blow from pursed lips to quell one of the candles. She was such a little shit.

“Alright, no - get in the - I’ve got the candles, you fucking - bedroom. Now.” Inuyasha pointed, snapping his fingers to seem stern while he laughed. Kagome went to do the next one, but he snapped again while stepping forward, bringing her to squeal and run away to the bedroom. Because she knew the next step would be him physically picking her up and dropping her on the bed.

She turned down the volume of the speakers in their room as she chose the playlist she wanted on her phone, creating the atmosphere while making sure it wasn’t too overwhelming. Already, she’d heard the shower shut off, but until he came out, Kagome continued to sip her wine and move a little to the song playing. She was so excited just to have him home, dancing was bound to happen with or without tunes. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror and set her glass down, running her fingers through her hair to mess it up a little more and adjusting her bra so her breasts sat perfectly plumped.

With a click of the handle across the hall, she heard the bathroom door open, and only two seconds later, her fiancé walked into the room. His long, silver hair remained tied back in the bun it was in before, loose tendrils and baby hairs damp and waving. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the heat of his shower, but his skin was dry and clean. Every available muscle that she could see was beautiful and toned, her eyes eating up the curves of his arms, and the veins that crawled down his forearms. His chest was perfectly sculpted, and every ridge of his abdomen had her name written all over it, a defined line guiding her brown irises to his navel, to his happy trail, and to the towel wrapped around his hips that had the audacity to interrupt her.

With a bite to her bottom lip, Kagome made her way over to him, ignoring the cocky smirk on his face as it would be gone in a matter of seconds, anyhow. She didn’t bother kissing his lips, though she did hover by his chin for a tantalizing moment, making him curve down so she could reach but gently nudging his cheek away with her nose. She could smell the spearmint on his breath, the scent of his body wash still fresh on his skin, her mouth going to his jaw, his neck, then his collarbone. When he touched her this time, his hands skimming over the lace of her panties and the skin of her hips, they were hot and firm, holding her to him as her ministrations slowly inched south.

Though her lips kissed over his chest, her fingers were already unfurling the grip of the towel wrapped around him, dropping it to the floor as soon as it came loose. Her hands softly raked over his hips and pelvis, her kisses slowly moved down his abdomen, her knees bending accordingly, and she could tell by his shallow breaths that he was eager for what was bound to come next. He wouldn’t force it, though. If she wanted to take her time, drag it out, nip his skin, and avoid his hardened length, he’d stand in place all night to enjoy every second of it. He was the least patient person she knew, but with her, he exerted the utmost control. And she took full advantage of it sometimes.

“Seventeen days,” She whispered, her breath scalding his sensitive flesh as her knees finally hit the ground.

“Baby -“

“Nineteen hours,” His head lolled back for a moment as he sighed, her voice, her steaming words like a fucking toxin when she was like this. “And four minutes. That’s how long it took you to come back.”

His nails combed through the hair at her temple, his cock now in her hand, gripping but not stroking.

“That’s the longest you’ve ever been gone.”

“I’m so sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”

Kagome gave a small shake of her head, looking up at him from her kneeling position, the gesture making him throb in her hold. “You’re providing for us while you do this. You work so hard,” She stroked slowly. “And you hardly complain. I’m the one that should be making it up to you.”

His entire core clenched as she dragged her tongue up the entire base of his dick, flicking the tip of her tongue as she reached the head. It was all so deliberate, so tentative, her fingers moving out of her path as she licked upward again, giving a little swirl at the tip this time before taking his head in her mouth. All the while, she never broke eye contact. His jaw, inadvertently, had dropped open, the sensations, the heat, and the undeniable seduction of his partner already driving him mad. 

Her mouth moved up and down his cock, taking him in a little more each time while her fist flowed with the steady pace, using her saliva as lubrication to make sure the entirety of his length was taken care of. With a pop of her lips at the head, she broke contact, jerking him fully as she nipped and kissed over his pelvis. Inuyasha’s hand was fully threaded through her thick waves, consciously refraining from gripping too hard by stroking through and petting. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, too swept up in her actions, her eyes closed as she, once again, took him into her mouth. Fuck, it was so hot and wet, her tongue massaging as she bobbed her head forward and back, slightly increasing her pace. And then she slowed a little, giving a heavy suck as she popped him out of her mouth. Then back in to tediously take every inch of him into her mouth and down her throat, bringing an audible groan from him as he couldn’t stop himself from grasping her raven hair. The deep sigh she gave as she pulled away had him nearly succumbing entirely, and if she kept this up for much longer, he was fucking done for.

Inuyasha gave a gentle yank on her hair, leading her to stand, and then capturing her swollen lips in a well-deserved kiss, his tongue gliding into her mouth to swipe against hers. His kisses grew softer as he pulled away from her, peppering them against her lips until he couldn’t reach anymore. He needed to properly admire Kagome, and he needed her to know that the effort she put forth just for him had not gone unnoticed. His golden eyes drifted over her as he pushed the button up over her shoulders, guiding it all the way down her arms and dropping it to the floor. She stood perfectly still for him like the good girl she was, her big eyes slanted in invitation, her skin smooth beneath the backs of his knuckles as he coursed his way back up her arms. The swell of her breasts looked delicious, and the curve of her waist down to her hips and then thighs was the sexiest fucking thing, calling out for his hands to feel. But he resisted. With all of his willpower, Inuyasha resisted the temptation. He wasn’t done.

Taking two steps back, he twirled his finger, gesturing for Kagome to turn around. With a devious, little smile, she did so, slowly spinning so he could fully admire the plumpness of her ass. The cheeky panties molded perfectly to her, causing him to groan and roll his head back in exasperation. So well, he damn near dropped to his knees to worship the lace-adorned cheeks. Instead, he stepped forward, spinning her around to face him when she gave a playful little jiggle. As he scooped her into his arms, her legs wrapping around his hips and his hands gripping her bottom, he skillfully made their way to the bed. Carefully, he laid her on top of the thick comforter, crawling over her body as they worked together to make home in the center of the mattress. 

Kagome’s back was arched as she reached behind her to unlatch her bra, but Inuyasha wasn’t one for waiting anymore, his mouth already sucking at her neck. There was obvious intention to leave a mark. She was his. She was his. And he fucking loved when his hickies littered her unblemished flesh. Often times, she pushed him away, but tonight she made no attempt. That, alone, was proof of her need for him in that moment and it encouraged him to put forth even more effort. When her torso relaxed and he felt the rough texture of the lace from her bra drag over his chest and off of her arms, he traveled lower, his hands pushing her tits together as his tongue dragged over the swell he created. Her skin felt like silk beneath his tastebuds, tasted heavenly, felt so soft in his palms as he massaged her breasts, and the moment his tongue reached her nipple, her back was arching once more. The little whine that released from her throat was more empowering than words could ever be, and he flicked his tongue against the hardening bud over and over. Slowly. He could tell she wanted him to clamp his lips around it, her eyes on him, her bottom lip being dragged between her teeth, and whatever this girl wanted, she fucking got. Inuyasha took her nipple into his mouth, sucking mildly, one of his ears giving an interested flick as she whined again. What a beautiful sound, her voice.

He gently dragged his teeth over the sensitive bud, letting it drop from the security of his mouth as he moved to the opposite, giving it the same, deliberate attention while he allowed himself one tantalizing grind against her lace-covered pussy. He could feel the heat radiating from it, calling his name, making him groan into her chest. His lips moved south, sucking the bottom of her breast, moving south and nipping the curve her ribcage provided, moving south and kissing the faded, red line from the crease her earlier sitting position had created, but he stopped there. Inuyasha’s fingers curled beneath the fabric of her underwear, tediously pulling them down her hips and over her legs, appreciating the way Kagome lifted her knees up and together to simplify the endeavor.

She could tell what he was thinking; what he wanted to do. She could see the hungry look in his eyes as he began to lower himself between her thighs. So, before he could get any further, Kagome sat up, catching his attention when she threaded her fingers through his hair, and guided him up to meet her kiss. 

“I don’t want to wait anymore.” She breathed, laying back as he crawled his way over her again. His kisses had grown more greedy, his tongue sliding in to steal tastes, sucking at the plush of her bottom lip, nipping with his teeth before moving to her chin, then her neck.

“Can you reach the nightstand?” He huskily asked into her flesh. All Kagome could manage was a shake of her head. There was no way she’d be able to reach it from where they were positioned. Inuyasha then snaked his arm beneath her back, gripping firmly as he lifted her and dragged her toward the stand. His face never left her neck, working delicately so as not to get too carried away with his teeth.

Kagome reached for the drawer, a desperate moan leaving her lips as he sucked against the tender flesh and ground his cock against her slick folds, easily rocking himself back and forth against her. Her movements were clumsy in comparison, smacking her hand within the drawer to feel for the familiar contents, snagging the opened box of condoms and throwing it on the bed altogether. Without even bothering to remove himself from the curve between her throat and clavicle, his tongue flicking magically and making her feel tight and hot, Inuyasha ran his hand over the comforter until he found the box, dropping out all of the attached wrappers of condoms. Only then did he break to tear one apart, opening the individual package to remove the rubber and fasten it over his length. 

He looked at her then, sprawled beneath him gorgeously, a few of his marks adorning her body, the one just above her collarbone deep in shade and a warning for the earful he was bound to get tomorrow. He didn’t care, though. Inuyasha tenderly ran the fingers of one hand over her cheek, and down her neck, gently wrapping around her throat as Kagome bit her lip and tilted her chin back, a smile forming on her face. Fuck.

With his other hand guiding his cock, he gliding through, tightening his grip on her neck slightly as she released the most bewitching moan, accepting every inch inside. As he let go of her throat, instead supporting his weight as he folded over her, thrusting slowly, her thighs clamped against his hips, as they usually did when she needed a moment to adjust. So, he listened to her silence, smoothing rogue hairs from her face and peppering kisses along her jaw. Her fingers softly raked over his sides, splaying back and forth over flexed muscle, but he continued to wait.

“I love you, you know that?” He murmured. Kagome nodded, her stunning, brown eyes meeting his. “You have no idea how hard it is to be away from you. You bug the shit out of me, but you’re my soulmate through and through.” She laughed at that, her cheeks a subtle flush. “No matter what, I will always come back to you.”

“Always?” She asked, her thighs relaxing. Inuyasha moved against her, thrusting gently, noticing the pleasant way she responded to his body.

“You don’t know the half of it, baby.” He said huskily. As he moved a little harder against her, he directed his eyes downward, watching the rhythm of her breasts bouncing with his pace. Kagome opened her neck to him, asking for more, and there was no fucking way he was going to skip on that opportunity, kissing and nipping his way over the delicate flesh. A few whines escaped between sighs, sending a wonderful thrill over each nerve ending in his body, and a smoldering heat began to soak over his dick. She’d quickly gotten to a point where she didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, skimming over him, over herself, over the mattress, then back to him. She was getting close.

Inuyasha readjusted her thighs, spreading one to open wider while he hooked the other in the crook of his arm. Instead of thrusting, he began to grind against her, watching Kagome’s expression as he went, readjusting accordingly. She was biting down on her lip, mewls gracing his ears, but it wasn’t until he gave a deep roll of his hips, managing to rub perfectly against her clit, that he received the jaw-dropped expression he was waiting for. That was the spot. He continued that very same motion, her gasps growing louder, shifting to moans, shifting to whimpers. Her fingers fidgeted along the blanket, clasping against it as her chest rose and fell heavily. Her leg was fighting against him, and it wasn’t even close to being a match for his fervor, but he whispered for her to relax anyway, soothing her, coaxing her onward. With just a little more effort into his grind, and his tongue’s attention returning to her clavicle, Kagome’s hands latched onto him, nails scraping slightly along his back as her pussy clenched and twitched against his cock.

He rode her out, waiting for her body to calm down, her breathing unsteady all the while. He planted kisses over her cheeks and forehead, over her jaw, her chin, one for her lips, and ending at her nose as her palms dropped away from him and landed on the bedding. Her defeat was his empowerment. Her face was entirely flushed now, her eyes half-lidded, and she sighed out with a lazy smile. Kagome was done for.

“Think you can handle a little more?”

“Please don’t stop.”

