#I can’t even mention and expansion or it’s gonna be so obvious

[impossible-rat-babies]

me grabbing eyrie and shaking them is it not enough to have gone through four ships by now. is it not enough for you funny man

[juniperhillpatient]

Same anon as before I think slasher I watched the X trilogy recently and I really liked those movies so something with a similar vibe

Nice ♥️ I haven’t seen Maxxine yet (no spoilers please & thank u!) but I loooved X & Pearl, especially Pearl it was such a fantastic sympathetic villain character introspective.

I’m sure if you’re a horror fan you’ll have seen the OG Texas Chainsaw, the aesthetic for which served clear inspiration for X. If not that’s a must see of course.

Hopefully slightly less obvious recommendations though here we go - I think American Mary is another pretty good exploration of a complex & occasionally awful but very sympathetic violent young woman as the protagonist. Katherine Isabelle is also a goddess. Trigger warnings for graphic onscreen sexual assault & drugging & lots of body horror & medical horror.

Another good one that’s more basic & campy & comedic than X Pearl or American Mary but still super fun is Superhost. This is more of a horror comedy. I was trying to think of my favorite leading lady slasher girlies that shine though & the villainess in this movie is just super super fun & I love her. I just feel like if you love onscreen crazy deranged women this movie is gonna be a good time.

If you haven’t seen the Hostel trilogy I highly recommend it. And I think the second one specifically will cater to you if you like strong female leads. The protagonist, Beth, & the villain she has a kinda homoerotic thing going with, Axelle, give a very Killing Eve vibe. The first movie is lacking compelling leading ladies but it’s still really good & offers an interesting discussion on class & exploitation that appeals to me while still also just being a very fun gory time. The third movie is forgettable nothing special about it I like it just fine as an expansion of the lore because the lore of these movies & the evil secret society at the center is compelling. Anyway I bring up the discussion on class because I think X & Pearl & I imagine Maxxine too are in constant discussion with the audience. It’s fun when movies are more than just a basic slasher although they can be that too, it’s just fun if a movie’s got a self aware analytical meaningful lens you can enjoy too if you like me enjoy being pretentious about slashers.

Rob Zombie isn’t for everyone but the House of 1000 Corpses trilogy while deviating wildly from the above mention of analytical & meaningful discussion - is SUPER fun simply for the lore & characters. I adore the Firefly family & their evil codependent us against the world vibe & there’s something delightful about movies that aren’t trying to do anything other than show you some really fun characters with really fun dynamics. Also again if you enjoy evil violent women you’re under obligation by law to love my best friend Baby Firefly.

If you haven’t seen Abigail yet that’s another super fun violent slasher where the lady leads get to shine. And there’s a ballerina vampire & a heist aspect. Melissa Berera & Katherine Newton are there. You can’t lose.

This is more so simply a brutal gory but also thoughtful & thought provoking movie - Eden Lake. This movie fucked with my head. Watch it for a bad unrelenting bleak & brutal time.

If part of what appeals to you about X is the compelling group dynamic you might really like The Rental. Go into this movie blind if you can because…. It’s just one of those movies that’s so much better if you don’t know in advance where it’s going. What sells this movie is the cast & not even just my best friend Alison Brie, everyone in this movie is sooo good & the chemistry & occasional awkwardness just brings it all so to life. It’s a really really good movie mostly because the characters whether awful or not feel incredibly real so when the plot picks up IT feels incredibly real.

Anyway this list is kinda all over the place but hopefully that gives you a good variety to pick from! Thanks for asking me about horror movies 🍿 And if you find something fun you’ll have to let me know!

[airiat]

a treatise on iorveth’s ugly mug (affectionately)

i myself have rejected the spear of destiny as the explanation for iorveth’s lost eye and other facial disfigurements. in this post, i explain, in detail, why that is.

(be warned, this gets dark and somewhat graphic in the ways it’d be expected to)

my gripes:

the shape of the scar

look, i’ll admit i really know nothing about spear fighting, but i did watch a 9 minute youtube video on techniques and also have a bit of common sense. enough to say that things are just not adding up here.

quite simply, the scarring looks precise and premeditated. it’s following right along the contour of his cheekbone. could a spear have been so exacting? doubtful.

yet, while the placement is precise, the line itself is not. if it had been made in a quick slash, the scar would be even and smooth. if it had been made in a slow and drawn out manner, well, then it might take the more jagged and uneven path that it does. it looks deep and it looks brutal. perhaps it was even repeatedly started and stopped.

is this the work of a spear? it can’t be.

the rate of healing

if it takes about a year to adapt to suddenly losing the vision in one eye, then this must be an injury that has been healed for at least that long. else he probably wouldn’t be as active as we see him. shooting a bow? fighting with a sword? yeah, that’s gonna take some time to relearn. to say nothing of the pain.

so, if this injury is so old, then why is the skin around it still so red? what is the cause of the discoloration? is it from bruising? is it from burns? why is it also not swollen?

not to mention, the conflict in upper aedirn would seem to be too recent for him to have been hurt then, which is when the spear was around.

my theories:

one is not the other

his eye injury and facial disfigurement may have been done by two separate weapons. certainly, an eye could be taken out by a spear. most certainly, some weapon other than a spear was what injured his face. i suggest a dagger or knife of some sort.

at the same time

if we assume that the spear was used in battle, and if we settle on the idea that his scar was the result of something thought out and drawn out, then his face and eye could have not have been injured at the same time. furthermore, the scar appears to start at his brow. they are two separate injuries.

yet, the rate of healing would say that they happened at the same time; one does not appear further along than the other. perhaps, then, there was no spear involved at all and it was done entirely by that dagger or knife.

with magic

this is a world where such a thing exists. i can think of no other explanation for why his injuries would still look like shit after they have healed except that they were enchanted to stay that way. what kind of person would have gone to such trouble to do that? someone who wanted to hurt him.

my conclusion:

iorveth is an archer, so his sight is crucial for what he does. if somebody wanted to weaken him, an eye would be the obvious target. but the presence of such facial disfigurement would say that this was something much more than that: it was personal. it was an act of cruelty and hatred.

someone took his eye and then decided that they would also ruin his beauty. carve out those damn fine elven cheekbones and take away the very thing most aen seidhe so pride themselves in. take away everything that made him exactly who he was and leave a husk behind.

but after all is said and done, why not take both eyes? why not disfigure both sides of his face?

so that he can still see himself and what he’s become, so that he would have to struggle through relearning something that once came as easily as breathing. so that the blank, untouched expanse of skin can remind him of how it all used to be. to take every bit of his pride and power and reduce him into nothing.

and why, more than anything, was he left alive?

because they underestimated him. they thought that they’d broken his spirit, that this was a fate worse than death. he’d slink away to lick his wounds and it would be the end of him. but this person, his tormentor, had pride greater than even iorveth did. so much that it rotted into arrogance. who are they to think that they would be the one to stop him? never.

so, then, just who are they?

someone who can use magic would be the easy answer. someone who would have access to magically-enhanced weapons is another one. but this took careful planning. this was close to the heart. this was born of passion. this was not the work of a sorcerer or the nobility. it was done by someone who’d lost something by iorveth’s own hand.

it was done in revenge. messy, devastating, wicked revenge.

[boytouya]

𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 / 𝙇𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙎𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜

warning: short mention of t-shots/needles, slight angst

words: 1.1k

request: “Hi Cloud! I hope you’re having a great day :) Could i request Dabi with a black, transman boyfriend who is attempting to subtly ask Dabi to marry him and Dabi catches the hints but just… doesn’t want to be the one proposed to first (if that makes any sense) so he keeps acting oblivious for like months and eventually reader has had enough and just pins him down, slides to his knees and is like, “Dabi, I’m gonna die if you don’t marry me” and Dabi’s just a blushing mess because… why is reader on the floor crying with desperation for him? He didn’t think people could want him, let alone so badly. -🌨”

a/n: this has been sitting in my inbox for so long but i finally got to it! i’m so sorry for the long wait. still experimenting with my writing style... so i’m sorry if it’s wonky. i don’t proofread or have anyone to beta read my fics, so some words may be out of place. i’m sorry!

Dabi never considered himself unlovable, he was just unsure whether he had the potential to be loved. To cherish another being, nurture their soul and protect them from the raw, frostbitten anger of the world till his every last breath; he wondered if he had the ability to do that. So he continuously plays dumb, pretends to never fully understand what you’re asking because, quite frankly, he’s afraid. He’s afraid his love for you will overflow. Afraid the flames separating your bond from the cruelty of the universe will set the bond itself aflame and burn it into ashes and stardust. Then all he’d have left are the pieces of you, the ashes he can’t seem to wash off his skin.

Yet he holds your hand anyway. Admiring the contrast in your skin, pressing his hand into yours for as long as he can-to get as much contact as he can- feeling your thumb run over his knuckles and the tips of your ring finger tracing along his jagged skin. You hold his hand like it’s nothing. You know he could burn you whenever he pleases, if ever. But here you are. The sweat on his palm feels like thick layers upon layers of gasoline. But here you are.

You ask him again and again, with so much subtly it’s almost painfully obvious. Like clockwork, his mouth already on autopilot, Dabi’s lips part and his voice (which suddenly sounds so foreign to his own ears) escapes before he can actually consider it. He’s afraid he’d accept a million times over if he gave himself time to think. Truly, he does love you. His love for you has his heart full until it pops. And you see it every day, you hear it everyday. It explodes in the middle of the night, when even the stars expose their vulnerability, when he holds onto you and expresses his gratitude through whispers, dreams, and sleepless nights.

And maybe he wants to be in control of the situation. He wants to hear you say yes, watch you nod with stars in your eyes when finally feel how the universe revolves around you. How the Sun makes it its mission to land on you. And it does it so beautifully, the way highlights your skin just right, and browns your skin further.

“Dabi,” You begin, slotting your right hand above your boyfriend's shoulder and the other on its opposite. He has nowhere else to look but at you. He leans his head back against the wall, staring through the curtains of loose strands of jet black hair. Straight into your eyes and naturally curled eyelashes, nowhere for the eye to travel besides the expanse of skin, hair, and full lips. Those of which he’d kissed a million times before, and if it weren't for the thigh you had slotted between his own, he’d lean in to kiss you. An exasperated sigh sounds from that very area, making the villain snap his gaze back upward. “I’m begging you. If you don’t marry me right now, I’ll die.”

There’s so much desperation laced in your voice, and although Dabi is doing his best to mask the trembling deep within his bone marrow with a sly grin and lidded eyes, he can’t help but flush over the small amount of healthy skin on his cheeks. Cherry red and pairing with his purple scars beautifully, blending up and outward into small freckles and silver staples. He’s always been so beautiful.

He whistles, relaxing his shoulders so they melt into the wall and his body slumps against the thigh keeping him upright. In all honesty he doesn't know how to respond, opting for the safest sound he can make. Of all people, you want to be with him? He was never anything special. There would always be someone better than him. But you didn’t want someone better, you wanted Dabi.

You wanted to place a ring on his finger, you wanted to wipe the windows of his soul clean and use nothing but your blood sweat and tears to do so. You wanted to love him until separated by death, but you knew, even after that, you’d still be smitten. You wanted his everything. His heart, which had never belonged to anyone else. His lips, which you’d kissed a thousand times. His eyes, the same ones you often found yourself lost in, and mind. You never understood what was going on in that head of his, but it didn’t matter. Even if he was spiraling out of control, he’d always find a way to come back around to you.

His heart pounds against his chest, as if the adrenaline coursing through his veins sent his heart plummeting from a dangerous height into a field of flowers. Flowers bloomed because of you, flowers you planted and loved until they grew strong and stable. Stable enough to keep his heart from breaking on impact. Okay, shit. He really, truly does love you. And clearly you feel the same way toward him. He wanted to wake up and see you by his side, with a sleepy grin and disheveled head covering halfway off your head. He wanted to burn down cities with your hand in his, light up the sky with blue flames that burned ten times brighter around you. Of course, it would be an unconventional marriage with unconventional people and even weirder traditions. But that’s exactly what he wants, he wants to be with you.

He wanted to be with you when you’re sitting hunched over on the toilet, a needle in your hand as he helps you take your first T-shot. He wanted to be with you when you had bad days. He wanted to be with you when you had good ones. He wants to help you wash your hair, he wants to spend hours staring at you while you go about your daily life. You were his boyfriend, the light of his life, the one person he saw himself devoted to. You, you, you….

“Alright, you win,” Dabi says finally, shimmying through the confines of your arms and pulling something out of his back pocket. His lips stay pursed up into it’s finally out and on display. A ring, definitely stolen, with a custom band and large diamonds around its perimeter. The band was clear, but the ashes molded into it looked almost like marble. His lips twist into a sly grin, the dimples of his cheeks deepening as he slowly shifts the ring between three fingers. It’s beautiful, definitely worth more than your yearly salary, and you can tell Dabi asked for it to be made especially for you before stealing it. “I’ll marry you. But only if you marry me first.”

[cielcius]

YOU’RE A GIRL NOW | BAKUGOU KATSUKI

pairings: Bakugou x fem!reader

from the writer: I just thought of this a few days ago and lowkey missed writing like this. its more simple and just... yeah.

genre: crack, fluff, established relationship, pt. 1 of ‘Girls Night’

notes & warnings: injury, mentions of period cravings, mentions of harassment, mentions of food, pt. 1 of ‘Girls Night’

“Ow, ow, ow, stop pulling me, you little shit.” You roll your eyes at Bakugou who grumbles, just a step behind you as you drag him lightly by his arm. If anything, it’s his fault for getting into another unsupervised fight which he should have been able to ignore, no matter how much the victim had pissed him off. “Oh shush, just let me take care of you before you get caught up in another one of your scandals.” 