Inuyasha chuckled, pulling out of her to flip her over. Compliantly, she braced herself on her hands and knees, sighing languidly as he slid right back inside. Gripping her waist, he used the anchorage to thrust in and out, never sticking with a specific rhythm for too long. He watched the way her ass bounced against his hips, groaning at the erotic sight, increasing his pace only to slow down again. Softly, he dragged the pads of his fingers over the curve of her spine, latching around the nape of her neck with no real pressure, folded over and whispered, “You know what I want you to do.”

With the sexiest fucking mewl, Kagome didn’t hesitate to slide her arms out in front of her and rest her face against the comforter, her fingers grasping, and her bottom up in the air. His hands gripped the soft plush, massaging and squeezing, holding her tighter as he fucked her harder. Her moans were muffled by the bedding, but just watching her pull up the blankets as she took every deep buck of his hips had him damn near reeling. A course of heat soared through his veins, bringing him to clench the groan that swelled in his throat. He was so fucking close, and he thought if he slowed himself, he could manage to drag this out just a little longer, but when Kagome lifted her head, her messy hair flipping back, and released the most sensual, even almost joyful, whimper he’d ever heard from her, he didn’t stand a fucking chance. Inuyasha pushed deep inside, her body sliding forward with his tenacity, and his orgasm rocked his entire core, bringing him to double over her. He could feel her own thighs shaking against him, watched her fingers relax and her arms go limp, her head resting against the mattress. The poor girl was spent.

“Come on,” He groaned, pulling out of her to clean himself up. “You can’t sleep yet.”

Kagome merely whined in response, crumbling entirely onto the bed.

“Bathroom, then sleep.”

Another whine. He chuckled, tossing the knotted condom into the trash before coming back over to her. All he had to do was grab her ankles and his fiancé flipped over on her own accord, scurrying away from him as she frantically insisted that she could do it.

“Hey, do me a favor. Try not to look in the mirror while you’re in there.” He called out to her just as she shut the door, adjusting the waistband of a fresh pair of boxers over his hips.

“Inuyasha!”

“I said not to!”

“Inuyasha, oh my god!”

“You never fucking listen to me.”

Kagome ran out after cleaning up, tossing an entire roll of toilet paper at his head. “I get to give you a hickey now! It’s only fair!”

“Fuck no!” He laughed, pulling the blankets back to get in bed.

“Oh, I can’t freaking stand you!” She stomped over to her delicates drawer, pulling out some panties to sleep in.

“Yeah, yeah. Here’s a shirt.” Inuyasha said, pointing to one he’d pulled from his dresser for her and placed at the bottom of the bed.

Kagome pulled it over her head and let it naturally fall to her upper thighs, then crawled onto the bed to meet him at the top. He grinned at her grumpy pout, thoroughly admiring his work as he ran his fingers over each bruise.

“You still love me?”

Her smile overcame her feigned unhappiness, taking in his soft expression. Kagome extended her neck slightly, giving a tap to the hickey above her collarbone for him to kiss. His lips were warm, his hands holding around her waist. “You don’t know the half of it.”

[d-criss-news]

Members of the Film & TV Music community, made up of composers, songwriters, music editors, music supervisors, studio executives and more, are contributing their talents to SOUNDTRACK OF OUR LIVES: A CELEBRATION FOR THE FILM & TV MUSIC COMMUNITY, an online benefit event for MusiCares® COVID-19 Relief Fund. This specially produced program debuts June 25th, 2020, at noon pacific on YouTube, and will honor the talented people whose scores and songs transport, inspire, uplift and entertain us by creating the "soundtrack of our lives." The fun, delightful and heartfelt hour-long special will feature leading and iconic singers, composers, songwriters, actors, celebrity guests and others while celebrating glorious Film & TV Music moments with heart and humor. Donations to MusiCares® COVID-19 Relief Fund will be encouraged throughout the show.

"Thousands of music professionals and creators are struggling during this pandemic and remain in desperate need of assistance," says Debbie Carroll, Vice President Health and Human Services MusiCares®. "The continued support from the music community during these turbulent times has been heartwarming and inspiring. The power of music unites us all and gives us hope for better days ahead."

Over 75 film and television composers and songwriters, "From A to Z, Abels to Zimmer," will appear in this program. Collectively, this prestigious group has been nominated for 273 Grammys (with 87 wins), 216 Emmys (with 51 wins) and 136 Oscars (with 34 wins).

Confirmed performers and special guests include Sting, Catherine O'Hara, Ming-Na Wen, Patti LuPone, William Shatner, Elisabeth Moss, "Weird Al" Yankovic, Marla Gibbs, Jane Levy, Mandy Moore, Richard Kind, Alex Newell, Zachary Levi, Paul Reubens, Kiernan Shipka, Harvey Fierstein, Ginnifer Goodwin, Anika Noni Rose, Kasi Lemmons, Ted Danson, Auli'i Cravalho, Darren Criss, Drew Carey, Ray Romano, Holly Hunter, Reba McEntire, Bob Saget, Ken Page, Lucy Lawless, Mary Steenburgen, Dave Coulier, Kevin Smith, Peter Gallagher, Naomi Scott, Annie Potts, Clive Davis, Jodi Benson, Harvey Mason Jr., Susan Egan, Paige O'Hara, John Stamos, Andra Day and Rita Wilson.

Composers and songwriters participating include Michael Abels, Kristen Anderson-Lopez, Angelo Badalamenti, Glen Ballard, Lesley Barber, Nathan Barr, Tyler Bates, Jeff Beal, Marco Beltrami, Alan Bergman, Terence Blanchard, Jongnic Bontemps, Kathryn Bostic, Kris Bowers, Jon Brion, Nicholas Britell, Bruce Broughton, BT, Carter Burwell, Sean Callery, Joshuah Brian Campbell, Lisa Coleman, John Debney, Tan Dun, Fil Eisler, Danny Elfman, Charles Fox, Germaine Franco, Harry Gregson-Williams, Hildur Gudnadóttir, Alex Heffes, Joe Hisaishi, James Newton Howard, Justin Hurwitz, Ashley Irwin, Mark Isham, Steve Jablonsky, Amanda Jones, Laura Karpman, Christopher Lennertz, Joe LoDuca, Robert Lopez, Mark Mancina, Gabriel Mann, Clint Mansell, Dennis McCarthy, Bear McCreary, Alan Menken, Bruce Miller, John Murphy, Starr Parodi, Benj Pasek, Justin Paul, Daniel Pemberton, Michael Penn, Heitor Pereira, Rachel Portman, Mike Post, A. R. Rahman, Tim Rice, Lolita Ritmanis, Dan Romer, Anna Rose, Jeff Russo, Arturo Sandoval, Lalo Schifrin, Marc Shaiman, Teddy Shapiro, Richard M. Sherman, David Shire, Rob Simonsen, Mark Snow, Tamar-kali, Dara Taylor, Pinar Toprak, Brian Tyler, Nick Urata, Benjamin Wallfisch, Diane Warren, Mervyn Warren, Paul Williams, Austin Wintory, Alan Zachary, Geoff Zanelli, Marcelo Zarvos, David Zippel and Hans Zimmer.

Some highlights of the special include:

Members of the Film & TV Music community deliver heartfelt messages of hope, solidarity & encouragement.

"Musicians!" - a humorous musical tribute to the Film & TV Music community featuring Zachary Levi, Patti LuPone, Alex Newell, "Weird Al" Yankovic, Peter Gallagher and Harvey Fierstein.

Tony Award winner and Disney Legend Anika Noni Rose highlights the history of African American composers, songwriters and artists who have contributed to the Film & TV Music industry through the years.

Performers Danny Elfman, Catherine O'Hara, Paul Reubens and Ken Pagereunite to perform a song from the film The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Eight-time Academy Award winning composer Alan Menken performs his timeless song, "A Whole New World," alongside his daughter Anna Rose, introduced by Aladdin (2019) stars Mena Massoud and Naomi Scott.

Stars from beloved animated features step out from behind the microphone to lend their voices to inspirational messages, featuring Irene Bedard, Jodi Benson, Auli'i Cravalho, Holly Hunter, Mandy Moore, Susan Egan, Ginnifer Goodwin, Linda Larkin, Paige O'Hara, Annie Potts, Anika Noni Rose and Ming-Na Wen.

John Stamos hosts "Name That TV Tune!" with celebrity panelists including Elisabeth Moss, Drew Carey, Ray Romano, Eve Plumb, Reba McEntire, Bob Saget, Dave Coulier, Marla Gibbs, Lucy Lawless and Kevin Smith competing to identify famous TV themes.

Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist actor Jane Levy invites us into the dreamworld of her Extraordinary Soundtrack Playlist.

Various performers, including members of the original cast of La La Land, sing a parody version of "Another Day of Sun."

William Shatner explores how different scores can give the same film a different meaning as an exasperated director, played by Richard Kind, leads a composer in multiple directions for a short film starring Kiernan Shipkaand Christian Coppola.

Songwriter Paul Williams performs his classic song "The Rainbow Connection," from The Muppet Movie, joined by various special guests from the Film & TV Music community.

Tony- and Emmy-winner and seven-time Oscar® nominee Marc Shaimanperforms an original song tribute to end title sequences.

MusiCares® COVID-19 Relief Fund was created by MusiCares® to provide support to the music community during the pandemic crisis. The music industry has been essentially shut down with the cancellation of music performances, events, festivals, conferences and the many other live events that are the cornerstone of the shared music experience. Since the fund's establishment in March, over 14,000 clients have been served, with many more still needing help.

Show co-creator Peter Rotter says: "When the pandemic tragically hit our world and began to shut down our film music community, I felt that something needed to be done to help those who were in need of support and care. Through MusiCares® we have found the charitable vehicle that can come alongside our hurting musical family.

"Music has always played a role in history; reflecting both the subtle and monumental moments of our lives through its unique DNA. Music connects each of us, acting as a common thread of unification, opening the hearts of all people.

"Regardless of the color of one's skin, status or station in life, music powerfully breaks through boundaries as its message permeates deep within us; healing our human frailties and condition at our cores. Music is transformative and personal. It powerfully underscores our lives."

"Music has always helped transport, uplift and inspire us through wars, economic hardships, health crises and societal upheavals," says show co-creator, Richard Kraft. "When COVID-19 hit, it threatened the lives and livelihood of much of our Film & TV Music community. So, we decided to create an online special that both celebrates the soundtrack of our lives and benefits, via MusiCares®, the artists who create it."

Starting June 25th at noon pacific, watch the video on Youtube via Rolling Stone, Variety & GRAMMY's channels, as well as on www.soundtracklives.com. Donate at soundtracklives.com now!

[dustedmagazine]

Michael Rosenstein 2020: Seeking Sojourn

What was I doing in 2010? What was I listening to? Honestly, without doing some digging, nothing springs immediately to mind. I’m guessing that ten years from now, thinking back on 2020, that won’t be the case. In mid-March, my wife and I took off on our annual winter/early spring sojourn to Provincetown, Cape Cod. When we headed out, the state of the world was tenuous. But over the course of four days, we split our time between idyllic, cold walks on the Outer Cape beaches and tracking the pandemic slide into lockdown and mayhem. We came back home to an entirely different world which has continued to spiral and swirl. This was a year where I spent far more time walking in a woods near my house, searching out a pair of barred owls and their four fledglings than I did listening to music. Focus for listening has waxed and waned and online video streams just haven’t resonated with me. But still, music has brought me some sense of solace over the course of the last year.

AMPLIFY 2020: quarantine

Without a doubt, most of my listening over the year was spent following the AMPLIFY 2020: quarantine festival. Organized by Jon Abbey, who runs the Erstwhile record label along with musicians Vanessa Rossetto and Matthew Revert, the online festival kicked off on March 20 and ran through September 20, presenting 240 newly-recorded pieces and 80 hours of music by musicians from across the globe. Most were solo contributions, with seven “blind overdubs” where two musicians with established working relationships chose track lengths in advance and submitted their recordings which were superimposed with some light mixing by Taku Unami. While the pieces are all available as free downloads on Bandcamp, that only reveals part of the story. Over the course of six months, the Facebook group grew to 3000 members, acting as a virtual gathering place for online conversations and musings with countless posts a day. Additionally, Abbey tirelessly posted an ongoing playlist which he dubbed “atmosphere” with cuts that ran the gamut from Albert Ayler to Funkadelic to Keith Hudson to Al Green with an extra-heavy helping of DJ Screw. Just tuning in to those choices and jumping on conversations was enough to save some days.

While anyone following the Erstwhile label caught some memorable submissions by expected participants, the organizers and some guest curators had more in mind than that and sub-threads developed early on. Yan Jun recruited fantastic submissions from little-known musicians from China while also contributing two pieces of his own. In addition to delivering three strong pieces, Revert brought in an Australian contingent. Rossetto delivered a festival highlight with her piece “perhaps at some time you have acted in a play, even if it was when you were a child” while also inviting a wide network of sound explorers constructing intimate sonic investigations. Abbey himself cast a wide net, probing for both established and little known musicians who had caught his attention over the years. (I’ve known Jon for a long time and was honored to be amongst those invited, contributing a piece assembled from field recordings from my Cape Cod trip.)

A number of musicians who hadn’t put out solo recordings in years, some who hadn’t had any recent releases at all, were lured back, with highlights by Greg Kelley, David Kirby, Joe Panzner, Annette Krebs and Sean Meehan. There was also a somber thread of homages to musicians who died over the last year, starting with a dedication of the entire festival to Australian percussionist Sean Baxter as well as a stirring tribute to bassist Simon H. Fell by Rhodri Davies, a dedication to Keith Tippett by Mark Wastell, and pieces commemorating Cor Fuhler by Dale Gorfinkel, Marcus Schmickler, Jim Denley, Nick Ashwood (recorded with Fuhler shortly before his death), Clare Cooper and Reinier van Houdt (whose six monthly missives delivered throughout the duration of the festival are all well worth spending time with.)

I find myself still catching up on the overwhelming array of contributions but here are a small sampling that caught my ear, though if I were to assemble this list a week from now, the choices would certainly be different.

Zhao Cong – “Homework”

homework by Zhao Cong

Yan Jun’s choice of musicians from China was uniformly superb and all are worth checking out. But Beijing-based Zhao Cong’s entry, in particular, has continued to hang with me. Her piece, constructed from two bass guitars and objects with its scrabbled detail of electronic hum, grit and glitch shot through with ringing bass strings popped out on first listen and continues to deliver.

Rie Nakajima – “carpet”

carpet by Rie Nakajima

Nakajima’s approach to sound-making, utilizing motors, mechanical devices and found objects proved the perfect tonic for pandemic listening. Her piece for AMPLIFY was recorded in her home in London “with all familiar objects I have been using at home.” The percussive piece is shot through with timbral depth, clattering along with a barely-contained momentum. Her release Karu Karu for Café Oto’s digital Takuroku lockdown series is also well worth checking out. And while I tended not to connect with online video over the course of the year, I found myself returning to Nakajima’s seven days bird songs which unfolded over the course of a week, multiple times.

Ivan Palacký – “Sanctuary”

Sanctuary by Ivan Palacký

Czech-based Ivan Palacký’s “Sanctuary” hit early on in the fest and remained a favorite. Palacký spent the first day of quarantine exploring his flat with an electromagnetic sensor, capturing the buzzes and tremors of everyday electronic devices. A few weeks later, he pulled out three knitting machines which he contact mic’d and used to improvise with the electromagnetic recordings. Palacký deftly interleaved percussive patter with wafts of static, grit and crackles, creaks and sputters and resonant thrums into an immersive piece.

Martin Kay – “Bath Time (2nd Edit)

Bath Time (2nd Edit) by Martin Kay

Through the festival, a thread developed of the pieces constructed as sonic response to the physical surroundings of isolation. Moniek Darge's gutting “Quarantine Child,” assembled from interior recordings and the desperate wail of a child, Mark Vernon's “The Dominion of Din,” woven together from field recordings from outside his Glasgow flat, cataloging exterior sounds that have annoyed him over the years and Kate Carr’s haunting “on every stair another stairway is set in negative” recorded using an old reel to reel tape and instrument recordings captured in her bathroom are three. Martin Kay’s four-part “Bath Time” delves in to that personal, interior realm, composed from recordings made in and around his bathroom during the routine that developed with his daughter’s nightly bath. The use of shifting focus, natural resonances of the room, the tub and underwater recordings transform the private, domestic activity into an increasingly abstracted aural study.

Distant Duos

The Distant Duos project that Mary Staubitz and Russ Waterhouse embarked on was also instigated by a sense of lost community. But here, the strategies employed were markedly different. The two are immersed in the DIY noise/improv New England community, spearheading shows in basements, bars, galleries and ad hoc venues and collaborating with musicians from New Haven to Portland, Maine, with all stops in between. They’ve also been instrumental in developing a network of like-minded musicians and bringing travelers through, some who have become frequent visitors. Unlike the duos in AMPLIFY, Staubitz and Waterhouse curated the 78 sessions, inviting pairs of musicians with a simple strategy. “Two remote artists record five minutes of sound while thinking about the other artist, unable to hear each other. The two tracks are combined into one.”

Released in sets of five on Bandcamp, the first on April 30 and the last on December 9, these bursts served as vital postcards. For those of us based in New England, these were both bittersweet reminders of the pre-COVID world we frequented and exultant celebrations. As someone who organized shows with the two and often played on the same bills, these really connected. (I was asked to participate, paired with Worcester-based Abdul Sherzai.) Some of the duos were longstanding partnerships (Greg Kelley and Vic Rawlings have been working together for over a decade). Some were pairings of musicians who knew each other but had likely never played together. Some participants were drawn from the deep field of regional musicians while others were recruited from across the US and Europe. With only five minutes at play, these served as sketches, vignettes or rough drafts. But keen curation and Waterhouse’s astute mixing and mastering made these hold together. Like AMPLIFY, these periodic missives kept me going through the last year.

Flip through any of the contributions and you’ll find plenty to encourage further listening. This batch, culled from the October 28th releases, provides a glimpse into the broad crew of musicians pulled in and the diverse strategies they came up with.

Adam Kohl and Mickey O’Hara

Adam Kohl and Mickey O'Hara by Distant Duos

Western Massachusetts-based Kohl (better known musically as Arkm Foam) and Worcester-based O’Hara have been performing together for a while now, and experiencing their mix of low-fi cassette manipulation and laptop generated deconstructed clatter and glitch inhabit a performance space is enthralling. This brief snapshot serves as a succinct snapshot of one of their sets.

J​.​P​.​A. Falzone and Hali Palombo

J.P.A. Falzone and Hali Palombo by Distant Duos

This mashup between J​.​P​.​A. Falzone (part of the ensemble Ordinary Affects) and composer and visual artist Hali Palombo comes across as quavering pulsations dialed in from some ethereal transmission. Listening feels like one is tuning in to an hours-long broadcast of hovering tones and fluttering waves which fuse together into shuddering oscillations.

Henry Birdsey and Mary Staubitz

Henry Birdsey and Mary Staubitz by Distant Duos

Birdsey has been developing his micro-tonal musings as part of the duo Tongue Depressor as well as his solo releases under his own name and as S.T.L.A. while Staubitz jumps from the solo sonic onslaughts of Donna Parker to a wide-ranging array of ongoing and one-off collaborations. Here field recordings of rippling water and electric pops and crackles mix with shuddering overtones of bowed metal for an engulfing sonic snapshot.

Lexie Mountain and Angela Sawyer

Lexie Mountain and Angela Sawyer by Distant Duos

Baltimore’s Lexie Mountain and Boston’s Angela Sawyer have known each other for years, so it’s no surprise that their distant connection of broken electronics and found objects clicks so well. Here, everyday detritus is elevated to a compact improvisation imbued with skittering percussive tumult, whirrs and clatter.

New Releases

When I did carve out time to listen, here’s a few that stuck with me through the year.

Toshiya Tsunoda & Taku Unami – Wovenland 2 (Erstwhile)

Wovenland 2 by Toshiya Tsunoda/Taku Unami

Working from basic field recordings, Tsunoda and Unami use the studio as an alchemical laboratory, delving into mixing and mastering tools to explore, process and transform environmental sound. In their hands, the digital artifacts of that process are as intrinsic to the results as the source material they have deconstructed. They sum it up succinctly. “Our goal is to focus on acoustic experiments. No more and no less.”

Here are some more that stuck with me in no particular order:

Rhodri Davies – Telyn Rawn (Amgen Records)

Judith Wegmann – Le Souffle Du Temps II - Reflexion (ezz-thetics)

Clara de Asís & Mara Winter – Repetition of the same dream (Another Timbre)

Takuji Naka/Tim Olive – Minouragatake (Notice Recordings)

Magnus Granberg – Come Down to Earth Where Sorrow Dwelleth –Revised version for sho, koto, prepared piano and electronics (Ftarri)

Tasting Menu – Mueller Tunnel (Full Spectrum Records)

Simon H. Fell & Mark Wastell – Virtual Company (Confront)

Xavier Charles & Bertrand Gauguet – Spectre (akousis)

Pierre-Antoine Badaroux, Seymour Wright, Jean-Luc Guionnet – Solos (Remote Resonator)

Archival Releases and Reissues

Reissues continued to pour out from record labels. Some applied studio wizardry to revive and restore previously issued material and others dug out material from the vaults that rightfully deserves to be heard. But with touring opportunities gone, the ability to collaborate in person evaporated and the monthly boon of Bandcamp Fridays, many artists also took the opportunity to dig in to their personal vaults.

Gentle Fire – Explorations (1970-1973) (Paradigm Discs)

Explorations (1970 - 1973) by Gentle Fire

This one just hit in December but quickly shot to the top of my listening pile. Working in London in the early 70s, this little-known quintet of electro-acoustic pioneers worked at the edges of composition and improvisation, putting out a single, now impossible-to-find, LP performing graphic scores of by John Cage, Earle Brown and Christian Wolff (which, in itself deserves a reissue.) If they hit listeners’ radar at all, it was due to the fact that Hugh Davies was part of the group. This 3-CD box of previously unissued material is comprised of one disc of works by Wolff, Stockhausen, Brown, Cage and Ichiyanagi, another of their own compositions and a final disc capturing an extended improvisation. Five decades later, this stuff is still essential listening.

Rhodri Davies – Archif Series (self-released)

Archif #13: BMIC 17/09/1997 by IST

Currently at number 28 and counting, Davies dug in to his archives and unearthed a passel of gems, documenting live performances and studio experiments from 1995 through 2000. From solos to various group sessions, this is all music well worth spending time with. Particularly welcome are two releases by IST (Davies, Mark Wastell, and Simon H. Fell) and one by Assumed Possibilities (Davies, Wastell, Chris Burn and Phil Durrant). One hopes there is more to be unearthed.

Cor Fuhler Conundrom label

SLEE by Cor Fuhler

The sudden passing of Cor Fuhler was a tough one in a tough year. Whether as a pianist, instrument inventor or ensemble leader, Fuhler was always bristling with ideas. As part of a group effort, the discography of his Conundrom label is now available on Bandcamp with proceeds going to his estate.

Here are some others of note in no particular order:

Albert Ayler reissue series (ezz-thetics)

Phillip Wachsmann – Writing In Water (Corbett vs. Dempsey)

Charles Mingus – @ Bremen 1964 & 1975 (Sunnyside)

Voice Crack – Glasgow 20/11/1999 (scatter)

John Butcher – On Being Observed (Weight of Wax)

Derek Bailey and Mototeru Takagi – Live at FarOut, Atsugi 1987 (NoBusiness Records)

Cecil Taylor and Tony Oxley – Birdland, Neuburg 2011 (Fundacja Słuchaj)

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 51

~*~Sebastian~*~

I love stupid drinking games. One of the reasons Marvel press is fun is because of the dirt we have on each other from drunken nights and hours of waiting. Both result in otherwise inappropriate questions. This was just an organized version. When Boone said you never had fun with who you were sitting next to, I started counting people between and wrote a dare to make out with the person three people to your right.

Eli went first because it was his invention. Plus, since everyone did the never have I ever and could jump in with the truths, and the point wasn't to win, it didn't matter who went first. Straight in he pulls out, "Never have I ever had a threesome."

Me, Boone, Eli, and Alissa drink. I didn't know about Alissa. Will didn't drink, but he did laugh, "Bunch of whores."

Alissa shrugged, "Everyone experiments."

Kirk looked at her, "Not everyone. About half."