You can practically feel Bakugou’s eyeroll aiming at the back of your head, no doubt silently muttering your words back to you in a childish retaliation. Riding the elevator down to the common rooms, you peek out once the doors open to make sure the coast is clear before dragging him into the girls’ communal bathroom. You let go of his wrist and push the door wide open, knowing that the rest of the girls would know that something happened, for nobody dares to even leave the door unlocked. 

“Sit right there.” There are enough sinks to be able to claim one for yourselves, seeing as there were much fewer girls in the class. Reaching under for your basket, you pull out a first-aid kit for some bandages and cotton, deep in thought while silently eyeing Bakugou’s wounds. “So, who’s the poor guy who got his ass handed to him this time?” 

Bakugou scoffs at your question, glad that you’re quick to assume that he won, and oh he won alright. “Some bastard was just harassing this woman, reminded me of you.” Your eyebrow quirks up in confusion at his statement. “As thoughtful as it is, you really think I’m gonna let myself get harassed like that?” The cotton ball clutched in-between your fingertips soaks under the liquid pressure of the alcohol pouring out of the bottle before you take one of Bakugou’s hands. 

The crusted blood decorating his knuckles grows red with irritation and an almost unnoticeable hiss passes his lips. “No way in hell, not while I’m there.” His protective growls over you makes you laugh, shaking your head lightly at his ridiculousness. There’s another pair of footsteps, and as you had silently predicted seconds before-hand, the careless Jirou appears and disappears behind one of the bathroom stalls. 

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be in here?” Your laugh is the only sound that can be heard throughout the bathroom, smoothly covering what Jirou was doing. “I’m sorry Katsuki, but you’re actually one of the girls now that you’ve been in the bathroom. We just have to perform the ritual and give you your ceremonial robe.” You look up for a quick moment at Bakugou to see the most priceless expression, you aren’t even sure if he’s properly breathing at this point. 

The urge to laugh is strong but you want to see where this goes so you simply bite the inside of your cheek to keep the obvious smile off of your face. Jirou walks out to wash her hands, your previous words swirling in her mind. “Yeah, don’t worry. It usually ends in a girls night where we sneak out for barbecue.” You bite your lower lip now, silently thanking Jirou for going along with your act. 

“The fuck...” You can’t hear anything else Bakugou says when you burst out laughing at his facial expression, completely blank with the only conveyance of pure confusion. Bakugou will never tell you but for a split-second, he almost believed your claim when Jirou went to second it. “Okay, I’m sorry, Katsuki. We’re joking.” The bandage stretches over the expanse of his arm now, the snipping of scissors allowing him to subconsciously move his finished arm out of the way. 

You move to his other arm, a wide grin still present on your lips. “Hmph, I knew that, idiot,” He pauses. “....Does this mean we can’t go out for barbecue?” Now that you had mentioned it, Bakugou realizes that it was an occurrence that rarely happened in the dorms, due to not having enough money in their weekly budget for that type of meat. 

“You.. want to sneak out? For barbecue?” Both you and Jirou stop in your actions, looking curiously at your boyfriend who now sports a small pout on his lips. “Well, now that you fucking mentioned it, I kinda want it now.” You can’t believe your ears. The Bakugou Katsuki wants to sneak out for food of all things. “Aw, your first period craving.” 

You can’t help it as you lean back slightly at Bakugou’s outburst, grin only widening at his reaction. “Okay, okay, let’s do it. We can have our girls night tonight.” You share a quick look with Jirou and she nods, taking out her phone to announce the news in the girls’ group chat. “How’s ten thirty for you guys?” You look up at Bakugou, the roll of the bandage still clutched in your hand as you start to wrap the last of his injuries. 

“Don’t go all grandpa on me and fall asleep at eight, okay?” You smile teasingly and nod thankfully to Jirou as she exits the bathroom. The small grumbles of Bakugou are the only thing that fills the space of silence left behind before you press a longing kiss to his forehead, and the grumbles stop. 

[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.”

[gins-potter]

Casting Thoughts

Yes, I did a long post when the rumours first dropped but hey now it’s confirmed plus we have characters descriptions, and I’m bored so let’s do this all over again people.  Under the cut because it got long

Sisi Stringer as Rose Hathaway

I said this in my other post but I’m pretty happy with Sisi as Rose.

Visually I think she’s a great fit, I love that they casted a WoC in the main role, and I think if she can bring Rose’s humour and sarcasm to the role, she’s going to do great.

The character description mentions Rose being “fiery and outspoken”, happy to jump into the action, and the strongest fighter in her class but struggling to toe the line, which is all very Rose-esque, especially in the first book.  It sounds to me like they have a good grasp on her character.

I’m a little disappointed we didn’t hear more about Rose as a character since she is the lead - it felt like the descriptions for Lissa and Dimitri both gave us a little more to go on - but it is only a very preliminary description so I’m happy to wait for more.

Daniela Nieves as Lissa Dragomir

Daniele is another one who I was happy with straight away.

She’s probably not what I imagined for Lissa visually but that’s not a bad thing either; I will be interested to see if they dye her hair a lighter colour (like a caramel-blonde) but personally that’s not something I need to see for her to be a great fit for Lissa.

I think she has a very sweet face which works well for a character like Lissa but I think she’s also going to be able to stand up in Lissa’s more fiercer moments which is nice to see as well.

The character descriptions mentions her as being “carefree and kind-hearted” who “coasts” through life until a death in the family thrusts her into a new role.  That sounds a lot like pre-series Lissa so I wonder if we’re going to see a bit of that in the show before Andre (and her parents??) die and see that change.  

It’s curious though that she’s described as the younger sister of the heir apparent - which would be Andre - so it sounds like they’ve changed it so Andre was supposed to be King.  Obviously a deviation from the books but I don’t hate it?  I don’t think it would change Lissa’s arc all that much because obviously she was always going to grow up to be an influential royal figure, this just slightly changes the dynamics of it.

The description also specifically mentions that she’s uninterested in “political machinations” and the “hypocrisy of the moroi royal society” which sounds very accurate to book!lissa as well.

All in all I’m very happy with what they’re doing with Lissa.

Keiron Moore as Dimitri Belikov

This is one who’s really grown on me since the rumoured cast list started circulating.  At first I was kind of eh about him but I can really see him as Dimitri now.

I will be curious to see if he grows out his hair or not though.

As far as I know Keiron is not Russian, there’s not a lot about him online, but there’s some instagram activity on his account linking him to UK based companies so that would be my guess as to where he’s from.  They’ve kept Dimitri’s incredibly Russian name so I guess we’re to assume Keiron might be doing an accent and they’re keeping Dimitri’s backstory relatively the same?  I’m not gonna be super mad if they change it just because I think it’s doable for him not to be Russian (I know, I know a whole book is set in Russia but lbr here they could make him from anywhere and just send Rose there in that book).

The biggest thing for me will be his chemistry with Sisi, Danila and Zoey had great chemistry (imo anyway) which saved the move a little for me, so it’ll be important that Sisi and Keiron do as well.  They’ve interacted a few times online which is cute so I’m hoping they were able to do some chemistry reads and that will translate on screen.

The character description mentions Dimitri as being “lethal, disciplined, discreet, and totally committed” as well as living by “a deep moral code” but with more going on “beneath his stoic, watchful surface” which sounds exactly like book!Dimitri to me.

They don’t really specify what his role at St Vlad’s is going to be but they do mention that he is a guardian so I’m assuming they’re keeping some sort of age gap between him and Rose.  They also don’t mention anything about their relationship in the description, be it student/teacher, platonic, romantic, whatever, but they do say he has “an expansive spirit that could threaten to expose the underlying tension between his sense of what’s right and his formal duty to the Moroi.” which seems like a nod to their relationship.

Andre Dae-Kim as Christian Ozera

This was one of my favourite casting choices from the original rumoured cast list and I still love it.

The idea of a non-white Christian makes a lot of sense to me and I think Andre could do a great job of Christian’s aloofness (in the first book) as well as his sarcasm and growing confidence across the other books.

His character description confuses me a bit though: “Intelligent and thoughtful, Christian is the pariah of the school and royal court, due to his parents’ unforgivable societal sins.” sounds accurate enough to the book (although idk if thoughtful is quite the word I’d use for Christian - maybe they mean it in the sense that he’s quiet and keeps to himself?).

Even “Well-read and hungry for knowledge” doesn’t sound that far off, idk if he was *that* particularly studious in the books, but it doesn’t necessarily not make sense either you know?

But “he searches for faith-based answers and discovers a kindred spirit who is also looking for the truth” ??? My cynical, irreverent asshole Christian is now a man of faith? I’m assuming Lissa is the “kindred spirit” (again weird word choice but maybe they mean she’s feeling lost because of the death of her family?) but I just cannot see Christian as being particularly religious.

I’m trying to keep an open mind about these changes because you never know they might play out totally different on screen, but I really hope they didn’t make these changes, particularly that Christian is studious and religious, just because they cast an Asian actor as him (because they feel a little like Asian stereotypes).

J August Richards as Victor Dashkov

This is one that didn’t appear on the original rumoured cast list (as far as I saw) and it’s so different to his description in the books that I kind of don’t have an opinion about it as a casting choice.

I’ve never seen him in anything before so purely on a visual level I think he could be a great fit for Victor, I just think it’ll really come down to how he plays it.

As for this character description: “Victor is a Moroi noble vampire with a heart of gold who’s highly regarded for his role as advisor and political strategist to Moroi dignitaries.” as well as mentioning that he has intelligence and influence, sounds pretty accurate to the book.  Obviously if Andre was the heir to the throne, Victor had to be shifted out of that role, but I think his book 1 arc could still work if they wanted it to.

The “heart of gold” bit obviously made me chuckle and I really hope they threw it in there as a kind of decoy to throw non-book-readers off the fact that he’s actually the villain in book 1/s1.

As for giving him a husband and two daughters, my thoughts are: why the fuck not? He didn’t have a love interest in the original books and I’m always down for more lgbtq+ rep.  My only concern is it maybe playing into the trope of evil/villain characters being queer-coded.  And as for having two daughters, well as long as one of them is Natalie I don’t mind.

Anita-Joy Uwajeh as Tatiana Vogel

Okay this is the most bizarre one imo, not because of the casting, but just the character description.

I mean “Tatiana is a Moroi vampire and political underdog who slowly takes the royal court by storm. Motivated by love and a sense of justice, Tatiana has a unique skill of making herself seem of no consequence until we realize much too late that she was always the one to watch.” sounds extremely Tasha Ozera to me, so like why not just make this character Tasha?  Nothing about this sounds like Tatiana, and Tatiana wasn’t even a Vogel anyway (well Vogel wasn’t even one of the 12 royal families), she was an Ivashkov.

In terms of Anita-Joy herself, well I mean we don’t really have a character to compare her to, is she supposed to be more like Tasha or Tatiana?  She looks fairly young, so my guess is actually on Tasha, but we’ll have to wait to see I guess.

Mia McKenna-Bruce as Mia Karp

This is another one that I was instantly a fan of.

I was so not a fan of Mia’s casting in the movie (I can’t even remember who played her tbh but I really didn’t like it) so this Mia is a lot closer to how I imagine her.

I think she’ll be able to carry Mia’s transformation from bratty social-climber to badass fighter really well.

The character description is interesting though.  “Witty, cutting, and just the right kind of ruthless when necessary, non-Royal Mia has a long-term plan to social climb her way into the ranks of royalty, with all the privilege and freedom that entails.” sound pretty bang on to Mia in the first book.

“A plan complicated by her instant chemistry with Meredith, a Guardian-in-training, as Mia struggles to reconcile her attraction to Meredith with her lowly status.” is an obvious deviation though, and one I kind of love???  Give me all the queer rep, and if we get to see Mia confront the issue of comp-het I’m so here for it.  

It’s kind of funny though because I’ve seen theories that Meredith is a replacement for Eddie and Mia/Eddie has always been my sort of rarepair ship.

The last name Karp is weird af though.  Is she supposed to be Sonya’s daughter?  And if that’s the case I wonder if we’re going to actually see Sonya turn Strigoi in the show’s first season or something and that triggers the change in Mia?  Interesting concept but I’m not sure how the timeline will work.

Rhian Blundell as Meredith

So this is another new one, and tbh I hadn’t given Meredith *that* much though in the past but she’s probably close to how I would have pictured her which is cool.

The elephant in the room with this casting is that Meredith’s role in the books was relatively minor - she was just kind of that character that got brought up whenever R.M needed a dhampir who wasn’t Rose/Dimitri/Mason/Eddie.  So clearly she’s going to have a bigger role in the tv show which I don’t mind but I do wonder if we’re going to lose a character - probably Eddie lbr - in order to have her.  They haven’t casted an Eddie yet as far as we know, but I have seen it pointed out that Eddie’s role in book 1 was pretty small so maybe they just aren’t announcing it.  But there’s also the possibility that maybe Meredith will sort of replace Eddie and be the third part of Rose and Mason’s friendship.

I’m very interested by this part of her character description though, “She has little patience for Rose’s volatility or Mia’s elitism, and regularly calls both of them out.”

Jonetta Kaiser as Sonya Karp

I don’t necessarily dislike Jonetta as Sonya but I am confused by this choice.  She looks fairly young, which tbf Sonya was young-ish I guess, but if Mia is supposed to be her daughter she doesn’t look old enough to have a teenaged daughter.  So maybe Sonya and Mia are sisters? Cousins? Just have each other’s last names for no reason? I really don’t know.  They also look nothing alike.