Emma was next, "Last movie that made you cry? Easy A Star is Born. I cried twice during. Sat threw the credits crying. Then absolutely sobbed in my car for another ten. Then went to see it again the next day and cried just as much."

Everyone shared theirs. Mine had been a month ago when ET was on late-night TV.

Alissa got two squares, so she got a question and a dare. Angry sex or makeup sex. Me, Eli, Kirk, Boone, and Emma were in for the angry sex. Alissa had to take off her bra and hang it from a light.

Boone had to share his worst sexual experience. That led to some funny shit. Eli had a woman throw up on his dick. He claimed the tour bus gave her motion sickness. Emma's was a guy who said his own name when he came. Mine was in the back seat of a car, missing a stroke when the cop banged on the window and thinking I’d broke my dick.

Angie pulled, "Never have I ever sent nudes." All of us drank. Will's truth was his virginity story. Kirk's ended in tears, but he wasn’t the one who cried.

I got a double color. Least favorite sex position and why. Sixty-nine because I can’t fully enjoy either and I wind up focusing more on my blow job and do a shitty job taking care of her. Emma's was reverse cowgirl because there's a problem with angle of entry and an unflattering view of her ass.

"There is no unflattering view of your ass." That just popped out.

Angie agreed with Emma, "She's right. Because in reverse cowgirl your ass is going to connect with his body and jiggle. Gravity works much better to smooth things out in doggy style."

Will smiled, "The jiggle is a feature, not a bug. But I do agree with the dangerous angles." All the straight men cringed.

My dare was to switch places with either person beside me, have the next person sit on my lap, with my hand on their inner thigh until my next turn. I ended up feeling up Angie in my lap. If I’d gone the other direction, I’d have Eli in my lap. My way was better.

Kirk read, "Never have I ever had phone sex."

Emma didn't drink, but she did glare at the woman in my lap. I raised an eyebrow, "Opposed or opportunity?"

She smiled as she said, "Opportunity."

I hummed, "You'll be in Georgia and I'll be in Canada next Sunday."

"I know."

"A lot of distance."

I started to say something about getting to be the teacher, but Angie swatted me and pointed a finger at Emma, "Any erection he gets is going to poke me in the ass, so stop what you’re doing."

You get the idea. Conversations about sex, preferences, and dislikes. Some basic shit with movies and music. Some good questions, so not so much. I learned Emma loves lazy morning sex, but not lazy evening sex. She learned I like it when she takes my hand because that's her wanting the contact. Everyone had to answer how many times they had sex in the last week. That wasn't fair. Not because I'm embarrassed by the number, but because it’s a lot to remember. I said, "Seven?"  Emma pointed up. "Eight?" She nodded.

Angie and Alissa exchanged a look, "No wonder her parts we still tingling the day after he left."

Will got a dare to explain in detail his last sexual experience, pick someone else to share, and then everyone had to vote. Wonder who he was going to pick? I prepared myself. Will and Alissa had a perfectly acceptable Thursday night with three position changes. She orgasmed during position two, switching to three to finish him. He told a good story that made his wife blush. He finished and looked at me. What did I say? I knew he’d picked me. Only he didn’t. He pointed to Emma.

Emma threaded her fingers together, turned her hands out, and cracked her knuckles.

What followed was a rather detailed accounting of our shower this morning. The physical part anyway. With just the physical description I realized just how much we talk during sex. I was filling that part in as she wove the story. Specifically, her asking if she should finish me and how her question nearly did. She didn’t share that part and her eyes darting to mine gave me a thrill.

As soon as she stopped talking everyone pointed at her, including Will. He nodded in my direction, “He alludes to a four-letter word starting with “W” and you’re blushing, but not one hint of pink from the erotic shower story?”

She took a sip of her drink, “I don’t like to lose.”

Angie raised her hand, “How did you not fall over? Showers are so slippery.”

Emma stood up and put her foot on the futon, “Tiled bench on the wall and a cut out shelf to hold onto to.”

I saw her put her hand on Eli’s shoulder and covered my face with my hands, “Somebody make her sit down.” I shook my head, “So fucking thankful Angie isn’t in my lap anymore.”

I heard Kirk laugh, “I think she’ll do fine with phone sex, Seb.”

His words got my attention. I dropped my hands, “Oh shit!”

A perfectly innocent question, “What’s your favorite thing about your birthday?”, took a turn. Angie had answered buying her favorite cupcake and two new ones from a bakery close to her school. Emma answered how it was her guilt-free day to be pampered and do whatever she wanted. Will smirked, “Birthday sex.”

Heads nodded with agreement. I shook my head, “Birthday sex means anal.”

Everyone laughed and Will shoved me. Hard.

Alissa crossed her arms over her chest, “Do not even act like that’s the only day you get it.”

Eli snorted, “I never get birthday sex.”

“You’re not getting non-birthday sex tonight either.” Beside me, Angie crossed her arms over her chest too.

I half expected Emma to cross her arms in solidarity.  I was struck with a drunken laughing fit. Others joined in.

Eli was not one of them, “How’s your birthday, Seb?”

“My birthday is in August.” See how I dodged the question.

Kirk started laughing so hard I thought he might piss himself. “Eli never gets birthday sex. Will has bonus birthday sex. I have lots of birthday sex.” He looked at me and pouted, “And poor Seb doesn’t know what he gets for his birthday.” He let out a very loud snort, “Straight people and anal.”

Emma pulled, “Pick a stripper or lap dance song.” I was fascinated by the way her eyes shifted from up and left to up and right and the way she chewed on her lip as she thought. She was thinking hard.

Eli elbowed her, “It’s not that hard of a question, Emeliana.”

She flipped him off, “Don’t Let Go, En Vogue.”

I have no idea what anyone else said. I was too busy finding the song on Spotify and creating a playlist. Will elbowed me. I looked up to see everyone looking at me. “Oh, not doing either. Naked is fine. Naked and dancing . . . nope. Too many body issues for that.”

Eli looked at me strangely, “Damn, if you’ve got body issues the rest of us are fucked.”

Emma smacked the back of his head, “You damn well know that outside and inside don’t necessarily match.”

He rubbed the back of his head, “Sorry. Fuck, that hurt.”

My text alert went off. It was from Will, who was sitting next to me. “Keep her.”

The questions and stories went on. The “game” ended when Eli reached the Candy Castle after skipping a big chunk of the board going through some sort of wormhole involving dots on spaces. I think he made it up.

We all did a celebratory shot and Emma pulled Angie off the couch, dropping down next to me. Alissa squished in between Emma and Will, so when we put our arms around the women, we brushed hands. Us, being us, we held hands for a few minutes. Long enough for Angie to take a picture and text it to Emma and Alissa.

I don’t even know how long we sat talking and sharing laughter. It was a good night. The kind of night you want to remember and never want to end. I would have never imagined a guy who’d dressed me over ten years ago on a TV show would be part of a couple who bridged my world and the world of a woman I met in a grocery store. A woman I adored more every day.

Everyone seemed to decide the party was over at the same time. We shared an Uber with Will and Alissa back over the Williamsburg bridge, dropping us off first. Inside the elevator Emma attacked me. Damn woman lacks self-control. I was going to wait until we got into my apartment. Instead, I found myself trapped in the corner, a hand on the back of my neck and one on my crotch. Sloppy, sloppy kisses were a preview of what was sure to be equally sloppy sex. We zig-zagged down the hall, fell through the door, and started shedding clothes on the way to my bedroom. She pushed me onto the bed and we fought with my jeans, laughing the whole time. Finally, we figured out my shoes had to come off first. I slapped at the nightstand drawer a few times before finding the handle and managed to get the condom on. Emma had much better luck with her shorts. I’d already pulled the drawstring on our way, so I gave her a head start. She straddled my hips and sank down on me.

I groaned loudly, “You feel so fucking good.”

Emma’s fingers pressed into my stomach, “You too.”

I used my thumb on her clit while she rode me. At least, I think I did. I was in the general vicinity. Precision with fine motor skills is one of the first things that go for me. I tried. It felt good, but I wasn’t getting any closer to an orgasm. I held onto her hips and rolled us over. Luckily, it only took two or three strokes to realize I wasn’t inside her anymore. We laughed as I got us back on track. A lot of groping and messy kisses later I pulled out and rolled onto my back. I looked over at her, “This isn’t gonna happen for me.”

She convulsed with a laugh, “Me either.”

While we laughed, I took her hand and held it against my stomach. “I don’t think you’re a real couple until you’ve had a sex failure.”

“And I have no confetti to throw.”  That started us laughing again. “Hey, your dick’s not broken and nobody yelled their own name, well, any name.”

“It could be worse.” I let go of her hand, lifting my arm for her to cuddle up. “Let’s go to sleep and forget this ever happened.”

“Not a chance.” She kissed my chest.

I pulled my head back and glared at her, “I don’t like you anymore.”

Emma kissed me very softly, “Yes, you do.”

I smiled, “Yeah, I do.”

~*~*~

About seven I sprang up in bed finding it hard to breathe. Night terror. Emma was sleeping soundly and I didn’t want to wake her. I picked my underwear off the floor and went to the other room. I sat in my favorite chair, focusing on my breathing to pull myself out of this. The racing heart and hyperventilating had me feeling dizzy and with numb extremities. Middle of the night panic is the worst. If I’m awake I can usually catch it quickly and do what I need to manage. In the middle of the night, I’m a couple of steps behind. Takes a little longer to calm down. When I left the calm place I visualize and opened my eyes I was better. The panic had passed as it always does. It would take a little while for the adrenaline to metabolize. I padded quietly to the bathroom, not wanting her to wake up and see me like this, to brush my teeth and wipe away the sweat. Back to the kitchen, I grabbed the biggest bottle of water I had. My journal was in the office. I swung by for it before heading back to my chair. My rule for this is to just write. Thinking or trying to figure out what was going on never worked. I would look back later, but for right now it was just stream of consciousness.

I heard Emma in the bathroom about an hour later. Putting my journal on the coffee table, I turned in the chair to be able to see her. When I’d gone to the bathroom, I’d moved our discarded clothes to the bedroom. She must have found them because she was in my shirt. Talk about something to put an instant smile on my face. I reached out a hand for her, “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Emma took my hand, letting me lead her to sit on my lap. She pressed her lips to mine before laying her head on my shoulder. “I missed your warmth.”

Kissing her head, I hugged her closer and made an instant decision to tell her. “I’ve been up for a while. Had a night terror. Fucking hate waking up in that panic.” Now, as I say it aloud, I realize even more than the panic, I hate feeling weak and out of control.

Emma lifted her head, her green eyes meeting mine with soft concern. She ran her fingers from my temple, around my ear, down my neck, over my beard, and finally to rest on my chest. “What do you need to take care of you?”

I smiled and kissed her. Fuck. I should have woken her up because the last ten seconds had done more to calm me than everything I’d done in the last hour. “I’m ok. Meditated, water, journaling.” I pointed to my journal.

“Any luck identifying the trigger?”

I shook my head, “Na, just wrote. I see my therapist on Thursday. She’ll tell me.”

She laughed, “Will she? Mine won’t tell me anything.” She imitated a voice I didn’t know, “I’m here to help you find your answers, not give you mine.”

“Good point.” I kissed the bare slope of shoulder not covered by my shirt.

“It’s been years, but I remember the after felt like bugs crawling through my veins. And the shaking.”

I held out my hand, watching the slightest tremor, “Not so bad.” Her fingers laced with mine, steadying more than my hand.

“Why don’t you go for a run and burn it off?”

“Thought about it, but didn’t want you to wake up to a note and think something was wrong. Too much to write out.” The thought of her thinking this had anything to do with her was enough to get my heart racing again.

“If there’s a next time, I’ll know.”

I like that she didn’t automatically tell me she wouldn’t have wondered.

Before I could voice my thought, her hand was on my face and she kissed me, “Seriously, Bastien, go for a run.” She nodded toward the door.

“And leave you here?”

“I will be right here when you get back.”

There’s a comforting thought. “Ok.” A run sounded good. Usually, I’d head to the gym early and hit something cardio and I’d be back to normal before the rest of the guys got there. She stood up and took my spot when I went to put on some clothes. I pulled my running shoes out of the closet and sat on the couch to tie them. “I won’t be too long.”