Other than that, I don’t really have an opinion about Jonetta as Sonya.  Obviously looks nothing like how Sonya was described but that’s not new nor a massive concern for me.  

I can’t really tell just from looking at her, and I haven’t seen her in anything, if she would play a good Sonya.  I think with a lot of the characters it’s going to come down to the personality they bring to the part and the writing.

I looooooove her character description though:  “Quiet, careful and decidedly odd, Sonya is not of royal bloodline and sits out on the fringe of Moroi society, preferring to spend her time in the library or her gardens. Not a person who likes a scene, nonetheless she has a quiet but profound power of her own. She is taken by surprise when a Dhampir Guardian named Mikhail shows interest in her, a relationship that will expose both the brightest and darkest parts of her heart.”  It’s everything I would probably want from a description of Sonya and I’m more and more convinced that we’re going to see Sonya’s descent into madness and transformation into a Strigoi play out in maybe the first season which I am so curious how they’re going to work into the timeline.

Andrew Liner as Mason Ashford

Our last one and another one who doesn’t look remotely like his description but again? Not a surprise and not a problem for me.  He looks like he could play Mason’s goofiness really well as well as be a solid contender for a love interest for Rose.

“Charming, loyal and popular, Mason is Rose’s main competition in the quest to become the No. 1 Guardian-in-training. Though their relationship is casual on her side, he is hopeful she will finally look at him and see him as something more.” His character description makes a lot of sense, maybe him being Rose’s main competition is a bit of a deviation? But I think that’s more an indication that he’s supposed to be a strong fighter which isn’t inaccurate to the books.  The rest sounds great.

Other Thoughts

Descriptions of the show specifically mention friendship and classism as major themes which I am very happy to hear about because those are the two parts of VA that I love the most.

Am a little more worried about it being described as “sexy” though, if they shove a whole bunch of meaningless sex scenes in it just because it’s a YA show I’m not gonna be happy.

Seen the show compared to “Game of Thrones” and “Bridgerton” which at first had me like oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck not good not good not good.  But thinking about it more and trying to understand where Plec’s coming from with that description I wonder if means similar to GoT as in the cut-throat nature of the Moroi/Dhampir society cause I can kind of see that.  And as for Bridgerton I wonder if she’s referring to the kind of social-climbing aspects of it, because again that makes sense and it seems like a theme she really wants to concentrate on.  I hope that’s what she means by those comparisons, or that she just wants to compare it to popular shows to get people to watch it.  The worst would be if she tries to throw in a lot of unnecessary sex scenes to make it like those shows, because I hate when they do that, especially when the characters are teenagers.

Interesting to hear that Plec has known about the series since before Twilight or TVD - not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Seems like it’s actually mostly (or all??) written by Marguerite MacIntyre which is interesting because I know people were worried about Julie Plec - I’ve never watched anything by either of them so I’m neutral at this point.

[kurinoot]

care less more

-> his visits are short and are punctuated by the hectic and taciturn. the only thing the budding musician can associate about you is a rebound and the cold, disheveled sheets, and he plans to keep it exactly that way.

pairing: semi x reader

themes and warnings: smut, angst-ish woohoo, cheating, mentions of rough sex, dacryphilia, fingering if u squint

wc: 1.5k

notes: another wip posted woot woot so this piece is my submission for the church of meian’s songfic-themed tune june collab! this song is heavily inspired by olivia o’ brien’s song entitled ‘care less more’ and I HIGHLY suggest that you play it while reading mwehehe. also, thank you so much to @chibi-chanforever, @latrombone​, @oneblonded​​, and @spacesevyn​ for beta-ing this baby! also, take note that the ones in quoted bold italic are some of the lyrics in the song!

chant: care less more by olivia o’ brien

 The distilled moans and wet sounds of skin slapping against skin reverberate throughout the room in a hasty fashion.

“You receive me so well—ugh” you hear Semi groan as his hips continue ramming into your wet, gummy walls, hands clenching at the crumpled sheets and face scrunching at the growing tight sensation welling up against his pistoning cock. Moans effortlessly and wantonly fall out of your lips and fill his ears like a crisp staccato of notes.

He slams his lips against your quivering ones, muffling any possible sounds as he continues to hit your sweet spots. “Oi, you better keep it down low if we don’t want to be found out.” he growls lowly against your lips before pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

It has been months ever since he has begun this rendezvous with you, punctuated by crumpled sheets, unregistered phone numbers, and desperate love making.

Except, there’s no love and no strings attached.

You nod at his bequest, trying to ease and soothe yourself at the incessant onslaught of his cock jamming into your core. You run your fingers against his broad chest, instantly clutching them on the expanse of his broad shoulders brimming with sweat as he continues his intense jutting of his hips against yours.

“S-So good, Eita—”

“We don’t use first names here—ngh—I thought—hng—we made it clear last time.”

“I-I’m sorry—ah!”

His hips sharply stutter against you, going harder and harsher at the prospect of his first name ringing against his eardrums. His muscles become more tense, hands tightly gripping your waist as he accepts your half-hearted apology with a rough snap of his hips. It’s no use to him when he knows that you’ll still cry out at his ministrations, so what’s the point?

Might as well fuck you rough anyway while he still has the time.

His breathing becomes more labored and the sweat in his body began falling like droplets of rain. It is no different for you, eyes welling up with more tears and moans slipping out of your sinful mouth ever so carelessly at the rough feel of his dick ramming inside you.

“S-Semi, I—” you choke on your words as his fluttering pace leaves your senses culminating in intense, hot flashes of white.

“Are you going to cum?”

Your muscles and throat tense at the sudden question right while he’s hot-headedly thrusting into the throes of the wet ring of your walls. He has you all whining, toes curling, and creaming beyond comprehension, sweat-riddled fingers digging themselves further into the threshold of his muscle-clad arms.

“Cum for me.”

“You look at me, you see her face. No, you don't like me; I'm just there to hold her place”

Tears have long since stained your face, mixing with eyeliner and mascara to form emotion-riddled trails streaking down your face, which seep into the pillows underneath you, painting you into an inkblot masterpiece

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans, sharp pupils burning as they fall upon your wide, quivering ones. You’re not stupid; you understand the intentions behind his words, eagerly nodding at his comment.

You mean her? you reply knowingly in the back of your head and accentuating ‘her’ all intentionally, knowing that you’re just a look-alike that he’d willingly fuck in place of his complacent girlfriend. But you shrug it all off because as much as you hate being a placeholder, you can’t help but be content to have this clandestine rendezvous with him. Nevertheless, butterflies violently rattle against your insides at his double-edged words.

“Hope I distract you enough from the girl that you love 'cause I've been doing the same, you're just a boy that I 'ah'”

You’re not clueless to know and understand that he will never see you in a spotlight beyond the platonic boundary, if you can even call this relationship a platonic one. Sure, you already knew what you were getting yourself into, but the sting and longing in your heart only grows more and more as he continues to use you as nothing but a hole to fuck with when he’s bored and unsatisfied with the woman that he treasures and claims is all his.

You can then feel the tips of his fingers as they explore along the side of your waist and then dig further into the deep recesses of your cunt, adding fuel to the fire as he strums and presses along the swollen nub of your bundle of nerves while he continues to push his dick into you.

“Please, please, please,” you whine in desperation, followed by strings of incoherent babbles as your calves tense and clench, ensnaring his hips tighter and closer into yours and probing his cock to inch way deeper into unexplored territory than last time.

Call reality a bitch whenever you want, but this is miles better than only being another fan lost in the sprawling ocean of other fans.

You can’t have him as your other half? Be a VIP Semi Eita cockwarmer then.

Poor girlfriend having no knowledge that he’s drilling another hole besides hers, you lament in your thoughts as he continues drilling into your wet cavern.

“So close!”

He further cements his grip on you, calloused and nimble fingers letting go of your clit as his hips snap erratically, feeling the growing crest of the wave inching him closer to nirvana.

“G-Gonna fucking cum—holy fuck—cumming!” you scream out, the growing wave of your climax nearing its zenith.

“Good. Then fucking do it.”

With the last snap of his hips finally probing your deepest spots, your fingers dig into his steady arms right as he stutters his hips, plunging into you a few more times before you feel the warmth of his cum bleeding through the latex. A stifled, guttural groan twitches out of his throat, with knuckles turning white as his hands clench the sheets tightly from the climax bursting out of the seams of his groin. You break right at his clutch, gushing right against his twitching cock as your entire being becomes sore and flaring in heat afterwards.

Labored breathing and panting envelops the entire room, the smell of sex and sweat emanating from both of you altogether as his head dips right in the crook of your neck in exhaustion. His breath tickling against your sweat-matted skin only leaves you trembling more as your toes curl and your fingers numbly grasp the sheets tightly, hushed whimpers leaving your sore, dry lips.

He stills in for a couple of minutes, hips still stuttering to let his climax subside bit by bit while he tries to regain some energy before he pulls out of your warmth. Your cum continues to gush out of your pussy, the wet ring of muscle still twitching at the loss of contact.

“Why you wasting all of your time laying next to me? If you really wanted it so bad it's where you'd be”

“This never happened.”

His voice, albeit tired, says it firmly, his words empty and emotionless, like he always does after every meeting that you have with him. You wearily nod at his words, uttering a cold “Of course. No biggie,” right before you let yourself drown in the comfort of the thick pillow lying beneath your head and the thin sheets enveloping your body. 

Of course you know very well how this entire rendezvous can overthrow his career as a musician if you’re not careful enough. Heck, his entire career and image will be in shambles once even a single speck of mistake exposes him and his illicit affairs with you.

He rests for a couple more minutes, breathing slowly steadying back to normal before you hear him ruffle through the sheets. Your head’s all buried in the comfort of the make-up stained pillow, but you can ascertain that he’s already preparing to leave, judging by the sound of his belt clicking back and the once heap of clothes finding its way back to his tall, unabashed figure.

“Why you wasting all of your time busy texting me? If you don't want what's best for me”

The familiar ringtone of your phone beside you flashes right before your eyes. Your hand flimsily picks up your phone just as you hear the door open and close subsequently with considerable force as you read the message softly.

Semi <3: I’ll text you the next schedule :) and try to be less noisy next time.

You can only laugh dryly at his usual message, the growing crack in your heart only reverberating further as you choke at the oncoming onslaught of tears running through your face once again, but for an entirely different reason. Your chest heaves heavily, breathing in mouthfuls of air in an attempt to calm yourself down.

You swallow the lump in your throat, more tears inching away from your swollen, make-up stained eyes as you realize that you willingly let him into your personal life and then realize further that he’s way beyond bone-deep in you. You reluctantly open his message, numb fingers typing a reply trying to ease the hole in your heart.

You: okay :)

As soon as your thumb hits send, your hand languidly places the phone right back beneath your pillow as your tears finally broke through the dilapidated state of your emotions

You could care less but it was already obvious that you care a lot more than what is expected as you cry out every bit of frustrations into the cold, love-devoid sheets.

taglist (answer this form if you want to be included!): @hqintheclub​ @kinsurou @rosesandtoshi @anime-nymph​ @hogwarts--imagines​ @semisgroupie​ @kurosukii​ @bunbyy​ @wisenerdcreator​ @hismilkbread​ @bucinhajime​​

✖ tune june collab mlist ✖ church of meian collab mlist ✖ my potion rack mlist ✖

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 1! “Harvest”

My first ficlet for Suptober! Read under the cut :)

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature 

Word Count: 2,218

Tags: Fluff, Disaster Bi Dean Winchester, Daydreaming about hot farmers, Some suggestive language (and swearing), Angelic wheat harvest assistance, The Dom Brow makes an appearance, Sam Ships It, Mini Case Fic  

On AO3 here.

“All right,” Dean announces as he stomps into the hospital room, trailing mud with every step. “You’re not gonna have a problem anymore, Randy.”

The man propped up on the hospital bed cushions glares at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. “Well, it’s about time,” he snaps. “First these-- these things terrorize my fields for weeks, then y’all show up and are so useless that they maim me after you’re already on the case, and now I’ve lost the prime window to harvest a year’s worth o’ growth ‘cause I’m laid up in this godforsaken facility. So don’t you tell me I ain’t gonna have a problem anymore.” 

Dean sinks down onto the rickety plastic chair next to the bed, moving gingerly to avoid jostling his (probably) dislocated shoulder, courtesy of some extremely vengeful spirits. He fixes Randy with an even gaze. 

“Man, I’m sorry about your leg. I am. The spirits had a wider range than we thought and we figured you’d be safe at the house.”

Randy snorts in obvious derision, his scruffy mustache fluttering comically. Dean presses on.

“But, we’ve put them to rest. Your great-grandparents aren’t gonna give you any more grief.”  Even if the rest of your family did totally fuck them over.

He stands again, awkwardly, and pats Randy’s good knee. “Sorry about your harvest, though. Can anyone help out? Neighbors? Friends?”

Randy glowers. “I ain’t takin’ no charity.”

Dean quirks his lips and nods. “Right. Take it easy, Randy.” He leaves the still-grumbling farmer behind, following his own trail of mud back down the hallway. A tall janitor lurking around the corner sends him a death glare and Dean tries for an appropriately apologetic smile. 

It’s been a real headache of a night. 

The pair of spirits haunting Randy Johnson’s wheat fields ended up being way more pissed off than Sam, Dean, and Cas had anticipated. By the time Cas located the heavy brass key to the farmhouse that was apparently tethering the property-line-obsessed spirits to the material plane, Dean and Sam were long out of rock salt. In their retreat, they’d ended up waist-deep in a pebbly creek, splashing and wobbling as they beat off the screeching spirits with crowbars. Dean has an unfortunately-placed boulder to thank for his dislocated shoulder -- he went down hard and clumsy just as Cas reappeared next to the stream, the old key melting dramatically in the bright glow of his palm. 