“Take as long as you need. I’ll shower. Maybe switch around some of your drawers and cabinets.”

“Sounds good, enjoy yourself.  Still want me to show you around today?”

“Absolutely.” She put her hand over her stomach, “You’re going to have to feed me.”

“I can do that.” I kissed her and headed out the door.

I put in my earbuds, cranked up the music, and just ran.

[famedexclusivearchive]

[ARTICLE] BC, DIMENSIONS, AND GOLD STAR RUMORED TO HOST SECOND JOINT STAFF RETREAT

Industry sources have revealed that BC Entertainment, Dimensions Entertainment, and Gold Star Media are hosting a second annual joint retreat and workshop. The three companies previously held a joint retreat last June in Hawaii and insiders claim the companies are looking within Korea this year. Though the exact location and the exact dates of the retreat could not be confirmed, sources state the location was suggested by both Gold Star CEO Bang Sunyoung and Dimensions Entertainment creative director Choi Dongwook, though none of the company executives will be able to attend the retreat themselves this year. 

EVENT INFORMATION:

After the success of last year’s retreat in Hawaii, all idols and key staff members from the three companies have been invited on a joint retreat at a healing and wellness resort in the mountains of Gangwon Province, South Korea! All idols will leave by bus from Seoul on the morning of June 19 and the trip to the resort will take approximately two hours. There will be six buses total, with three buses reserved for the idols to travel in. Idols will be sorted onto buses by arrival time, so they may not be on the same bus as their group mates or label mates.

Attendance is considered mandatory, so if there’s a reason your muse wouldn’t be able to attend the retreat, please clear it with the admin first.

From the morning of June 19 to the afternoon of June 22, everyone will be staying at a resort nestled in the mountains of Gangwon. Idols will be sleeping in suites of three people to a room. Roommates will be chosen by random card draw, so idols may end up sharing with people they don’t know, though all roommates will be same-sex and idols will only room with other idols, not staff. Roommates can be plotted among muns as long as no more than two members of the same group are in the same room. There will be three full-size beds to a room. Room design visuals can be found here, here, and here.

Each night, idols can choose to go on a group hike to go camping in the mountains in tents at an organized camping area if they’d like to sleep in the outdoors instead. Each idol will be limited to doing this only one night out of the trip.

The resort is advertised as a natural and relaxing escape from the rush of everyday life, so the cellphone and internet connection is quite bad though not entirely unavailable. There are no televisions or computers provided on the resort campus and activities available at the resort are focused on practices considered healing and relaxing. The resort does not have room service, but it does have a cafeteria building where personal chefs cook organic, healthy meals curated by expert nutritionists. No alcohol is served at the resort and it is strongly discouraged to drink or smoke on resort property, though it would not be impossible for attendees to smuggle such things in in their luggage.

Visual references of the style of the resort can be found at the following links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15. The campus of the resort also features all of the following spread across several different buildings, which are open 24 hours:

A swimming pool and a thermal pool

A library of books and LP records and a reading area

A sauna

A spa, massage, and meditation center

An indoor flower garden

A water garden

An outdoor terrace with a view of the mountains

A bonfire area

A hammock area

A fitness center with a rock climbing wall

A cafe

A music hall

Organic farming center

Several mountain hiking trails of varying lengths

The following classes are also offered in small groups each day:

Organic home gardening

Cooking

Rock climbing

Yoga / aerial yoga / paddleboard yoga (in pool)

Pilates

Archery

Coffee brewing

Meditation / active meditation / sound meditation

Art (painting, pottery, jewelry making)

The entire resort has been rented out for the trip, so only those associated with BC, Dimensions, or Gold Star will be at the resort during the stay.

Idols will be allowed to explore the resort and its surrounding area at their leisure, but there will also be activities specifically highlighted in activity brochures given to each attendee (including the aforementioned classes as well as hiking and traditional tea ceremonies) alongside mandatory events specific to the companies’ retreat that can be found below. One night and one afternoon of the trip have mandatory company events with an optional group event on an additional night, but idols may explore the area freely the rest of the time. Managers will not be on clock for the trip, but idols will still face punishment if they misbehave in a way that reflects negatively on the company in the presence of resort staff. All currently promoting groups/soloists will have pre-recorded their music show stages before leaving for Gangwon

Everyone will leave in the late afternoon of June 22 by bus back to Seoul following the group picnic.

Idols are not allowed to post to social media about the retreat until the retreat is over to avoid any fans finding their location and attempting to trespass on resort property.

Scheduled Activities Overview: (attendance is mandatory for all *except open mic night* unless muse is injured/ill)

June 19: Bonfire. After everyone has settled into their rooms and had a chance to explore the wellness resort, a bonfire will be held at the bonfire area of the resort. Staff will not be present at the bonfire, as they have another scheduled bonding event. The bonfire won’t be structured, but attendees are welcome to talk, play games, roast food, and other bonfire activities. After the bonfire ends, anyone who would like to take the hike up into the mountains to camp under the stars will be given the opportunity to do so (though this option is available every night).

June 20: Free day/night. 

June 21: Open mic. This activity is optional. Any interested attendees may attend an open mic night to unwind on this night at the music hall. Attendees are free to perform music for the other attendees, read poetry, do comedy, etc. Signing up attend of time is not required, though it is an option. Attendees may team up for duets or group performances with any other attendee if they wish, but no one will be given more than ten minutes on the mic. A baby grand piano, an acoustic guitar, a tambourine, and a recorder will be available for use for musical performances as well as a sound system. Performers shouldn’t do anything too raunchy as they are in mixed company, but as these are private performances for fun and relaxation, they have a lot of freedom. Anyone interested in watching may come and go from the event as they please.

June 22: Picnic. On the last day of the retreat, all attendees will have an outdoor picnic together for lunch before leaving to return to Seoul. Every attendee will be given a lunch basket of fresh foods including meat, rice, vegetables, and fruit prepared by the resort’s personal chefs.

Overall:

In game, this event takes place on from Friday, June 19, to Monday, June 22, but threads and other posts for this event may be started from Sunday, June 7, at 12PM EDT (the time this post goes up), to Saturday, July 4, at 11:59PM EDT. Threads may be continued past the end date, but must be started before then and are no longer eligible for points past the end date. Non-event related interactions may be conducted during this time as well.

NOTE: All posts related to the event should be tagged #fmdwellnessretreat. Remember to use #fmdcall if you want to post a plot or starter call for the event, which I encourage everyone to do if they’d like to!

POINTS AVAILABLE:

As with all events, there are special points up for grabs.

INTERACTIONS: Having an event thread with a starter and at least three replies (starter ▻ partner reply  ▻ op reply  ▻ partner reply) by the end of the event is worth 2 points. This is valid for up to ten threads this time and the threads can take place during any part of the event.

INTERACTIONS: Having an event thread going with someone your muse has never had an interaction with before is worth 1 additional point for each thread.

INTERACTIONS: Posting an open starter for the event is worth 2 points. This counts for up to one open thread starter (not a text/sms post) per character.

PLAYLIST: Making a playlist of seven or more songs matching your muse’s idea of a ‘relaxation’ or a ‘wellness’ playlist is worth 2 points not counting toward your monthly playlist limit.

PROMPT: Upon gathering for the picnic on the final day of the trip, all muses are handed a new simple, bound journal. A resort staff member speaks up when everyone has arrived for the picnic, giving a brief talk on the importance of self-reflection as a part of a “continuing wellness journey”. Everyone is then given half an hour of silence in nature to write the first entry in their newly gifted journal as a self-reflection on their current state and place in life. Completing this prompt in a self-para of 400+ words is worth 3 points not counting toward your monthly self-para limit.

You can also earn the normal amount of points through writing additional self-paras, etc. related to the event!

If anything in this post is unclear or you have any questions, please feel free to contact the admin. Please like this post to let me know you read it!

[incandescent-eden]

STORY MASTERLIST

A (not so) comprehensive list of all the things I write about, all of which are subject to change at any given time because I do a lot of refactoring!

LOOOOONG POST INCOMING I write... a LOT, and I have... MANY projects :) Feel free to ask me about any of them! :)

With love <3 Continue reading below the cutoff if you want to know the basic rundown of my worlds and works!

ANGELVERSE:

This universe encompasses all of the angels and demons I like to focus on. Works in the angelverse will likely be about Faraday (formerly known as Efrem), a demon lieutenant, Ezekiel, a young angel, the archangel Uriel, or angel Raguel / angel Sophia (their stories are intertwined).

The main concept I have on Angelverse surrounds Faraday, who has grown into himself as a demon and made something of himself. He finds it impossible to shake who he was before. The question comes up during an important meeting between Heaven and Hell of whether he is truly Faraday or Efrem, his own self that he has shakily become, or the self he inherited from being his father’s son. There’s also brotherly angst between Faraday and Ezekiel, who refuses to let go of the past. (If you look at my old works tagged ‘ezekiel,’ you’ll see Ezekiel used to be a part of Faraday/his ‘ideal’ self, which is why new Ezekiel, separate from Faraday, reads so differently.)

The Raguel and Sophia stories are also closely linked to characters Andromeda and possibly Zachariah. Andromeda’s father runs a cult and has captured an angel in his attic. When Andromeda finds the angel (Sophia), her otherwise “normal” life is thrown into disarray as she starts unraveling threads about her father’s actions as a cult leader. If Zachariah is to be a part of it, he would be living with Andromeda’s family, having run away from his past.

Prominent characters in Angelverse include: Faraday, Uriel, Ezekiel, Stena, Michael, Ramiel, Raguel, Sophia, Zachariah, Ambriel, Ruhiel, Gabriel, Raphael, Luci, Bee, Sasha, Saoirse, and Heather. With the exception of Sophia, all names ending with “el” are angels, while the rest are demons. Also, I say prominent, but like half of these characters are from a bygone era (2018 when I first created them).

TW/CW for heavy religious (Christian) imagery, emotional abuse, violence, transphobia mentions and cult talk. Additional content warning because I tend to write angels as LGBT, but I recognize that some people are not comfortable with this affiliation with Christianity.

LUXTRURA (NOTE: LUXTRURA IS ON PERMANENT HIATUS):

Luxtrura is the name of a fictional country in ye olde European fantasy style, and I haven’t thought of a title for the WIP yet, so I mainly tag it ‘luxtrura’ or ‘luxtruran trio.’ This WIP is a fantasy / dystopian / political intrigue about an uprising in the kingdom of Luxtrura run by an inexperienced king and corrupt nobles all vying for the crown.

Luxtrura (at the current moment) follows the life of His Majesty Devron Fharren, the Eighth Fharren King, who inherited the crown by kingdom decrees at the age of 21. Unlike most kings, Devron has only had seven years of proper royal tutelage on statecraft, having only been named heir to the throne when he was 14. He soon finds he has inherited a kingdom that has been deeply wounded, that his people hate him, and that he has few allies among his own country’s nobles, his friends, and neighboring royalty. Revolution is brewing, and he has a choice to make: to claim his birthright or to help his people.

Prominent characters include: Devron Fharren, Eden Barison, Mili Starr, Plumeria Rwalke, Lilia Tao, Rassaya Tao, Andrea (a mysterious stranger who gives only her first name), Jakob Fiyre, Cordelia Fiyre, Liseline Fiyre, Sonja, and Orange and Rouse (the dragons).

TW/CW for violence, sexual assault mentions, transphobia mentions, political talk, blatant classism, and death.

GLOWING EYES:

A “what-if” scenario where Victor Frankenstein and Dorian Gray had met and become friends and also Frankenstein wasn’t a man and was named Viola and was not a pleb weakling like Victor. Also Dorian Gray is fat because I said so.

This story reimagines the Frankenstein and Dorian Gray cast as students in their final year of the prestigious University of Ingolstadt, with Frankenstein having returned from a year off during which she was suspended for [redacted] reasons. The vibe we’re going for is dark academia, but I don’t think they ever actually do any learning?

Prominent characters include: Viola Frankenstein, Dorian Gray, Elizabeth Lavenza, Henry Clerval, Basil Hallward, Deukalion, and special shoutout to Justine Moritz and Sibyl Vane because I didn’t want to put them in, but they definitely deserved better in the source material.

TW/CW for death, violence, toxic/obsessive relationships, grave-robbing, body part mentions (eyes, limbs, etc), and mentions of the Devil. Basically, if it was a concerning part of either the Frankenstein or Dorian Gray stories, it will still be concerning.