The spirits burned away in a shower of sparks, along with Dean’s dignity.

To top it all off, Dean drew the short straw to go tell Randy the case was closed, and he may have stomped off in a sulky huff before thinking of asking Cas or Sam to put his shoulder right. 

Oh, well. At least it’s dealt with. One more night in their more-stained-than-usual motel room, and first thing in the morning they’ll get the hell outta Dodge (almost literally - they’re up in Osborne County). 

Dean thinks of a bright July morning on the open road and sighs in relief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn’t get his wish.

“I just feel bad, Dean!” Sam protests as Dean gesticulates incredulously at him. (His shoulder was very pleasantly healed by Cas the night before, and if Dean noticed that Cas’ warm hands lingered a little longer on his skin than was technically necessary for a cursory dislocation repair, he didn’t mention it.)

“God, Sammy, yeah, it sucks about the guy’s leg, but maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole to everyone he knows, somebody’d help him out! It’s not-- it can’t be our problem.”

Sam crosses his arms stubbornly. “It’s not about Randy. His fields are part of a huge supply that feeds a ton of people. Do you want people to go hungry, Dean?”

Castiel chooses that moment to materialize directly next to Dean, his nose inches away from Dean’s cheek. He’s holding two steaming cups of coffee and Dean immediately grabs one. Cas squints and tilts his head. “Why does Dean want people to go hungry?”

“Oh my god.” Dean throws his free hand up. “Fine. Fucking fine. We’ll find someone who’s willing to plow the dude’s fields. That’ll be easy.”

Sam opens his big mouth, probably to say something about having faith in humanity, but Cas beats him to it. Still planted firmly in Dean’s bubble, he sends a puff of warm air against Dean’s face as he speaks.

“Oh. I can do it.”

Dean and Sam both look at him. Dean shuffles back a couple steps and wills his eyes away from the guy’s lips. He really spends too much time staring at them.

“Um--” Sam clears his throat. “You can harvest Randy’s wheat?”

“I can plow, yes.” Cas nods firmly. Dean’s first sip of coffee comes spraying back out. He pounds his chest and wheezes. 

“Like-- like-- with a combine?” 

Cas furrows his brow. “Is that a machine? No, I don’t require machinery. This is a very basic task.”

“Plowing,” Dean says weakly.

“Harvesting,” Cas corrects, tilting his chin down and narrowing his eyes. “Humans have been doing it for a very long time. I used to help, now and again. I can’t imagine the process has changed much.”

Sam slaps his thighs as he stands up from his bed. “Well! Look at that, Dean. Cas doesn’t want people to go hungry.” 

Dean flips him off, but it lacks the usual heat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, they find themselves on the edge of a vast, lazily undulating expanse of gold. They’d skirted the north edge of the field extensively while working the spirit case, since the activity was strongest there along the creek, but in his single-minded focus Dean hadn’t really paid much attention to the field itself.

It’s big. Like, squint-into-the-distance-and-you-can’t-see-the-end big. 

“You’re really gonna plow all that?” Dean asks, glancing at Cas. The morning sun is turning the tips of Cas’ hair a chestnut gold. 

“I will cut down the stalks, separate the grain from the chaff, and deposit the edible grain into a large truck, which apparently takes it where it needs to go,” Cas says matter-of-factly. “I visited Randy early this morning to make sure I knew which truck it was.”

Sam laughs. “Oh yeah? How’d good old Randy take that?”

“He seemed dubious,” Cas says. “And rude. I assured him that despite his unsavory attitude, he would come home to harvested fields.”

“Very angelic of you,” Sam remarks. 

“So how’s this gonna go?” Dean lifts a hand to block out the steadily-rising sun. “You gonna be flapping back and forth? Probably not smart to let the locals clock an angel doing the harvest.”

Cas arches an eyebrow at him, somehow gazing down at Dean despite being an inch shorter. “I don’t flap, Dean. I may have wings, but their movement in the ether is beyond your comprehension.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and turns his face away in a show of studying the field to the north, but mostly to conceal the flush of his cheeks in response to that eyebrow. 

For Christ's sake, keep it together, Winchester.

“I can’t explain to you how it will look,” Cas continues, oblivious. “You’ll just have to watch. Anything you see will be for your eyes only. I guarantee no locals will ‘clock me.’”

Dean looks back just in time to see the tail end of the finger quotes. Cas is staring right at him, that damn eyebrow still up, a subtle challenge, daring Dean to make a move.

Maybe not so oblivious. Asshole. 

Dean smiles sweetly and gestures at the wheat. “All right then. Have at it, buddy. Show us what you’ve got.”

With no further ado, Cas is gone. Dean’s left staring through the previously-Cas-occupied space at his brother, who’s grimacing with an air of great suffering. 

“What?” Dean demands. 

Sam sighs heavily and gazes out over the field. “You two are so weird.”

Dean’s about to respond with something really witty when Sam perks up and points into the distance. “Holy crap, look!”

Dean follows the path of Sam’s outstretched finger and his mouth drops open. On the horizon, at the far end of the field, there’s a cloud. No-- a mini tornado. A golden tornado. A… sparkly tornado?

“What the--” Dean cups his hands around his eyes like blinkers. Even with the glare of the sun blocked out, though, the tornado is just as bright -- a swirling, racing funnel criss-crossing the field way faster than a combine, or even Baby, could drive. 

“Why is it-- what’s the sparkly stuff?” 

Sam’s squinting too. “I think it’s the pieces of the stalks he’s separating? And they catch the light as they get tossed around.” 

The tornado’s already halfway across the field, approaching them steadily. It’s about as tall as an oak tree, and as it gets closer Dean sees that Sam was right: thousands of little stalks and bits of grain and -- what had Cas called it? -- chaff are whirling and flitting amid the twisting golden dust of the tornado. The effect is a bit dizzying, kind of like that ocular migraine Dean had one time as a teenager, when an aura of tiny flashing spots obscured his vision, right there in his eye yet impossible to focus on. 

He steps back instinctively, Sam mirroring his movement, when the tornado grows close to them. It whips past, blowing Dean’s jacket open, and where there was once chest-high golden grain, there’s now just dirt littered with aborted stalks. 

“Damn,” Dean whispers. He’s seen Cas do all kinds of badass things, of course, but they’ve been more of the smiting and heavy-lifting variety. This is a new level of cool. In a farmer-y way. This, of course, leads Dean’s traitorous brain directly to images of worn flannel stretched tight over biceps; of a blade of hay dangling jauntily from chapped lips; of long, strong fingers gripping a pitchfork--

“--Dean!” 

The pleasantly-evolving bubble bursts. Dean twitches as Sam elbows him in the ribs.

“Dude! Cas is done, come on.”

Dean blinks a few times to bring himself back to reality (a reality with wheat-harvesting angel tornados) and realizes that Sam’s heading north along the field to where a normal-sized, non-funnel-cloudy Cas is standing, brushing off his trenchcoat. Dean follows his brother and takes in the scene; the whole field really has been reduced to nothing -- just a flat, dappled expanse.

“Damn, Cas,” he says quietly as he reaches Cas’ side. His voice comes out strained and a little breathless. “That was some good plowing.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Can replies gravely. He tugs on his cuffs and some wheat dust puffs out. “It was an effective harvest. I disguised myself from mortal eyes -- including yours -- as I transported the grain to the truck, but I trust you saw the rest?”

Sam nods enthusiastically and launches straight into a barrage of questions about the physics and techniques and yadda yadda before Dean has to come up with a response. Yeah, I saw it. Yeah, it got me all tingly. That’s normal. He takes a few deliberate, slow breaths to calm the pounding in his chest.

Still tuning Sam out, he zeroes in on a single piece of wheat still stuck in Cas’ hair. It’s poking up toward the blue summer Kansas sky -- a tiny, trembling link between earth and heaven. Dean sidles up to Cas before he can overthink it. He slips his fingers into Cas’ wild, dark hair and plucks the wheat out. 

He throws it on the ground. It belongs to the earth. 

Sam falls silent with a choked-off laugh and Cas turns his trademark unblinking stare onto Dean. But this time there’s a slight crinkle to the edges of his eyes. A quirk of his lips. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says again. He reaches out and -- Dean stops breathing -- brushes another piece of wheat out of Dean’s collar. His warm fingers graze Dean’s throat and all Dean can do is watch the little stalk flutter to the ground. 

Well. So much for a steady heartbeat. 

“Hey, I’ve got stuff in my hair, too,” Sam announces, voice thick with amusement. “Anyone gonna help me out?”

Dean tears his eyes away from the enlightening piece of wheat and points a finger at Sam, leveling him with his sternest shut the fuck up face. He prays his cheeks aren’t flaming. 

“If you need assistance, Sam--” Cas says, starting toward him.

“--He’s fine,” Dean interjects hastily. Maybe a little loudly. He coughs to cover it up. Smooth. “Let’s go. I wanna hit the road.”

Sam’s already jogging away before Dean’s done speaking. “I’ve still got the keys,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll warm up the car. You guys can catch up!”

Cas and Dean are left at the edge of the empty field. Dean rubs his neck and shuffles his feet, acutely aware of Cas’ piercing gaze. It’s nearly warmer than the morning sun. “Uh-- that was really cool, Cas. Thanks for letting us see it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies, measured and deep. “I enjoyed sharing that with you.”

Wow. All right. Dean needs to get moving or he’s going to explode. But not before filing that particular comment away for extensive mental perusal later, in the privacy of his bedroom. 

He flashes a grin and punches Cas’ shoulder. “Come on, farmer angel. Let’s go home.”

[harrysweasleys]

a little sunshine never hurt // d.m

Summary: hi alexa!!! if your requests are still open, could i request a draco x reader fic? in it’s the first day of holidays/vacation and the reader and draco are best friends who (obviously) have feelings for the other but think the other doesn’t like them that way, and they’re having a picnic at malfoy manor, relaxing in the sun reading or doing homework and draco just blurts it and confession + kiss?? if you can’t there’s no problem! thanks 🥰💓

Warnings: mentions of food! also v v short but v v sweet (also not proofread/edited so pls dont come @ me)

Word count: 1.9k

a/n: yikes, so completely ignore my message about not posing a fic before christmas because here i am, posting another fic before christmas. hope you all enjoy!!! xx [I DO NOT GIVE CONSENT OR PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM!]

— —

Ah, finally summer break.

The start of the holidays meant that you’d now have a good months time to catch up on rest, relaxation, and obviously, assignments. Though you usually disliked the prospect of doing homework while on vacation, you couldn’t help but feel a little thankful at the fact that you now had something to keep your mind laced on magic while you were away from Hogwarts. 

Though you were staying with Draco for the first two weeks — where magic was very much present — you still liked to learn. You liked to keep that ever-growing passion for the magical arts, and you were most likely going to finish every single project within the first week of the break.

Draco, however, had different thoughts.

“Bloody ridiculous,” he scoffed, raising his hand to move his blond bangs out of his face, “Giving out homework while we’re on break? What kind of git does that?”

“Those are your professors, Draco,” you grinned, turning to face him, squinting slightly in the blinding sunlight, “Have a little respect, yeah?”

He rolled his eyes, laying back down on the freshly mowed lawn, his dark clothing most likely scorching his skin under the blazing afternoon sun, “Is giving out homework a show of respect? I don’t think so.”

You leaned up on your elbows, a fresh summer breeze rolling through and pushing your hair over your shoulder. It wasn’t necessarily a cold breeze, but it did cause you to let out a small shiver. Draco’s eyes followed you as you sat up properly, crossing you legs and reaching into the tiny basket that carried your snacks.

He had asked you to share a picnic lunch with him today, which came as a bit of an odd question, to be honest. A picnic? You knew Draco wasn’t the kind of person to ‘enjoy the fresh air’ so it was a little bit of a strange request coming from him, to be honest. But there was no bloody way you’d complain. An outdoor lunch with him meant that you got to spend more time one on one — it meant that you’d get to continue seeing the side of him that he chose not to show anyone else.

He was quite a complex fellow, if you were to be honest. In school, he closed himself off. He hid away from the world and kept his cold exterior up, not daring to let anyone in. You had gotten through to him — after trying for multiple years, of course — but there really was nothing better than seeing him as relaxed as he was when he was home. Maybe ‘relaxed’ isn’t the proper term; but he did have a totally different air. Less arrogant, less obnoxious, and definitely less pompous. 

It didn’t help your ever-blossoming crush in the slightest.

“Can you toss me an apple?” he asked, now mimicking your position and crossing his legs as well. His knee brushed against yours, and even though you were both clothed, you felt a jolt of sparks rush through your body. 

You let out a small cough to clear your throat, “Sure.”

Completely forgetting whatever it was that you were looking for in the first place, you tossed him the bright green apple that he had insisted on bringing to lunch. You were surprised that the Malfoy family didn’t decide to grow their own apple trees, to be honest, with how often Draco would scavenge the pantries for the perfect one to eat, they’d most likely be better off by growing some in their own vast yard.

“What are your plans for the summer, then?” he asked, taking a big bite, crunching loudly and closing his eyes as he craned his head up to look at the sky. 

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, his defined jawline and smooth neck looking sharper than ever under the bright sunlight, casting shadows around the base of his neck. His platinum hair hurt your eyes to look at, but even then, you’d love nothing more than to run your hands through it. While he rested his head on your lap, while you made out in bed, while you —

“Are you ignoring me?” he snapped your attention back to reality with the low chuckle in his throat.

“No. No, sorry, just got caught in a daydream,” you turned away from him, hiding the growing redness on your cheeks before trying your best to play it off, “I don’t really have plans for the remainder of summer, honestly. Just taking it one day at a time.”

You laid back down on the grass next to him, resting your arm at your side and brushing your fingers against Draco’s. Your heart jolted and you tried to quickly pull your hand away, but you felt his finger twitch against your skin, his pinky finger locking with yours.

It was as if you totally forgot to breathe.

“I’m happy to have you here,” he said softly, placing the unfinished apple down on top of the closed basket, giving you his undivided attention, “I’m gonna miss you when you leave.”

You could hardly think straight, but you couldn’t give in to his charm that easily. He’d only tease you for the rest of the break, wouldn’t he? But, it was hard not to give in. His finger was awfully soft locked with yours, and you could feel both the heat from his body next to you, on top of your own body temperature spiking. It was way too warm to be in the sunshine.

“I’m happy to be here, too,” you replied, voice awfully quiet. You were almost sure he didn’t hear you, but the way that his hand gave yours a little squeeze, you knew that he did. 

You two were often on the same page, it was rare he didn’t know exactly how you were feeling. And it was rare that you didn’t know exactly how he was feeling. Right now was one of those rare moments. You couldn’t tell if he was honestly just pleased to have you here — mostly to help him deal with his pain in the ass father — or if this was something more. More than friendship, more than just... platonic. You couldn’t tell what he was feeling and it was driving you absolutely bonkers.

How could you even begin to ask him? Could you even ask? How would that go?

“Hey, Draco, I think I like you.” Pathetic, really. What a way to embarrass yourself.

You felt his hand give yours another squeeze, “You alright?”

Turning to face him, you thought that it was now or never. When would you get another moment of privacy with him like this? Where you could tell him the truth without the possibility of being overheard? 

To weight the pros and cons; if he felt the same, you guys could get the next little while together before going your separate ways for the remainder of the holidays. But if he didn’t, you’d have to deal with the brutal awkwardness of spending the next ten days with him, knowing that your feelings were one sided. Then, you’d have to see him again once returned to school. It wasn’t a very balanced list, in your opinion.

“I’m fine,” you turned to face him, forcing a small smile. 

As mentioned before, Draco could always tell how you were feeling. Which is why he pulled his hand from yours, turning over on his side to look at you. With furrowed eyebrows and concerned written across his features, you wanted nothing more than to peel your eyes away from him and completely ignore his gaze. But that was nearly impossible. It’s hard to look away from Draco Malfoy.

“Something tells me you’re lying,” he said softly, eyes scanning your face as if he could read your emotions written into your skin — as if the light freckles dotting your cheeks could give him the answers he was looking for.

You sucked in a deep breath, feeling the expansion of your lungs in your chest — it felt as if you were going to crush your heart any second now. Quite an unpleasant feeling, really.

“I’m not lying,” you said, voice cracking as you spoke. The worst possible lie. There was no way he’d believe that. 

He scoffed lightly, “So you’re just going to ignore your feelings then, yeah?”

It was now your turn to sit up, leaning against one of your elbows as you turned your body to face him. His cheeks were tinted with a pale shade of pink, most likely from the burning sun. It was a rather warm afternoon for summer in England. 

“What feelings?” you asked, averting your eyes, choosing to stare at an ant crawling slowly up a blade of grass. Not fascinating, but better than giving in to Draco. 

“Y/N,” one of his hands reached over and touched your chin, lightly tilting it so you could turn your head up and face him, “I asked you to a picnic today so we could be alone, you know?”

You finally looked over to him, eyes scanning from the base of his throat, slowly up to meet his eyes, “Why?”

“Well, I thought I was being bloody obvious,” he grinned, “I like being alone with you.”

“But why?” you sounded like a child

His laugh was taunting you — effortless and relaxed. Completely juxtaposed to the raging storm of emotions going through your heart and head. How he could say something like that; so heavy and heartfelt, to acting like it was nothing, you could never understand.

“Because,” he scooted closer, his hand leaving your chin, but coming to rest atop of yours, “I don’t know how much clearer I can make this, but I like you.”

You looked over at him, eyes wide and mouth gaped open like a fish. You must look like a bloody idiot, but there was really no other way to respond to that. He liked you back. All this time, he liked you back. And you genuinely had no idea.

There were really no words you could say in response, so you decided on showing him how you felt instead,  placing your hand at the back of his neck and bringing his lips to yours. They were incredibly warm — possibly from the sun — and soft. Softer than the grass beneath your skin, and sweeter than the chocolates melting in the basket by your feet. He tasted like mint and green apple, a mixture that felt odd when spoken, but tasted like heaven when experienced.

You felt him mumble against your lips, “I’ll take it you feel the same way?”

Pulling away to let out a small laugh, you nodded your head, “If it wasn’t obvious, yes.”

“Just making sure,” he gave you a lopsided grin, his hand cupping your cheek to connect his lips to yours once again. 

— — —

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[hoebii]

Found and Lost

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre : Angst, slight fluff, e2l, soulmate!au

Rating : nc-17 

Warnings : Swearing, major character death, mentions of attempted sexual harassment, mentions of being in an accident, jjk is a good boi

Wc : 2.3k

A/N : Thank you @joheunsaram​ for making such a pretty banner for me in such a short notice!!! Also thank you @taegularities​ and @heejinnien​ for being my amazing and adorable betas~ NOW LISTEN I GOT THIS FIC IDEA FROM A DRABBLE RID ASKED FOR guess who tf beta’d it? that’s right! the one this fic was for 🤡  My clown shit aside, I hope you guys like this one~ Also please let me know if there’s any correction to the warnings, I still struggle with wording shit right. As always, feedback is always welcome!! <3 

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

Jungkook stood there, staring at you, hands fiddling with the flowers in his hand. He felt numb, no more tears left to shed - or so he thought. He couldn’t help but think back to happier days, when things had been good. 

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

Jungkook walked down the corridor, casually chatting with Jimin while avoiding the students scattered about. He let out a yelp in surprise when someone bumped into him, causing him to stumble back as the other person fell to the floor. 

“I’m sorr- Oh, it’s you,” Jungkook muttered in distaste, when he saw it was none other than you on the floor. “I’d offer help but I don’t want to.”

“Fuck off, Jeon, I don’t need your help,” you hissed at him, standing after gathering your things from the floor, “just watch where you’re going, asshole.”

Jungkook watched in silence as you stomped away after that, annoyed beyond words at having to have interacted with you. 

“She’s cute,” Jimin spoke up, watching your retreating figure.

Jungkook could only scoff at the elder’s words, “How? I honestly feel sorry for her soulmate, dude.”

“Why do you two even hate each other so much?” Jimin asked, curious eyes staring at him.

He opened his mouth to answer before closing it again - why did you two hate each other? You two used to be best friends when you were younger, what had happened? Feeling Jimin’s gaze on him, Jungkook huffed and started walking away, “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s go.”

“You have no idea, do you?”

“Shut up.”

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

It was like any other day, Jungkook was walking home when he saw one of his classmates walking inside an alley. Usually he would have minded his own business - guys like that were bad news but when he heard someone calling for help, he decided to intervene. 

“What’s going on there, buddy?” he called out, stepping closer to inspect the situation. 

Whipping to face him, Sung-ho scowled, “Mind your own business, punk.”

Now having a clearer view inside the alley, Jungkook noticed a girl trying to fight him off, “Sorry dude, can’t do that. Now why don’t you let the girl go?” 

Sung-ho growled and walked towards him, grabbing Jungkook by the collar. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Mind your own business before you regret it.”

Sighing, Jungkook rolled his eyes and grabbed his hands, “Come on man, I don’t want trouble, just let her go.”

Growling, he pulled his hand back before throwing a punch at Jungkook, making him stumble back a few steps. Wiping at his nose, Jungkook’s hand came back stained with blood. “So that’s how you wanna play, alright then.”

He stepped away, shrugging his backpack off before turning and punching Sung-ho, making him fall to the ground at the impact. Jungkook heard the girl gasp, but he paid no mind to her for now; he had a douche to teach a lesson to. Sung-ho grunted, shaking his head to gather his senses before getting back up and rushing towards Jungkook. 

Jungkook merely side stepped, causing him to miss and stumble forward and Jungkook grabbed Sung-ho by his collar before he could fall. Raising his leg, he kicked Sung-ho’s back, making the said man shout in pain as he crumbled to the ground yet again. 

Walking towards the man, Jungkook stepped on him, looking down at him with raised brows. “Is that all? For someone who acts so tough, that was the easiest fight I’ve won. I don’t think that even counts a fight, dude.” 

Saying nothing, Sung-ho laid there on the ground, panting heavily as Jungkook moved away, watching in amusement as he pushed himself off the ground and rushed away, shouting,“You’re gonna regret this, Jeon!”

Scoffing, Jungkook turned to face the girl who had walked out of the alley now. “You alrigh- you? How do you always get in trouble?”

You said nothing, just stood there and tried not to cry as he went on. Jungkook noticed the tears in your eyes and snapped his mouth shut, his eyes softening. 

“Hey… It’s okay, he’s gone now.”

You finally broke at that, tears streaming down your face as you stepped forward and hugged him tight. “H-he cornered me out of nowhere. I didn’t even see him coming.”

Hesitating a little, Jungkook softly pat your head, hugging you back. He couldn’t help but think how good it felt to have you in his arms, how it felt as if you were the missing puzzle piece that would complete him. 

The two of you stood there for a while, enjoying the feeling of being in each other’s embrace before you finally moved away while sniffling. 

“Thank you…”

“Don’t mention it. Do you want me to walk you home?” he asked, heart sinking at how small you looked at that moment. 

“N-no.. It’s alright, you’ve done enough for me as it is,” you answered, starting to walk away when you felt him grab your hand. 

“Wait,” Jungkook called, grabbing your wrist before you heard him gasp, making you turn around, “it’s you!”

“Huh?”

He pulled you close - you exclaiming in surprise - and tugged your sleeve higher, exposing your soulmate symbol, a beautiful tattoo of a lily adorning the expanse of the side of your forearm. 

Tugging to free your hand, you felt his grip get stronger. He kept a firm hold on your hand as his other hand rolled the sleeve of his jacket up to show his own soulmate tattoo. It was you who gasped this time - there sat the exact same tattoo as yours on his forearm.

“Same tattoos, you know what that means, right?” he asked, still looking at your hand.

“You’re my soulmate…” you said, “wait, you’re my soulmate? Oh my god, you’re a jerk!” 

Jungkook sputtered at your words, looking at you with wide eyes, “Jerk? JERK? You’re the jerk here!”

“Real mature.”

“You’re the one who-” he started to fight back, only to be cut off when you kissed him. 

Pulling away, you couldn’t help but smile at the lovestruck look on his face, you didn’t know why you kissed him out of nowhere but you liked it. A lot.

 “Cute.”

Your heart felt like it would jump out of your chest, your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling. You never thought Jeon Jungkook would be your soulmate but here he was, looking adorable as ever. 

“I-I’m not cute,” he grumbled, blushing furiously.

Chuckling, you stepped away, “I’ll see you in class tomorrow, soulmate.”

“Yeah…” Jungkook answered, still not over the kiss before snapping out of his thoughts when you walked away, “Wait! Let me walk you to your house!”

You only laughed as you heard him running behind you. “Dork.”

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

Once the two of you reached your house, you lingered in front of the entrance, “So that’s my house… ha..”

Jungkook chuckled at your words, looking at you with a raised brow, “I know, I’m your neighbour.”

“Right! Yeah. Obviously,” you exclaimed, face flushing in embarrassment as he stepped closer to you. 

“Why’re you acting so shy? You’re the one who kissed me back there,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows when you looked up to face him. 

“Jesus, you’re such a dork.”

“But now I’m your dork,” he sang childishly. 

“Go home you idiot, I’ll see you in school tomorrow.” 

“Aww, no goodbye kiss?”

You huff out a laugh before grabbing his collar and pulling him down for a kiss. Your eyes slipped shut as his hands came up to cup your face, deepening the kiss. The two of you stood there kissing in front of your door till the need of oxygen became too much. 

Jungkook pulled away slowly, hands still holding your face gently, as if you were a delicate flower. In that moment you felt as if you were in a fairytale, stars twinkling in the sky and heart beating happily as you two stared at each other. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked softly, feeling as if speaking any louder would shatter the serene atmosphere.

“Yeah…”

“Yeah,” he repeated before leaning down and pressing another soft kiss on your lips. He stepped away after that, eyes never leaving your form as he started walking backwards towards his own house.

 “Watch out for the” you started, concerned as he bumped into a roadside lamp, “lamp…”

“I’m okay! Goodnight,” he called out, smiling sheepishly.

You shook your head at how endearing he was before entering your own house, you couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

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

Jungkook waited impatiently at the entrance of the university, Jimin standing by his side and smiling in amusement. “So you two don’t hate each other anymore?”

“We never hated each other, hate is a strong word, you know,” he answered, trying to act unbothered at being laughed at by his best friend. 

Jimin acted as if he was contemplating the other’s words. “Hmm, you’re right. Though it was pretty obvious that you two would end up together.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please, the sexual tension between you two could have been cut with a knife.”

Jungkook didn’t know how to reply to that, he just stared blankly. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Oookay then, I would fight that but I’m not in the mood to fight.”

“Since when are you not in a mood to fight?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, “where’s Y/N? She’s never this late.”

“How do you know that?” Jimin asked, smirking.

“...No comment.”