Fun fact, there is a Glowing Eyes playlist that I am NOT too ashamed to share with the public! :D

HELEN OF LEGEND:

A retelling of the Helen of Sparta story that explores Helen’s thoughts and motivations. Who was the woman behind the face that launched a thousand ships? And did she ever even want those ships to be launched? (Spoiler alert: the answer is no.)

Helen of Legend gets pretty heavy handed because I get really mad about people lauding the Greeks as the end all be all of culture, and I’m still really mad about how people dress Millie Bobby Brown up like she’s 25-40, so make of that what you will.

On the bright side, Helen of Legend is a sapphic retelling!

Prominent characters include: Helen, Leda, Menelaus, Clytemnestra, Penelope, Theseus, Aphrodite, Paris, Cassandra, Hector, and Hecuba.

TW/CW for misogyny, implied past sexual assault, sexual assault mentions, mentions of spousal and emotional abuse, people being generally creepy about bodies, people being creepy toward children (Theseus), cities burning, subtle classism, and death.

OF DANCERS AND DREAMERS:

A musical about Anne-Marie, a non-binary Vietnamese lesbian born into a wealthy family, and Jules, a Tunisian baker’s daughter who is working her way into the Paris ballet. Anne-Marie wants to be a designer, but their mother, Mme Trinh, has other plans. The year is 1884, and it was hard for the Trinh family, as immigrants, to establish their foothold in society, and Mme Trinh will not have her child throw away the family’s hard work. One day, while at the ballet, Anne-Marie becomes smitten with Jules, a ballerina with the most dazzling smile. They find solace in sharing their passions with one another and become friends, each eventually realizing they have fallen for the other in a time that is unfriendly to both of them.

Prominent characters include: Anne-Marie, Jules, Victor, Mme Trinh, and Amandine.

TW/CW for subtle homophobia, classism, mental illness, and parental guilt tripping/emotional toxicity.

THE LYRE EFFECT:

A play about life after death, and what it means to live and love. This play follows Patroclus upon his death, desperate to return to Achilles. He meets the reluctant Eurydice, embittered by decades alone in limbo halfway between life and death. Together, they almost throw someone off a boat (is it really murder if they’re already dead?) and have a chance to tell their stories, stepping out from the shadows of their more famous lovers.

I took a lot of liberties with this, so Orpheus is a woman (wlw OrphEurydice), and I would like for both Achilles and Patroclus to be played by trans men, and for all of the characters to be played by non-white actors.

Prominent characters include: Patroclus, Eurydice, Achilles, Orpheus, Apollo, Hades, Charon

TW/CW for talk about death

SPEED ROUND (OR: THINGS I WRITE ABOUT THAT AREN’T AS AMBITIOUS JUST YET/AT THE CURRENT MOMENT):

Here Lies Forever - a story focusing around two young people, Medb Flaherty and Virgil Sutherland, growing up at an orphanage amid war, abandonment, and sickness. Medb is a blind writer who dreams of traveling the world with Virgil, her best friend since their teen years, but when the war strikes too close to home, Virgil leaves Medb and their peaceful student life behind to join the army. Unwilling to let go, and recognizing the pain Virgil is in, Medb takes it upon herself to save Virgil, the both of them haunted by the ghosts of their pasts.

On the Corner of Maple Street - short stories about the lives of Sarah and Evangeline together, two lesbian women who met when Sarah was 28 and Evangeline was 31. Sarah was a toy maker and Evangeline was an actress. They have a son named Oliver, who’s now in his forties, and they’re grandmas to all the neighborhood children. They live on the corner of Maple Street :)

Partager Un Reve - short stories, often romantic, about two circus performers, Alyona Ledbedeva (who does aerial silks) and Li Mey Ri (an acrobat). They’re cute together, there’s not really much to say here.

Claire  - there’s a really old novelette floating around on my account and you can find it if you search Claire, but like it’s OLD. An 18th century French lady who contracted TB and died but was brought back by a necromancer named Cecil (Cecil is the character of my friend @sinnabon-cosplay !) and is now immortal. Fun times with Claire and Anthony usually involve lamenting the fact that they’re stuck as teenagers.

Miscellaneous - miscellaneous demon and monster characters like Alexander, Felicity (both vampires), Sparrow (succubus/Heather’s youngest sister), Zephyr (fae, husband of Spar), Lycan (she’s... a werewolf), and so on. Not really connected to a plot

Performing Possumhood - uh this was a play I wrote with my friend @holdingonmyheartlikeahandgrenade for a 24 hour play festival, it’s about a guy named Thomas who becomes herald for a kingdom and then on his first day of work, the king dies, and his son becomes king, except the new king??? is a possum???? and like no one does anything about it, so Thomas just feels like he’s going insane, poor guy (also everyone else is named Thomas except the king, whose name is His Majesty King Parthur Pencildragon of Alpacalot)

Nordic questing team - I’ve literally written nothing for these fools, but I’m tempted to make it into a dnd campaign! The characters I have are Val (short for Valnotte) (she’s a nokke), Hanne (human poison seller who wears an eyepatch just because), Fur (short for Bjorgolfur, he’s a werewolf who left his pack because he was too good at being alpha wolf but he didn’t want to be alpha, he wanted to press flowers and have a cute little cottage by a cliffside with a pretty garden damn it), and Bo (full name: Boscobel Blue, he’s a cow boy. Literally. He has cow ears and a big septum piercing and a tail. Also he’s a shepherd. His sheep are carnivorous :))) Make of that what you will)

Alice x Secret Garden - another play but where Alice Liddell and Mary Lennox are 18 years old and find themselves in Wonderland, after Mary is jaded from the end of WW1 and is frustrated at her friend Dickon’s marriage proposal, and Alice runs away, trying to retain her childhood as best she can

Retellings - I do myth and fairy tale and folk retellings! :) You can search ‘Tithonia’ for my sleeping beauty retelling, and I wrote Orpheus and Eurydice a while back. Still working my way through Icarus :’) Also ‘Mermaids Can’t See’ is a retelling of the classic mermaid story but written as a ??? field guide? journal entry? notes about mermaids?

If there’s a work you want specifically about a character, I always tag characters, and I also will tag character introductions and pictures/references of them as “beanpuff char[]”!

[hollandroos]

How Could I Not? | Six

Playlist | Wattpad | Series masterlist

Summary: You and Tom are only supposed to be friends... friends who sometimes take things a step further and friends who can’t seem to spend longer then a few days apart. But that can all change with a positive pregnancy test and Suddenly you have to work together more then ever to prepare for the new life you created. But is it really that easy?

Words: 2562

Warnings: This is pure fluff unless you read between the lines. After this, it’s about to get realll angsty. 

Please remember to reblog/comment/send an ask if you enjoyed this!!

Read the previous chapter here!

It takes more muscles to frown then it does to smile.

That’s what Tom had told you when he found you frowning over the missing poptarts and instead, handed you the box of cornflakes which you willingly threw back at him. Corn flakes made your stomach turn – was that normal? He grunted upon getting hit with the box, the cardboard corner hitting him in the chest.

So that’s how you both ended up at the supermarket at six thirty-seven on a Tuesday evening, wrapped up in a pair of sweatpants with a form-fitting tee that hugged your bump. That wasn’t the smartest option as you came to a halt at the frozen goods. The hairs on your arms stand – goosebumps form on bare skin but your eyes remain drawn on the pint of Ben and Jerry's and a set of eager hands reach for the last pint of your favourite flavours.

Only it wasn’t your hands, it was Toms.

“Snoozers are losers.” He tells you with a wicked grin.

“You know I’m still going to steal that, right?” You point out, hugging your arms to your chest. Icy fingertips grip your forearms and Toms coat looked awfully comfortable right about now.

Tom clicks his tongue, placing the pint down in the basket. “We’re sharing a freezer now so no doubt. Harrison always did the same, I imagine you’re going to be worse.

It was a trip for poptarts and poptarts only. Not cornflakes or any of those foods that made your stomach turn but now you had a basket of ice cream, few vegetables and the odd apple as well as a couple of frozen meals. Eat everything in moderation, right? Tom had demanded you get canned peaches too – his favourite after dinner snack.

“I’m pregnant, I’m eating for two now and this hungry baby wants Ben and Jerry's.” You poke his arm, handing him the basket that grew progressively heavy and grabbed another pint. Tom knew that with the hours he was working, you’d manage to get into the tub he picked up – not that he minded. Why would he?

Your baby was now as big as a peach and you and Tom had briefly gone over whether or not you wanted to find out the gender. Well, Tom had gone over it. He was bubbling with excitement. You were uncertain and your uncertainty had made for some nerves on Toms part but he was yet to say something.

Uncertainty was normal, however, even if it felt consuming at times.  

There were times, like right now where you felt comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as you could with cold arms and feet that were in the beginning stages of swelling up. But there were other times where you felt uncomfortable in your own mind and skin. It was late at night especially when your mind would turn into a beehive, buzzing with thoughts that kept you awake and overthinking.

You weren’t ready for this. Not in the slightest. What about your plans. What about your parent's plans for you and everything you still had to achieve and… what about Tom?

You slip your bottom lip between your teeth and chew nervously, eyes darting across the supermarket floor. It’s so cold in there and the tingling in your arms increases, toes tensing around your cotton socks – or were they Toms? Your washing had gotten reasonably confused to the point where you could be wearing his sweatpants right now and he could be wearing your uni sweater and neither of you would notice the switch up.

“You’re cold, c’ mere.”

You look up for the first time since your mind had begun reeling. It could’ve been ten seconds or ten minutes but a sense of comfort washes over you as you meet his warm gaze. It’s like being enveloped in a blanket – a mental blanket. There’s reassurance and concern in chestnut coloured eyes and just enough to provoke a trapped breath out of your tense figure.

Shaking your head, strands of hair brush against your neck and you’re thankful you decided to wear your hair down to cover Toms mess from a couple of days ago.

“No, it’s okay. We’ll be leaving soon anyw–”

“I didn’t say it was a question,” Tom says, extending the coat to you. The statement was demanding but Tom wears a concerned look, one you saw all too often from your frantic best friend who maybe you were falling for. No. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones. You didn’t even know what you were thinking right now.

Your brain felt like jelly. But you take the coat, numb fingers wrapping around the cotton and you slip it over your head, tugging the coat closer until you’re blanketed in his cologne that often invaded the bathroom you two shared (not that you minded) and finally – something warm.

“You alright?” He asks, peering over.

Tom was trying to capture this moment for reasons he couldn’t quite decipher just yet. You were exquisite in his eyes, a gem.

“Hm? Yeah,”  You reply, rocking back and forth on your heels. “I’m good, just thinking. Are you?” You lace your hands together. “Okay, I mean. Are you okay?”

“I’m great, I’ve got ice cream, my best friend and my peach. Couldn’t be better.” Tom gives you a childish grinning, lightly admitting that he had his entire world within a two-meter radius. “What were you thinking about in that pretty little head of yours?”

Your shrug, a chuckle that nearly seems as fake as the checkout ladies smile slipping past your lips. “You, the baby, stealing the ice cream. All the normal stuff.”

“You think about me a lot?” Tom questions, tilting his head to the side much like an excited puppy.

You want to say of course you do – because he’s your best friend and more often then not you find yourself with him. Whether you’re eating poorly made meals together on the living room couch or sharing a bed despite the fact that you both had your own. Or sneaking into the other's work when things seem unbearable and sometimes you showered while he brushed his teeth or vice versa – the possibilities were endless.

But you don’t get to defend your case, because just down the aisle, merely a few meters away from you a woman – around thirty-six looks over, lips pulled tightly into a pursed smile. Tom notices her first and the way her eyes almost widden with pure excitement at your words. She grips a pram with one hand and Tom almost makes it his mission to see the baby.

He’s smiling at the lady that steps towards you both anything but shyly, dragging the pram equipped with a gurgling baby girl behind her. He assumed the baby was a girl by the pink baby bag that hung off the side of the pram and the little, purple coat that was attached.

“Are you expecting?” She asks gently, afraid to be wrong. Tom looks at you and nudges you softly. Your eyes and salivating mouth leaves the ice cream section momentarily and you look at Tom hesitantly before responding.