Jimin only laughed, shoving his hands into his jean pockets and turning to look at the gates again. Hoping to catch sight of you and finally put his nearly vibrating best friend at peace.

After a while, Jungkook started worrying; you still hadn’t showed up. He spotted one of your close friends walking by, looking worried, and he decided to approach him. 

“Hey.. umm Namjoon, right? Do you happen to know where Y/N is?”

The said man looked at him, raising one brow in question, “Didn’t you hear? She got into an accident this morning. It was pretty serious.”

It felt as if someone just punched him in the face. “What do you mean she got into an accident? Where is she now?”

“At XXX hospital, I’m going there right now.”

He hesitated a little before finally asking, “Can.. can I come with you?” 

“Sure.”

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

Rushing into the lobby, the trio raced to the reception to find out which room you were in. The receptionist checked her computer before asking for their relationship with the patient. 

“My soulmate,” Jungkook answered, trying to keep a steady voice. He could feel Namjoon’s shocked eyes on him but he paid it no mind, you were more important. The nurse looked up at that, eyes turning sympathetic as she revealed the information.

Ignoring the look of sympathy, he rushed towards your room, Jimin and Namjoon close behind. Arriving in front of the room you were in, he saw the doctor leaving and approached him, “Is she okay?”

The doctor seemed startled at the sudden question but with one quick glance at the worried faces, he cleared his throat, “It’s not looking good, she lost too much blood.” 

“Will she be okay?”

The doctor looked at Jungkook curiously, “what is your relationship with the patient, sir?”

“She’s my soulmate.”

Jungkook hated how his eyes softened at that, hated how dread seemed to settle in his heart from the look of sympathy he got. 

“I’m sorry, she might not make it.”

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

Jungkook snapped out of his thoughts, blinking away the tears that gathered in his eyes. 

“Huh… what do you know? I’m crying again,” he spoke to himself, chuckling quietly. 

“It’s been a whole year since we figured out that we were each other's soulmates. Actually, a year and one day,” Jungkook started, “today’s the day you promised that you wouldn’t leave me. Ironically it’s also the day when you...” he continued, his voice breaking at the end and he sniffled.

“The day when you said you loved me, I was so happy, over the moon,” he kept talking, his grip on the bouquet in his hand getting stronger, “but you’re selfish, you know? Didn’t even let me say I love you too before you left. Who does that?”

At that point, Jungkook was on his knees, body trembling from how hard he was crying but he went on, “You’re so selfish Y/N… leaving me right after I found you.”

Wiping his tears away, he placed the bouquet down on your grave. “I got your favourite flowers today… black roses. You always were into unique things,” he said, letting out a tearful laugh at the end. Though the laugh didn’t last long when he broke down again. “I miss you so much, Y/N. Why’d you have to leave me? We were supposed to grow old together, make many happy memories… not, not live the rest of my life alone.”

Wiping his eyes, he rolled up his suit’s right sleeve. “Look, I got new tattoos. Aren’t they pretty?” he asked, though he got no reply, just a breeze flowing past him.

It was in that moment that Jungkook felt truly alone, he had been in denial all this time, refusing to mourn for you. He had acted as if everything was fine till now, kept everything bottled up as to not worry anyone around him but now that he had finally come to visit you after all that time, reality hit him. It weighed him down, as if trying to crush him and he sat there as everything around him went on, the birds flew by twittering happily and the trees rustled in the wind. 

It was a beautiful day, honestly; the sun was shining and the sky was clear but Jungkook still couldn’t feel at peace and how could he? It was as if a piece of him was gone, never to return.

[mermaidssonshipss]

hells kitchen angel

warnings: smut… pure filth. (also unprotected sex which is bad. no no. wrap it before you tap it!)

pairings: rudy pankow x reader

word count: 3.5k

inspired by “hells kitchen angel” by max (dead ass heard the word kitchen and was like... hm. anyways read and this will make sense lmao.)

The club was tinted red, the lights from above causing the sweat on your skin to glow scarlet. Your body was scantily clad in a shiny black dress that dipped down your breasts tantalizingly low, the skin on your back completely exposed, a small strip of fabric covering your ass.

You looked sinful.

Rudy’s eyes had been glued to you since you’d walked out of Maddie’s apartment, the both of you giggling at something she’d said as you squeezed into the car you and the cast were sharing. It was Friday, they’d finished the first week of filming Season 2 of Outer Banks, and they wanted to celebrate. You’d joined the cast this season, quickly blending in with their dynamic once you let them get to know you. Of course, at first, you were nervous as hell, worried that you wouldn’t fit in, or you’d mess up the dynamic they’d already created. You all showed up a month before filming began to do table reads and get back into the swing of things, and you’d been timid, keeping to yourself and only really speaking when spoken to, until about a week into being there. Rudy had shown up at your designated apartment for filming and invited you over to his. The other cast members were coming over to drink and fuck around, and they wanted you there. After that night, you had finally loosened up, and they all fell in love with you.

“You’re drooling.” Chase taunted, clapping his hand down on Rudy’s shoulder, causing the blonde to jump slightly at the sudden impact.

“Look at her.” Rudy simply replied, his gaze remaining on your body. You were on the dance floor, a few drinks in your system, and you were dancing with both Madelyn and Madison, your body in-between both of the girls, your hips all moving together. Your hands were in your hair, pulling the sweaty locks out of your face, and your eyes were closed, enjoying the alcohol running through your veins.

“Well, I’m gonna go butt-in and snatch up my girl, while you continue to sit here and just stare like an idiot instead of actually making a move on one that could be your girl.” Chase knocked the last few sips of his drink back before placing the glass on the table and pushing himself onto his feet, moving through the crowd and to Madelyn, snatching her away as you and Madison sent “boo’s” his way.

For the past month, Rudy had been absolutely infatuated with you. Once you’d started hanging out, you two discovered you had very similar taste in music and cinema, so you were always sneaking into each others apartments to show one another new songs, or some new movie you had stumbled upon. You had always been frustratingly oblivious when it came to men hitting on you, or just showing any form of interest in you, so you hadn’t caught on to the very obvious hints Rudy had been sending you. When one of the other girls would mention it, you’d laugh it off and tell them they were being silly, quickly dropping the subject.

Rudy had looked away for less than 30 seconds as he followed Chase’s steps and knocked back his own drink, but when his blue eyes fell on you again, some random dude was now behind you. You were very clearly trying to remove yourself from his prying hands, and even Madison was telling the dude to fuck off, but he wouldn’t listen. The two of you were both considerably smaller than him, and Rudy noticed a flash of pain cross your face as the guys hands dug into your hips, trying to drag you off the dance floor despite Madison beginning to yell at him while you slapped at his hands. Rudy was quick to get up and makes his way over to the two of you, his hands pushing into the mans shoulders causing his grip around you to loosen. You were quick to pull away and move your body behind Rudy.

“I suggest you back off, dude.” Rudy spoke lowly, winding his arm around your waist as you gripped onto his forearm. 

“Or what?” the creep shot back, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze glued to your face.

Before Rudy could respond, Chase, Jonathon, Austin, and Drew were at his side, all of them wearing glares. The man standing before them looked between each of them before letting out a huff and walking away. 

“Thank you.” you whispered into Rudy’s ear, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before saying thank you to the others, who all nodded and saluted you before going back to where they’d been before they’d seen the altercation. 

You’d had enough dancing for the night after that, a pout on your face as you walked back to the empty table that had been reserved for the cast. You plopped yourself down on the large couch, crossing your legs as you looked over the crowd. Madelyn and Madison were now back to dancing with one another, and the other boys were also dancing around them, now keeping a close eye on the girls. Rudy was nowhere to be seen though, until suddenly he was sitting down next to you on the couch.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice full of concern, and you smiled at him brightly.

“ Of course. Not the first time it’s happened, won’t be the last. Probably my fault anyway for wearing this dress. Still very annoying, though.” You replied with a shrug, letting out a soft laugh. Rudy had scrunched his nose up now, his eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head.

“It’s not your fault. You’re allowed to wear whatever the hell you want. Shouldn’t have to worry about pervy men touching you. Plus, you look amazing in that dress. Personally, I’d wear it every chance I had if I was you.” He was confident as he spoke, the alcohol pushing him to be slightly more forward with his flirting. Still, it flew right over your head.

“Let’s go back to my place,” Rudy spoke after a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you, both of you just looking out at the crowd, bored of the club, “We can listen to this new album I found.”

“I’m in.” Your response was immediate as you grabbed your purse and pulled your phone out, quickly requesting a Lyft for both Rudy and you. He’d grabbed your hand, helping you up from the couch, and the both of you let the others know you were heading out before moving to the street to wait for your car. 

You shivered slightly, the South Carolina air becoming entirely too comfortable with your bare skin as it wrapped its way around you. Without saying anything, Rudy stood behind you, pressing his chest against your back as he wrapped his arms around you, protecting your exposed skin from the cold. You were quick to lean into his hold, sending him a soft smile over your shoulder.

The two of you were quiet as you waited for the car to pull up, both of you too into your own thoughts to speak. His arms were crossed around your chest, his hands on your arms as he ran them up and down your soft skin to warm them up, and you were thankful for the cold disguising the fact that the goosebumps were from his touch. 

When the car pulled up, you reluctantly pulled away, hurrying into the car with Rudy right behind you. 

“No funny business.” was the first thing the driver said as he looked at the two of you in his rearview mirror. He was an older man, and there was the ghost of a smile on his face as he said the words.

“Yes sir!” You saluted, locking your arms at your side and Rudy let out a loud laugh.

“Wasn’t you I was worried about.” He laughed back, giving Rudy a pointed look before pulling out onto the road. Rudy’s cheeks tinted red as you laughed even harder, and he sent you a glare as he shushed you. 

Before you knew it, you were pulling up to the apartment complex and climbing out of the car, Rudy waiting with his hand held out. You slipped your small hand into his, the two of you walking up to his apartment.

The first thing you did when he pushed the door open was rip your heels off, tossing them underneath the bench he had by the front door before moving across the hardwood floor quickly and jumped on the couch. 

“Comfy?” Rudy asked, a smirk on his face as you laid across the couch, your arms spread out so one was holding onto the top of the couch and the other was hanging off towards the floor. You’d been decent enough to cross your legs, but that didn’t stop his eyes from trailing along the expanse of the exposed skin. You just sent him a smile and he laughed, moving into the kitchen after he pushed his own shoes off and under the bench next to your heels. It had become a routine for the two of you to drink a cup of decaf coffee at night whenever you showed one another new music. You leaned up on your elbows for a moment, watching him move around the kitchen. He would look over at you every few seconds and send you a shy smile, but your gaze never wavered. Eventually, you got up once again and walked to the kitchen, pulling your body up onto the counter.

“You look good in the kitchen, Pankow. You should become a chef.” You spoke after a moment, causing him to look over his shoulder at you as he shook his head and chuckled. 

“I should become a chef just because I look good in the kitchen? What if I can’t actually... I don’t know... cook?” He was leaning against the counter opposite you now, his arms crossed across his chest as he raised an eyebrow at you. You could hear the coffee brewing behind him quietly.

“Who cares. Ask a girl on a date, start cooking for her, and I can guarantee you won’t even have to finish cooking, she’ll jump you before you can. Solid. Fool proof plan. Trust me, I’m a girl. I know.” You weren’t really thinking much as you spoke, you just knew you were comfortable enough with Rudy to make comments about him like that without feeling awkward about it. 

“Is that so?” He had a smirk on his face now, and he was pushing himself off the counter, moving himself closer to you. As he approached you, he placed his hands on the exposed skin of your thighs, and you were hyper aware of the fact that your dress had ridden up against the counter, dangerously close to showing off your barely there underwear.

You hummed in response, nodding your head as you watched him closely. The air around you two suddenly felt hot, and his hands were moving higher up your thighs, moving to the sides as his fingertips just barely moved underneath your dress. Your own hands were currently clenching onto the countertops for dear life, your knuckles turning white at the force of your grip.

“Can I count on that working on you?” his voice was almost a whisper, and his hips had nudged between your thighs, spreading them so he could fit his body between them.

“Yes.” your response sounded breathless, and you were trying your hardest not to clench your thighs around Rudy’s waist. You could already feel yourself growing wetter as his chest pushed into yours, and you were so desperate you were about to grind down onto the counter. 

He continued to look down at you, watching your chest as it rose and fell quickly, his fingertips sliding even further under your dress, pushing it up as he gripped onto the skin, harshly pulling your body so it was closer to the edge of the counter. Your clothed center was harshly pressed against the growing bulge in his pants, and you couldn’t hold in the whimper that escaped at the feeling against your clit. Your hands had moved from the counter and were now wound around his neck as you pushed your body even closer to him, hovering your lips over his.

“Rudy...” You whispered his name, a pleading tone laced throughout the simple name. You closed your eyes as you began to rock your hips into him, a satisfied moan escaping his lips before he finally pushed them against yours.

The second his lips met yours, both of you knew you were fucked: both metaphorically, and, in moments, literally. His hands were quick to tug your dress up your waist all the way, leaving your pantie clad bottom against the now warm countertop. Your fingers were fiddling with the buttons on the striped button-down shirt he’d worn tonight, getting irritated with the tiny buttons before you decided to just yank on the fabric and hope it would come undone. It did. Your hands were all over his chest as he pulled away from the kiss and you let out a whine that soon turned into a moan as his lips attached to your neck, sucking on the skin till it felt tender. He pushed the fabric covering your center to the side, swiping a finger between your folds and he bit down on your neck softly as he felt how wet you were.