“I am.” You tell her, hand instinctively going over your bump. Fingers dance over the cotton of the shirt. Your mind was no longer on the bleak cold. It’s then that you realise she’s holding a can of baby food – mushy peas and carrot and you grimace, wondering if the smell alone would send you racing to the loo.

“Lovely, isn’t it? I just had my fourth a few months ago.”

Fourth.

You were on edge enough with your first.

“Fourth – wow, that’s amazing. Congratulations!” You hesitate, glancing at the pram before saying; “I’m only fourteen weeks along but he’s my first.”

Tom wants to stop you and tell you that he had a hunch the baby was going to be a girl but bites his tongue. Instead he glances into the pram, seeing a baby in a Dora onesie and can’t help but smile. The wee thing had drool running down her chin– blue eyes wide and hopeful and filled with curiosity.

He couldn’t help but think that if he had a girl, he’d dress her in greens and yellows. Tom liked yellow because it always reminded him of the sunrise – and lemons, definitely lemons. Sweet and sour at the same time. Lemons were perfect for making lemonade, a treat everyone enjoyed as well as ice blocks to be devoured on a hot day.

He liked green because it reminded him of grass but more specifically grass in the summer after meeting hours of sun rays. When each strand is painted a vibrant green and ladybugs take their place between threads.

“Make the most of it, as much as you enjoy actually being able to hold them you miss the bump. You won’t believe me now because… the pains, constant bathroom use, the cravings – it’s wild, but you do miss having them so close all the time.” The lady tells you, glancing up at Tom. “And you – dad, I assume.” She beams, pearly whites shining through glossy lips. “What a lucky man. You be good to her, she’s going to need you.”

Your mouth falls, forming an O shape. “Oh, we’re not –”

“Thank you, I am lucky.” Tom slips his hand into yours, feeling your ring press against his finger and smiles adoringly. It was a promise ring between two friends. A promise that you wouldn’t lose him and him you sealed with a single silver heart. “I’m super excited to be a dad and to do it with the love of my life too? It’s a dream, really.”

You knew that Tom was dragging it on but you swear your heart stops for a second upon hearing him call you the love of his life. You had called one another that before and even joked about it from time to time while watching romcoms, specifically. But it sounded different coming from him in such a serious tone. Your chest swells at the statement and your cheeks grow as warm as a heating pad.

You narrow your eyes at him anyway, keeping your flaring senses to yourself. “He’s been wonderful, really, an absolute angel throughout the whole experience so far.” The sarcasm is shield by your remorse, for you were both lying straight to the ladies face.

Her baby begins to let out little cries and her small screeches quickly consume the aisle. The baby is looking you dead in the eyes with wavering hands, little fingers screwed into fists. You don’t know what to do– that is, before Tom begins to coe towards the child, gentle noises falling from his lips and she calms down slightly, watching his every move.

He’s a natural and you’re clearly not the only one that thinks that as the stranger glimpses down, a look of adoration on her face.

It’s when she walks away from that you talk to him again, your heart doing 180’s in your chest. All blood has run to your cheeks and the tips of your ears and his coat no longer seems necessary but you keep it on, draping over your arms and waist and what would be called the beginning of your bump.

“She was nice.” He hums, watching her walk down the aisle with the pram beneath closed fingertips. “and her baby was adorable. Little girl too, had the cutest duck stuffie.”

”Hmm.” You glare, only being able to murmur a small response. In the basket, the ice cream begins to melt, condensation rolling right down the side and onto the bottom of the plastic. At some point during the chat, you’d taken it back off of Tom and were now gripping the handles tightly between your fingers to stop you from fiddling with your fingers.

Tom raises his hands above his head in exaggeration and tries to prevent a laugh from escaping his lips. “What’d I do?”

He’s coy, pretending he didn’t know what he did to further bug you but you both knew.

“Wipe that smirk off of your face, dork, you know what you did.”

“What?” His hands go to your waist and he tugs you closer, ignoring the canned peaches. You try to shuffle away when Toms grip loosens and soon his fingers are brushing over your waist, successfully prompting giggles out of you as he reaches your ticklish spots. “You’re my girlfriend, you’re meant to love me!” He over exaggerates.

“I’m going to drop your ice cream if you don’t stop!” You threaten, loosening the grip on the basket. “I’m not your girlfriend, you ass.”

Toms' fingers come to a halt, keeping you close against his chest and without either of your knowledge, an elderly man glares as he wanders past in search of the cola but his wife coos at the two so evidently in love. Her heart flutters in pure adoration and it only accelerates when Tom can no longer contain his spurts of laughter.

“My ice cream? You’ve basically already made your claim on that.” -

Tom throws himself onto the bed with a huff, ignoring the cat that hisses as he does so. He wants to hiss back but at this point, the thing was damn near close to attacking him. So he simply ignores it, resulting in the ginger cat scurrying off on little furry feet.

Your room is dark, merely lit up by the light from your laptop screen, the bedside lamp and the moon that shines through a gap in the curtains but you’re quick to shut the lid of your laptop when Tom plops down, taking the light with it.

But it doesn’t take a large amount of light to show that your room is much cleaner then his but maybe that was because you’ve only been living there for a small number of weeks. The majority of your clothing is hung up and tucked away in the wardrobe, only the odd item is strewn on the floor or on the end of the bed while a few, still unpacked items sit in the corner.

“What were you looking at?” He questions, handing you a metal spoon. It’s one of the ones with funky animals at the ends and you wonder if they’re new – or if he simply hadn’t given you the one with the elephant on the end up until now.

You stare at your closed laptop momentarily, endless thoughts plaguing your mind.

“Nothing,” You hum, taking a spoonful of the ice cream he had so politely offered to share. “Just doin’ some stuff for work, the usual.”

The ice cream tub is cold in his hand and he lets it rest in between the tangled mess of sheets. If you weren’t currently working on swallowing the guilt that was sitting at the back of your throat then maybe you would’ve told him off because the pint was sure to make your sheets wet and cold.

“Sounds boring.” He groans, throwing his head back on the pillow. Brown curls lay scattered and you bite back the urge to run your fingers through them. Tom looked peaceful, nothing less then content as he heads towards a mild brain freeze.

“It is, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

SEVEN

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[wiltedthrone-a]

NAME :   jalyssa sksksksk

NICKNAME :   jo

FACECLAIM :   i use(d?) laura harrier bc she’s gorgeous but now i actually have an oc to use her for so idk

PRONOUNS :   she/her.

HEIGHT :   5′7″

BIRTHDAY :   aug 18

AESTHETIC :  vinyl records, striped shirts, mustard yellow, dark woods, paint on hands and clothes, brown boots, flannels, baseball bats, baby blue, fairy lights, polaroids, denim, worn down converse, bonfires, arcade games, bootcut jeans, city lights at night, patches, lavender, sunflowers, curly hair

LAST  SONG YOU  LISTENED TO :   sedated by hozier (playing now)

FAVOURITE  MUSE (S) YOU’VE  WRITTEN : lit rally all of them but as as on tumblr that’s — malia tate, jackson whittemore, veronica raeken (short lived teen wolf oc rip), magnolia (my new lil bby love her) and ofc audrey

GETTING  TO KNOW THE  ACCOUNT :

WHAT  INSPIRED  YOU TO TAKE  ON THIS MUSE :   LISTEN OKAY SO when i watched descendants when it first came out in 2015 i was like “ok but audrey got hella snaked” and then she wasn’t even in d2? ugly. fast forward and macy and leah start writing for descendants and im like,,,i didn’t know,,,,anyone else my age,,,,liked this series asdfghjhgtfrdesfg and originally was gonna write magnolia my oc, uma and celia but i hadn’t seen d3 yet bc it was gonna make me big sad BUT IT TOOK AUDREY BEING ON SCREEN FOR A TOTAL OF SEVEN MINUTES FOR ME TO HAVE MAJOR MUSE FOR HER!!! A NEW RECORD!! like i had watched queen of mean when the video dropped and i was like “damn, baddie” but watching the movie i instantly was like,,,,,this is my baby this is my muse i need to write her because canon does her sooooooooooo fuckin dirty

for magnolia — princess and the frog is my favorite princess movie of all time, it’s very important to me and laura harrier is the perfect faceclaim ok ok. i also just,,,,really wanted to see the daughter of tiana and descendants Did Not Deliver so it was up to Me dfghgd but honestly truly i was already gonna write dr. facilier’s daughter so i thought it would be nice to have a balance

WHAT’S  YOUR BIGGEST  INSPIRATION WHEN  IT COMES TO WRITING :   umumumu honestly truly listening to my playlist for audrey which includes queen of mean and a lot of ariana grande, also looking at musing, also screaming about the royal trio at ungodly hours i love,,,,talking to people about muses ok ok

FAVOURITE  TYPES OF THREADS : i,,,,,,,,,,if u don’t know now u kno i slip into angst lit rally no matter what. no matter if it hurts me, no matter if the meme prompt is about a frozen turkey, i will make it angst. but i also really like humor and banter and i need that soft content to balance it out

BIGGEST  STRUGGLE IN  REGARDS TO YOUR  CURRENT MUSE : jesus christ okay back to canon doing her dirty. audrey is not some one dimensional shallow girl pretending to be in love with ben to get the crown. she’s not even a mean girl just because and that’s what canon likes to put her as. so my challenge is how do i ground her, make her authentic, redeemable and human (spoiler alert: by reading her diary) but still keep the aspects of her that people would recognise from canon. also baby doesn’t swear (at least in my head) and i’m,,,,such a potty mouth i wedfghds

for magnolia — she’s a new muse and an oc so i’m really just,,,trying to figure out her character and who she is. im not a huge plotter ok so things usually just come at me as i write. also bc she’s an oc i’m really insecure and like,,,afraid people won’t be interested in writing with her so i treat her like a tertiary muse but i love her sm ):

tagged by : @griimhilde  (i adore u.)

tagging : @charmingjr @seadivine @hookedreign @shemisfit @memorystxrs @jaydenjafar @halfscren @chrmiing 

[carmenlire]

Put the Fire Out

@magnusandalexander has a Malec Spotify playlist and Seven Dials is on it and when I listened to it, this popped into my head!

read on ao3

Alec grins, a savage glint in his eye. It’s him against a dozen Dormai demons and he relishes the fight. Adrenaline courses through him, making him feel impossibly invincible. It’s been ages since he was in a good fight, since he was forced to use the wide breadth of his skill against an opponent.

He’s filthy, with ichor burning patches of clothing and stinging exposed skin. His blood is flowing-- from a cut above his eye to where a demon had pierced through his thigh.

He doesn’t feel anything, though.

His focus is complete, unwavering. The fighting is too close range for proper archery, so Alec makes do.

He always does.

He has an arrow in one hand and a dripping seraph blade in the other. He has half a dozen runes activated and were anyone to observe him, they’d only see a blur of movement and hear the agonized cries of the demons. Alec grants no quarter. He’s long since lost track of time, but he’s down to half a dozen of the disgusting things left.

They’re reptilian, with rows of teeth so sharp they could peel the skin off their captive effortlessly. They’re as big as leopards and move with the same cunning grace. They grin back at him, wild expressions of rage and determination. He’s been backed against the wall for awhile now and they smell victory.

Alec didn’t become the best shadowhunter on the east coast without being put through his paces, however. Alec’s own smile becomes wider and more feral as he lunges forward, cutting his blade through the air to decapitate one of the monstrosities. In the next instant, his arrow is embedded in the eye of another Dormai demon, their screeches deafening but bringing grim satisfaction.

Alec’s vision is hazy and red and he hastily wipes his arm across his forehead, clearing the blood away and restoring his vision. The remaining four demons are staying at a distance for the moment, clearly trying to strategize the best way to take out the threat that’s killed almost ten of their own.

Alec braces his weight on one foot and takes the time to swipe his blade across his thigh, cleaning it as best he can until he gets home.

Alec has a lot of issues with being a shadowhunter. He didn’t let himself acknowledge them until a few years ago, but there’s no denying that being a nephilim carries a lot of baggage. Shadowhunters are upheld as paragons of the downworld, they have a tendency to be homophobic and unwelcoming in the extreme, and they’re not known for their bedside manner.