“So wet for me, pretty girl. S’all for me, isn’t it?” he mumbled against your skin, and you could feel a smirk on his lips. He didn’t give you time to respond though, shoving two fingers inside of your dripping hole causing you to gasp out his name. At the feeling, you leaned back on the counter, your hands resting behind you to hold your body weight up as you pushed your hips into his fingers, your eyes glued on the digits pounding into you. 

With his free hand, Rudy gripped the fabric of your dress that had bunched up under your breasts and proceeded to tug it over your head, tossing it across the kitchen. Immediately one of your hands palmed your own breast, pinching the now hard nipple between your fingers as he watched, his normally bright blue eyes almost black. The pace he was working on your cunt had increased rapidly, his thumb now rubbing figure 8′s over your swollen and throbbing bundle of nerves. He could tell by the whimpers and gasps of breath you were letting out, you were close. Without much thought, he dropped to his knees, keeping his fingers buried inside of your tight cunt as his eyes watched you, his lips latching onto your clit and sucking on the bundle. Your back arched, your hips rising off the counter slightly at the pressure against your button. In moments, you were cumming around his fingers as he refused to let up his pace, his mouth continuing to work over your clit until he could feel your legs shaking against his shoulders as you whimpered breathlessly. 

Rudy pulled away, his thumb collecting your juices that had spread across his chin as he sucked it into his mouth. He was painfully hard, his cock straining against his jeans, but he wasn’t going to push it any further if that wasn’t what you wanted. But, as you forced yourself to sit up, your shaking fingers popping the button of his jeans open, he realized you also wanted more.

“You sure?” his voice was husky as it spoke, the thought of finally getting to fuck you almost overwhelming him. You responded by simply tugging his jeans down as well as his boxers, your feet pushing them down his legs. His cock slapped against your thigh, your small fingers wrapping around it as you ran your thumb across the tip, collecting the pre-cum that had already leaked out.

“Want you in my mouth.” you stated, and he was sure he almost burst right there.

“Not right now, babygirl. Wanna feel you wrapped around me and I won’t make it if you put your lips on me first.” he spoke honestly, grunting softly as you pumped him slowly, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you sent him a smirk. Your leg pushed against his back, causing him to stumble into you more as you hung off the counter, guiding his cock through your wet folds. Both of you shuttered at the feeling, and Rudy’s hands landed on your hips, gripping them tightly as you guided the tip of him inside of you slowly. You were teasing him now, repeatedly guiding his tip inside of you before pulling it out and running it down your folds, until he’d had enough. Removing his hands from your hips, he grabbed yours, pinning them to the counter as he finally thrusted the entirety of his length inside of you, both of you letting out loud moans at the feeling. Your walls clenched around him, and you could feel him throbbing inside of you. Your head fell forward, resting on his shoulder as he pulled back, almost entirely removing himself from you before he began to piston his hips into yours, his cock pounding into you as fast as his hips would allow. He was still pinning your hands to the countertop, his fingers intertwining with yours against the surface.

“So fucking tight.” he spoke through gritted teeth, his hips stuttering slightly as your walls clenched around him, “Been dreaming of this since I first fucking saw you.” He mumbled, and you waited for him to end the sentence with “in that dress tonight” but it never came. You realized then that he’d been so obvious about how he felt about you, all of the subtle flirting now making sense, and you felt stupid, though you didn’t have much time to think about it as you moved your hips with his pace, your thoughts fogging over.

He slowed down slightly, dragging his cock through your walls slowly, and you shuddered against his body as you felt every ridge and vein on his cock brushing against you. When he picked up his pace again, angling his hips up slightly, you cried out his name, signaling that he had hit your g-spot. Your teeth bit down on the flesh of his shoulder, your fingers squeezing his in your hands as he continued at the same angle, his cock hitting your g-spot with each thrust. 

“M’gonna cum.” you whimpered against his shoulder, and he finally let your hands go, allowing you to wrap them around his back as you dug your fingernails into the skin, dragging them down and surely leaving scratches in their wake. One of his hands was now on your lower back, pushing against you so you arched into him even more, the other moving between you two as he found your clit once again. 

“Let go, baby.” he whispered into your ear, continuing at the same pace until he felt your body convulsing against his, your walls clenching around his cock so tightly it caused his own hips to stutter as he too let go, the warmth of his cum coating your walls. 

The both of you were completely fucked out and sweaty, hanging onto each other for a moment as you both tried to catch your breath. He pulled out of you slowly, causing you to groan at the emptiness you felt without him inside of you, and you could feel the mix of you two that had been inside of you now trailing down your thighs and onto the countertop.

“Sorry..” you mumbled, your cheeks tinted red as you noticed his eyes glued to your dripping center. He snapped his eyes up to yours quickly, shaking his head.

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” he replied, and you smiled shyly as his gaze trailed along your body, taking the sight of you in.

Rudy wrapped his arms around you, pulling your legs around his waist as he lifted you off the counter and proceeded to carry you into the bedroom, tossing you onto his bed before crawling on top of you. 

“We’ll listen to the album later.” he stated, and you were confused for a moment until you remembered he had said in the club that’s what you two were coming back here to do.

“Think you brought me here under false pretenses, Pankow.” you quipped as he rested his body weight on yours gently, your arms now wrapping around his neck once again.

“You’re the one who made the comment about me looking good in the kitchen!” he defended, but there was a smile on his lips as he placed soft kisses around your jawline.

“It was an innocent comment! I just said make a girl dinner, and she’ll be all over you!”

“Yeah, but you’re the only girl I’d wanna make dinner for.” he replied simply, causing your heart to stutter as he gently grazed his lips across yours.

“Well, you didn’t even have to make me dinner... think I was dinner tonight, actually.” you were holding in a laugh, but as Rudy leaned his head on your shoulder, letting out the loudest laugh you’d ever heard from him, you gave in, both of you gripping onto one another as you placed soft kisses all over each others faces, your laughs filling the room.

[arkannis]

Hello,

I just recently got into the Old Republic Fandom, and the Eternal Empire is my favorite arc. I do wish there was more story content to give more development to the characters, particularly in Arcann's case. While I love his romance scenes, I wish there were more scenes about his redemption and relationship with the Outlander or a dark side ending where the Outlander or Arcann takes the throne with the other as a consort. I found your blog while trying to find content further developing his character. Thank you so much for posting all your headcanons and musings!

With that being said, what are your headcanons for Zakuul culture? And could you post a masterpost compilation of your Arcann headcanons? I am trying to find the post where the romance novels headcanon originated in the tags and not having much luck.

Hope you have a nice day!

Hi anon!! Sorry for a late reply. First I’ll answer the second part of your message. The romance holonovels headcanon originated from the this post ; the post doesn’t outright say it, but some people in the tags (when they reblogged it) mentioned that Arcann probably seemed like the type to read romance in his free time. As of what I can remember the tags were from this reblog and this other reblog and both say that Arcann reads romance holonovels. The continuation of this headcanon were in replies or tags, so it’s hard to track them all down! Secondly, my Arcann tag is a mess, and I probably threw in multiple headcanons in reblogs or tags so it would be hard to find them all... I’ll think about making a masterpost, but I don’t think I have time for something like that right now. Ok, now that’s over with... I 100% agree with you, anon! I HAVE so many things to say about the possibility about that dark side ending. I don’t think devs were planning to make Arcann a possible romance option in the beginning, so it wouldn’t have been possible to be his LI and rule as emperor/empress. I also agree with the development of the characters... however, Arcann’s redemption and relationship with the Outlander was definitely rushed, because the plans to make a third expansion was apparently cancelled due to the backlash from fans who wanted pub vs. imp back. I made a whole post complaining about that... Otherwise, I definitely think they would have had more time to flesh out his characters and the other Zakuulan characters as well (Vaylin, Senya, Koth, etc.). I’m like pretty much sure content was cut out from KOTFE/KOTET to make them shorter. Due to such lost content, I have to create my headcanons from extrapolation based on the Sacrifice trailer, available codex entries, existing dialogue, and implications of existing issues. As well as other people’s hcs and commentary!! WARNING: SUPER LONG BULLET POINTS for Zakuulan culture headcanons.

The reason why I don’t have that many Zakuulan culture headcanons is because.... I feel like it’s so weirdly explored in the expansions.

I think the arts is a big thing in Zakuul! The Dragon’s Maw chapter gave me that kind of vibe. I also discussed this mildly (not) with Arcann. Most specifically THEATRE, PERFORMANCE AND SINGING. 

Evidence: Senya sings and composes and there’s the famous Zakuulan holoperformer, Malita Tal. No, I don’t have evidence for theatre, but honestly? Zakuulans are so goddamn dramatic, they most definitely have reality TV series or drama series... 

arcann be like oh you listen to malita tal? name all of her albums in alphabetical order or you get exiled

Zakuulan culture most definitely has idol culture, based on Malita Tal (and reportedly her performances were watched by millions). And those fans apparently also protested against Arcann’s rule. personally i think if they had twitter the u.s. gov*rnment would be wiped out.

I just think singing is a big thing in Zakuulan culture. I mean, even Valkorion sings (if you decide to kill Senya, his force ghost appears. They both have an exchange and it’s actually sweet for like 0.1 second). 

I also think there would be typical Zakuulan fairytales embedded in the culture. Hear me out. Most specifically those type of royal fairytales with the princes and princesses. This can be heavily contributed to the fact that a royal family is essentially in power. 

You cannot expect me to believe not a single person in Zakuul has written a Prince Arcann x reader holofic. You just can’t. Or Prince Thexan. Actually, I think Thexan would be more common, I think he was perceived to be more compassionate and kind compared to Arcann by the common folk? Since I know there’s that NPC dialogue where one of them goes how different it would be if Thexan took the throne instead. 

The fairytales would probably involve a lot of references to the Old Gods. I kinda imagine that the enemy would be some sort of serpent, that is, Zildrog, because apparently he’s just a bedtime story to scare children away. 

I think these Zakuulan fairy tales would contribute to the theatre and performance, acting culture that Zakuul has. 

Furthermore, I just think the Tirall kids probably read these fairytales as well. francis dont talk about arcann reading again

I want to talk about the Old Gods and that religion, which is one of my favorite things ever... probably because the Gods are machines. Superweapon machines... ok ill shut up

Even if Valkorion basically got rid of the religion, it’s clear that the religion is still incorporated into heavy talk in Zakuulan culture (e.g. eyes of Esne, heart of Scyva). 

My headcanon is that there are sanctuaries or small secret churches (?) for those who want to worship the Old Gods. Obviously the Herald of Zildrogs who believe in the Old Way are a cult, so I think people would look for an alternative. 

I think there would be great effort to hide these places, as it can get you exiled. Thus these would probably be located in the Old World, rather than in a more obvious position like the Spire. 

The beliefs of the Old Ways isn’t exactly clear, they aren’t exactly touched upon, which is a shame. I think people would ask for help from each of these gods depending on what they want.

Those who ask for Izax’ guidance want to seek success, accomplishments, power, and glory.

Those who ask for Scyva’s guidance ask for her to guide souls peacefully to death (she is described as someone who weeps beside Zakuulans as they march towards Izax - basically death) , or ask for help/compassion from her. Maybe maternity as well? Or parental love?

Those who ask for Aivela (goddess of passion) want her to guide them with her passion (Aivela accompanies Tyth, who is kind of a god of war/warrior). I think there would also be romance related stuff as well. If someone asked for help regarding their love related issues, it would probably be from Aivela!

I’m not sure about Esne - but maybe in a similar sense, if someone is suffering with jealousy - in any situation, they would ask guidance from her. I don’t know where I read this but I think the “eyes of Esne” expression meant like having eyes of jealousy.

Nahut? I don’t think he was worshipped.  “Nahut was considered to be gray, formless and cold, and was denied worship by all except his mother Scyva.” But regardless, I think he still had a role to play. 

After the Outlander takes the throne, and Zakuul renounces their membership from the Eternal Alliance, I think people would be allowed to openly express their religious beliefs, that is, the Old Ways. Oh, personally I headcanon that they would build beautiful places of worship in the Spire with similar geometrical pyramid designs...!! 

Yeah...I think that’s all I got! I’ll need to see how I can somehow make this post easily found, lol. This is quite a long list, and I have to emphasize that these are my headcanons! They are based on what I see and I just kind of fill in the gaps to fit my own stories. This took a while to write because I KNEW I had these headcanons, but they just didn’t appear at the time I saw this anon ask. Anyways, I’ll probably create more headcanons in the future. Also:

a dark side ending where the Outlander or Arcann takes the throne with the other as a consort

I have so many things to say about this. I know the game won’t permit it, because if you think about it, both the light side choice (Eternal Alliance) and the dark side choice (Eternal Empire) are happy endings for your characters anyways. They can continue as the “hero” or the “protagonist”, so I don’t think this route could ever be implemented. However, I think it would be absolutely interesting if throughout the gameplay, players are given a choice to flirt with Arcann. The Outlander and Arcann agree to get rid of Valkorion, but thats if the Outlander decides to betray the Alliance and joins Arcann instead. And should they join him, they have the choice to romance him... and I guess it’s a happy ending for you both :P Obviously this won’t happen, but maybe it will. I wouldn’t mind being the prince consort of Arcann lol idk! me and vaylin are gonna be besties and we’ll paint each others nails or something Oh and have a nice day too anon...!!

[ahgaseda]

enough | five

even if everyone else leaves me, you’re enough for me, you’re my only one, stand by me forever, only you, just you...

summary : to survive as a single woman in the big city, you resort to letting rich men pay for your company, but never anticipated that your first client would be the boy you once loved, Jinyoung.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, references to prostitution, mentions of gang activity, graphic sexual content, potentially triggering elements involving mental health, panic attacks, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

Something stirred you awake in the middle of the night; an unsettled feeling in the well of your stomach. Perhaps your body was so accustomed to the feeling of his skin against yours that it noticed immediately when the warmth of him was gone.