As Head of the Institute, Alec has worked to change some of those things both at his institute, and with shadowhunter policies at the top through official Clave channels. It’s a slow process but Alec has all the time in the world and nothing sets his blood on fire like his brethren being the worst versions of themselves.

This, though. Alec can’t deny that he can’t get enough of the hunt. Out here on the streets of New York-- or Rome or Tokyo-- it’s just him and the demons. It’s a test to see who’s the best and Alec always wins. He’s the best archer and a devil at seraph blades or throwing stars or anything else that catches his interest. He’s a dedicated student and has spent countless hours pouring over the weapons room, sharpening his ability in a wide range of weaponry and combat strategy.

Alec loves the buzzing under his skin during a fight and immediately following. Sometimes, the high lasts for hours-- Alec used to burn the energy off in the training room, even though he’d be so sore or injured that just standing hurt. But now, he has Magnus and his fiancé knows just what to do to bring him down.

All of that will come later though. Right now, Alec is acutely aware of the sting in his thigh, a dull throb that beats in time with his pulse. One of the bastards had caught him with their claw, grotesquely long things that had the strength of steel. Alec thinks the wound might go all the way through but he can’t worry about that now. For now, he puts it out of his mind and ignores the blister swelling between his thumb and index finger. His hands are so calloused that he’s still surprised when skin splits under a crushing grip on a blade or bow.

The pain brings everything into focus. Alec has long since stopped using training and patrol as an excuse to engage in destructive behavior, but it’s this, that makes his blood turn hot. The knowledge of what his body is capable of, how much it can stand, how powerful it can be, that makes going out on patrol something he still does once a week, rain or shine.

He thinks it keeps him sane.

There’s no thinking when confronted with demons that would rather swallow a person whole than breathe. There’s only reflex and action and cold, calculating skill. Alec doesn’t advertise it, but sometimes he thinks there’s more Jace in him than he likes everyone to believe. It’s no secret that parabatai share a piece of their soul with the other and Alec has often wondered if that need for release that rides him so hard when he’s out in the field isn’t an extension of what Jace feels. Or maybe, they’re both blood-thirsty bastards that enjoy killing a little too much.

Whatever the case is, it doesn’t matter now. One of the demons jumps straight in the air before coming down almost on top of Alec. Alec deflects it’s limb with the flat of his blade, but the force brings him down onto his back. The demon is leaning over him, ready to make the killing blow, when its screams rip through the air. Alec’s arrow is embedded in its heart and the thing dissolves into black ichor, absolutely suffocating Alec in the stuff.

Alec coughs, trying not to throw his guts up as the last three charge at him at once. Spitting out a glob of pitch black saliva mixed with blood, Alec feints back and drops down, bringing them closer. Once they’re within striking distance, it’s a battle of the highest caliber.

Sweat is dripping down Alec's face, his back, into open cuts. His body aches, a pulsing bruise, and he swears a blue streak when one of the demons gets a lucky hit in and throws him against the wall, his head hitting brick and sounding a loud crack down the air. Alec blinks several times and grunts out a fuck as a different one reaches for his arm, jerking it and snapping it clean in two. The pain is blinding but shit just got real and Alec clears his head through sheer force of will.

With one arm out of commission, Alec is left with a seraph blade and his wits. He hauls himself up to his feet. He sways a little unsteadily but when he catches one of them coming towards him in his peripheral vision, he turns in reflex and brings the blade up just as the demon lunges forward, impaling itself and turning to ash.

Only two to go, Alec thinks and fixes his grip on the hilt. In quick succession, Alec has killed one of the last demons, falling onto a knee and stabbing the creature through its stomach, hissing as yet more ichor spills on him.

It’s one on one now and Alec’s grin returns, a maniacal gleam in his eye. If anyone saw him now, they’d think him a mad man. This has been the most brutal patrol he’s been on in months and even though he’ll regret everything tomorrow, right now it’s satisfying as hell. He’s killed eleven demons without backup-- a rookie mistake he would dress anyone else down for-- and soon that will be an even dozen.

This last demon is smarter than the rest of them and stays back, taking Alec’s measure for a moment before ducking to the right. Alec has barely enough time to bring his blade up and grunts when his thigh gives a vicious pang as he takes a step back to absorb the impact.

What follows is long minutes of combat. The demon is a persistent fucker and each time one of its limbs crashes against him, Alec aches a little more. It’s through sheer chance that it leaves its side vulnerable for a split second, but that’s all the time Alec needs to finish him off.

With the last demon dead and sent back to hell, the alley is quiet. It’s just Alec’s harsh breathing and the drip of blood from the seraph blade.

Alec exhales and winces as he becomes aware of everything. In the next minute, he’s activated his iratze and sighs in relief as he feels his arm knit together and feels the worst edge of the bruises and cuts heal.

Alec wipes his blade on his jeans and shoves it into his thigh holster. He walks over the the wall and picks up the arrow he’d dropped, returning it to the quiver still on his back.

He takes out his phone and sees that it’s almost four in the morning. He’d been in this particular fight for almost an hour and it’s time to head back.

Alec makes his way to the loft, his body in pain but he’s buzzing. The adrenaline has yet to burn off and with his runes still working, Alec sees everything with crystal clear acuity. He hears the clacking of heels as a prostitute walks towards a car with blacked-out windows. He sees the homeless man in the shadows of a doorway and can smell the leftovers the couple down the block is carrying.

It’s a few minutes before Alec reaches the loft. He opens the door quietly and eases it shut when he sees that Magnus must have gone to bed. Alec toes off his shoes and stows his gear in the special box Magnus had placed in the entryway for him so long ago.

He walks carefully into the ensuite, swiping a bottle of whiskey from the drink cart on his way, past a sleeping Magnus, and doesn’t breathe fully until he’s in the bathroom and has the door closed behind him.

Alec turns the lights and faucet on and rummages in the cabinet for needle and thread. While his iratze would fix the critical injuries, the wound on his thigh is still bleeding and Alec needs to stitch it up.

Field Medicine 101.

Alec unfastens his thigh holster and peels his soaked jeans off, tossing everything into the corner. He takes off everything else, leaving him in just his underwear, and takes his first look at the injury. There’s a jagged opening on his thigh, just right of center, and Alec winces as he knows what’s to come. Walking over to the floor length mirror, he turns around and sees an exit hole. Alec limps back the the sink-- the wound is much more painful now that he knows the extent of it-- and practices his breathing while washing his hands a few times over with antibacterial soap. The shit’s astringent but that’s just what he needs right now.

Drying his hands, Alec reaches for the bottle of whiskey. He’s never acquired a real taste for liquor but that doesn’t stop him from opening the bottles and taking a few liberal swigs. It burns all the way down. Alec takes a moment and breathes past it before taking a few more drinks.

It will take a few moments for the alcohol to take affect and in the meantime, Alec looks grimly down at his leg. He could leave it be. Take a shower, and then when he'd wake up in the morning it would be closed and well on its way to healing. But, Alec doesn’t want a jagged scar from the demon’s claw and it’s easier to get it out of the way.

With a last deep breath, Alec reaches for the whiskey bottle one last time and manages his way into the bathtub. Once he’s standing in it, he pours liberally over the open wound front and back.

While Alec has had to fix things up the rough way a few times, he never gets used to the burn. Everything turns white-hot and his vision wavers as he gasps then swears a blue streak-- all while trying to keep quiet.

His strength rune is still activated, however, and when he reaches for something to focus on instead of the pain, he ends up hitting the shower wall and sees the cracked porcelain. He has a brief thought that Magnus will need explanations for why he needs to fix the bathroom when all of a sudden, he’s steady again.

The pain is still licking up his insides but it’s simmered back down to manageable. Alec threads the needle and starts making military-precision stitches. It’s only half a dozen but Alec has to grit and hiss his way through it. Ales is a warrior, a born soldier, but some things are impossible to get through stoically.

He’s only done the front so far and is just contemplating how the hell he’s going to stitch the back of his thigh up, when there’s a tenative knock on the door.

“Alexander?”

Alec fumbles for the whiskey bottle, taking another deep sip in an effort to control the wavering in his voice.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Can I come in?”

Alec doesn’t really have a good reason for keeping Magnus out. He already knows Magnus will be annoyed that he didn’t wake him up to heal himself but Alec is loathe to use Magnus’s magic whenever he’s perfectly capable of dealing with things himself.

Holding back a grunt of pain, Alec just answers, “Go ahead.”

The door knob twists and slowly swings open. Magnus peers in and takes in the bunched up clothes in the corner absolutely reeking of ichor and blood, the whiskey bottle with just a few sips left, and Alec, standing in the bathtub hold a needle and thread that's also been doused in whiskey.

He just raises a brow and takes in the row of neat stitches in stark contrast to Alec’s pale skin. “Have fun tonight, darling?”

Alec grunts out something unintelligible that sounds like an agreement, followed by a muttered, "Yeah. I killed a few dozen tonight. Felt good." Magnus can’t help the slight worry in his gaze. He knows his fiancé. It’s obvious Alexander loves demon hunting. It’s in his blood, part of his very biology. Magnus has seen Alec after enough hunts gone well to know how keyed up he can get-- it’s a rush of the highest order and Magnus usually tries to stay up and wait for Alec on nights that he knows he’s going on patrol. Alec is a superbly talented shadowhunter but he isn’t infallible. It’s in moments like this that Magnus sees the fragility of what he’s found. He didn’t finally get a love for eternity only to lose him to demon filth.

Magnus knows that while Alec is shameless about his magic in bed and for the most frivolous things-- hot coffee in bed without moving, as his own tailor service-- Alec absolutely hates asking for Magnus’s help with anything serious. Alec thinks he’s inconveniencing him, which is such horseshit but Alec’s always been the last to see his worth.

Alec has the good grace to look sheepish and Magnus just rolls his eyes before coming over to the bath and holding his hand up to Alec’s thigh. The blue of his magic swirls around and Alec’s breath catches at the warmth, at the comfort Magnus’s magic always brings. He holds still, only relaxing when he feels his leg heal completely. Magnus moves on to the various cuts and bruises littering Alec’s body. Alec sags in relief as the pain trickles away.

Magnus hums, a little under his breath, and Alec’s eyes become impossibly heavy. He’s crashed hard and Magnus catches him as he sways a little. He helps Alec sit in the claw foot tub and turns the water on-- just a hair short of too hot, just the way Alec likes. He leaves Alec to lay for a moment, heading towards his apothecary. He grabs a few medicinal scrubs and healing potions and when he comes back, Alec is dozing. Magnus pours the liquid in and the air immediately becomes tinged with the scents of lavender and eucalyptus.

Alec drags his eyes open and smiles a little at Magnus, grabbing his hand and kissing it in gratitude.

Alec washes off the ichor and dried blood and sweat. Magnus changes the water twice and lets Alec soak for a few minutes, using that time to just take him in.

Alec is a handsome man. Sharp cheekbones and delicious stubble with wonderful hazel eyes makes his face the most interesting Magnus has ever studied. His body is well-muscled befitting a warrior and Magnus lets his gaze wander for a moment.

His very own dark Adonis.

After ten minutes or so past, Magnus gently wakes Alec up with a chaste kiss. Alec hums and blinks his eyes open, looking so open and soft that Magnus can hardly stand it.

He urges Alec to stand up and magics a towel into his hand, drying Alexander himself. He barely lingers anywhere interesting, far too aware that dawn is approaching and they’re both ready for sleep.

They walk to the bed together, and Alec all but falls into it, face first. Magnus chuckles and turns off his bedside lamp before crawling into his side. He’s immediately covered by an octopus who buries his face into his shoulder, throws an arm around his stomach, and wedges a thigh between his.

Alec hums and presses even closer. He’s radiating heat and contentment and Magnus lets that blanket cover him and lull him to sleep.

The last thing he hears before drifting off is Alec’s slurred, “Thanks, Magnus. I love you so much. 'Night, babe.”

They’ll wake up around noon and enjoy a leisurely brunch. They’ll talk about Alec’s tragic inclination to do everything himself and Alec will apologize and things will get better. Alec always listens and adjusts his behaviour accordingly. They’ll go their separate ways and complete another day as the power couple of New York’s downworld. Alec will go on another hunt and taste that edge he loves so much and Magnus will always be there to heal him and make sure that he makes it home every night in one piece.

It’s a predictably unpredictable life and Magnus wouldn’t have it any other way.