Opening your eyes, you turned, surprised to see Jinyoung no longer peacefully asleep beside you, but sitting on the edge of the bed and gazing toward the windows.

The lights had lost their luster. Even Seoul was deep in slumber at this ungodly hour.

“Jinyoung,” you called confusedly, dazed with sleep.

“Go back to bed,” he replied a little too sharply.

For a moment, you paused, studying the expanse of his shoulders. Something weighed them down. Something he couldn’t carry without being crushed from the inside.

Obstinate as ever, you crawled forward, slipping behind him and wrapping your arms and legs around his body. Jinyoung sighed, lips tugging into a reluctant smile, and stroked a hand across your arm to lace his fingers through yours.

Resting your cheek on his shoulder, you asked, “What’s wrong, baby?”

He exhaled loudly through his nose. The lines of his brow were furrowed in pensive thought; of losing everything. Of losing you.

“I have a lot on my mind,” Jinyoung finally answered, foolish to think that answer would suffice.

You rolled your eyes and teased, “What else is new?”

Jinyoung wrinkled his nose and squeezed your hand even tighter. Jiwon’s threat was very real and manifested in his mind with every bloody, gruesome possibility. Jinyoung knew he had to put him away for good. No hesitation and no mercy.

Seeing he had fallen back into his reveries, you traced your fingers over his abs through the thin white shirt. Bringing your lips to his neck, you left a few tender kisses before flicking out your tongue to test his mood.

Jinyoung felt his pulse pick up speed. It went without saying he would love to bury himself between your legs and forget about everything except you and him in his bed. But that was never what he was made of. He couldn’t indulge in your body when you were at risk and only he could make it right.

And, of course, he was still mad as hell at you.

Jinyoung turned to meet your eyes and for a fleeting moment, you naively believed you would get your way. He kissed the corner of your mouth chastely before gathering you in his arms and returning you to your place in bed.

Draping an arm over your waist and laying his head on your chest, Jinyoung whispered, “Sleep, baby. I’m right here.”

Satisfied that he wouldn’t leave you, you settled comfortably into the mattress. His weight on top of you was more than welcome. “Will you ever tell me what goes on in that head of yours?” you asked, delicately tracing your fingertips over his forehead and pushing away his fluffy hair.

Jinyoung took your hand in his and brought it to his mouth, placing featherlight kisses over each of your fingers. “You,” he confessed in a heavy sigh, as if it pained him to admit it. “Always you.”

Your eyes burned with emotion and you didn’t hesitate to tell him, “I love you, Jinyoung.”

“I know,” he replied without missing a beat.

You chuckled. It was worth a try to make him say it back after all this time, but he was nothing if not stubborn and hard-headed.

The morning came late and your growling stomach woke you with a vengeance. When you stirred, you were amazed to find Jinyoung already awake, but still clinging snugly to your body.

“I’m hungry,” you whined tiredly, rubbing at your eyes with a fist.

Jinyoung rose quickly and proceeded to sift you out from beneath the warmth of the blankets. “It’s about time. Get up, lazy,” he jeered, half-serious. “I’m starving. We’re going to eat.”

You gawked at his outburst. “Have you been waiting this whole time for me to wake up?”

“Yes,” he said with a frown.

You wanted to laugh. He was such a big baby. “I have to study,” you told him, slipping off the bed and gathering your clothes.

Jinyoung put his hands on his hips and chided, “You studied your brains out yesterday. It’s Saturday. Today, you rest.”

You stopped, blinking incredulously at how bossy he sounded. “Well, damn,” you said with a chuckle. “Guess I have no choice, huh?”

“None. Zero,” Jinyoung replied, heading out the door to give you privacy. “Get dressed.”

“Fine,” you shot back, attempting to sound annoyed simply to toy with him.

That was when you remembered you didn’t have any clothes to wear. You had been brought to his penthouse in your pajamas and you highly doubted Jinyoung would appreciate taking you to breakfast in your thigh-high socks.

There was a swift tapping of knuckles on the door followed by it opening before you could finish calling, “Yes?”

Jinyoung appeared again, a bag in each hand. “Right on time,” he announced, disgruntled. “I had some clothes ordered for you. The boys just dropped them off.”

“Jinyoung, you can’t be serious,” you exclaimed, racing over to see the spoils. “Please tell me you didn’t spend a fortune on these.”

Jinyoung snorted and narrowed his eyes at you. He was tempted to pull out a wad of cash and set it on fire before you just to prove a point. “I spend my money however I want. Now, for the love of food, hurry up and put something on. Or I’ll just eat you.”

Memories began to flood of the night before and you licked your lips. “I would not be opposed to that.”

Jinyoung lifted his brows. After a pause, he retorted, “Nope. I got nothing. All I’m thinking about is beef.”

“Me, too,” you shot back, glancing down at his pants.

He promptly folded his arms and made that damned adorable face. Pursed lips, puffed cheeks. “Wow, I ate her out one time and she can’t think straight. Woman, am I gonna be able to take you out in public ever again?”

You laughed aloud. “Yes, yes, I’m coming. I just miss the hell out of teasing you.”

“Yeah, well, I miss having a full belly,” he groaned. “You have five minutes or I’m leaving your horny ass here.”

“Cheese and rice,” you grumbled, pulling the shirt over your head and stripping down to your underwear.

Jinyoung was about to make a quip about how badly he craved rice, but was distracted at the sight of your breasts. Your body had filled out in his absence over the last four years. Though you were always perfect to him, he didn’t mind your bigger boobs and fuller hips.

You met his eyes, quirking a brow. Suddenly aware of the sexual tension that had filled the room in the span of a second, part of you hoped he would pounce on you then and there.

Jinyoung watched, feigning disinterest, and handed you one of the blouses.

By the time you arrived at the restaurant, bodyguards and driver in tow, Jinyoung was in full hungry brat mode. The owner recognized him at once and bowed deeply, ushering the two of you to the secluded table in the back corner. Before you slipped into your seat, you watched Jackson, Jaebeom and Yugyeom take a high table just beyond and strategically within eyesight at all times.

Not much passed in terms of conversation at first. Jinyoung was wholly focused on food. When the beef began to sizzle on the grill, you reached for the tongs and earned a swift slap to your hand.

“What was that for?” you exclaimed irritably.

Jinyoung proceeded to flip the beef and complained, “You have no grill skills. You burn everything.”

“I do not,” you said with a pout.

The servers continued to bring food at Jinyoung’s behest. By the time they had finished, there was no free space on the table.

The sight made your eyes burn with the threat of tears, even worse when Jinyoung took a large mouthful and made a satisfied sound in his chest.

There were days he gave you his food and went hungry himself. Jinyoung always suffered if it meant you were taken care of. The two of you went years without ever knowing how it felt to be full.

Jinyoung glanced at you, perturbed at how you had yet to start eating. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

You shook your head and lied, “Nothing.”

He watched you pick up the chopsticks and your hesitation was painfully obvious. He could see the moisture in your eyes. Jinyoung knew in that moment what had made you emotional and chose kindly not to press you on it, but he did say, “Let it go, baby.”

“What?” you questioned.

“Whatever you’re about to cry over.”

You blinked rapidly, fighting the tears even harder, and nodded your head. Then, you reached for the food.

The waitress came over not long after and asked if there was anything else either of you needed.

Jinyoung looked to you for an answer. “Want more food?”

Given how much you had already eaten, you patted your stomach and quipped, “No, I’m watching my figure.”

The joke was lost on your lover. Jinyoung scoffed in annoyance and told her, “Two lunch boxes please.”

You chuckled.

Jinyoung took another bite and asked, “You still love dosirak, right?”

Your mouth watered. “Obviously.”

“Then, eat a damn lunch box.”

The server came back with two tins and Jinyoung had barely taken it from her hand when he began shaking it. You mirrored him, recalling all the times as kids you would compete to see who could shake theirs the longest.

After the two of you ate to your heart’s content, you were in disbelief - but mostly thrilled - when Jinyoung returned with you to the penthouse and revealed he would be working from home for the day. Your lips spread into a grin and he quickly rebuffed your affections.

“It’s not that I want to spend time with you,” he calmly argued. “I just don’t feel like dealing with people today.”

You winked. “Of course.”

Jinyoung plopped down on the couch and opened the newspaper, reading through every section as he always did. You sat on the neighboring couch opposite of him and your gaze fell to his muscly thighs spread out, hugged by the tightly fitting jeans. His lap did look rather inviting.

You went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of tea. Offering to make him one as well, Jinyoung politely declined and you were content to lean against the counter and study him.

Very, very often you had imagined and daydreamed of domestic life with Jinyoung as a wild, restless teenager. And now, here it was. Although, Jinyoung had frequently joked that he would never be able to tame you, no matter how much you loved him.

That wasn’t true. The truth was, he had broken you a long time ago.

“I can feel you staring,” Jinyoung called from behind the newspaper.

You murmured coyly, “I’m enjoying the view,” and put the cup of tea to your lips.

Jinyoung flushed a subtle shade of crimson, pulling his paper close to hide it.

You approached him and asked, “Mind if I sit down?”

“Go right ahead,” Jinyoung replied, patting the empty space next to him.

You smiled and turned around, sidling backwards and landing squarely on his lap.

Jinyoung let out a tiny grunt the moment you sat on his hips and scowled back at you when you glanced over your shoulder to peer innocently in his direction.

“What are you playing at?” he barked, folding his newspaper.

“You started this game,” you sang innocently. “Don’t hate me for finishing it.”

Jinyoung cocked a brow and refused to surrender. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Well then,” was all Jinyoung said before grasping you none too gently and smashing his lips on yours.

You were completely at his mercy with your precarious position on his lap. Jinyoung quickly barred an arm across your stomach and cradled your face with the other. You reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss. Jinyoung slipped you his tongue and you moaned softly into his mouth when a hand landed on your breast.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jinyoung whispered darkly in your ear, kissing hotly over your racing pulse. “Don’t leave out a single detail.”

There were times you wondered if he could read your mind. Glancing down to see his hands kneading your clothed breasts, you let your head fall back when he pressed slow kisses to your neck. “When you used to…,” you trailed, voice trembling. “Take me from behind.”

Jinyoung chuckled softly, grazing his teeth over your skin. “Yeah,” he growled even lower. “You always did look good on your hands and knees.”

You swallowed, heart thundering wildly. He must have heard it. You watched his hands drift down your body, slipping beneath your shirt before returning to palm your breasts.

“You were always so deep,” you panted with want and need. “I almost couldn’t take it.”

Jinyoung tucked his hands inside your bra, finally able to tease your nipples without anything in the way. “And you were always so tight,” he retorted. “No matter how hard I fucked you.”

You turned your head, nuzzling your nose against his. “Please, just take me,” you whimpered, trying to mold your lips to his.

Jinyoung rose, prying you from his lap and leaving you on the couch. “The only thing I’m taking is a cold shower,” he said, stomping toward the bedroom.

“You little shit,” you called after him, bracing your hands on the top of the sofa. “I can’t stand your stubborn ass!”

“You love this ass,” he bantered back at you. “And it’s a fantastic ass. Have some respect.”

You made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, and sulked when he locked the bedroom door behind him.

The rest of the weekend was less profanity filled. Jinyoung gave you a taste of your dreams of domestic life with him. Quiet dinners. Endless food. The scent of fresh coffee filling the room in the morning. Peaceful evenings under a shared blanket in the reading nook.

Jinyoung gushed excitedly when he told you what was happening in the novel he devoured. You soaked up every word, overjoyed to see him happy. Occasionally he would remember he was mad at you and would be sparing with his affection. Then, he would seem to forget again and couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

It was a constant game of push and pull. One that you came to enjoy.

But on Sunday night he grew restless, tossing and turning. You had no sooner finally fallen asleep when Jinyoung woke you screaming, thrashing in the bed.

Every image of his night terrors from years before hit you all at once and your body responded as if muscle memory took control. “Jinyoung, stop! It’s okay,” you tried to console him, grasping his face in your hands and staring into his wide, terrified eyes. “I’m here. It’s me!”

Jinyoung was stronger than you by leaps and bounds. He pried you off of him with effortless ease and staggered toward the window, pounding his fist against it in frustration. He ran his hands through his hair, desperately clawing for his composure. The thing he guarded so vehemently. “You’re not supposed to see me like this…,” he choked out.

That damn pride, you thought with a frown as fire filled your cheeks. “And who is, huh?” you snapped angrily.

He clocked a weathered glance at you and warned, “Don’t.”

“Jinyoung…”

Jinyoung was thinking of his nightmares. Of you ripped violently away from him. They blended into the bloody, malicious things he had seen. The things he had done to take his place at the top. He heard Jiwon’s threat to break you in before his eyes.

He guarded his heart; guarded it with an iron fucking fist. He protected himself with ice and steel. He had to in order to live with what he had done. You were always how he justified it. He did it all for you, but he had sacrificed so much of himself.

“I can’t let you in again,” Jinyoung whispered shakily. “You’ll be gone and I won’t survive.”

Your knees buckled. Your heart collapsed somewhere in your chest. “I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, face tensing with oncoming tears.

Jinyoung lowered his head, hiding behind his disheveled hair. The first time you left him it was your choice. If you left him again, it wouldn’t be by choice. It would be because someone stole you away.

“You make me crazy,” Jinyoung murmured, reaching for you and gathering you to his chest. His hands raked into your hair, keeping you looking up into his eyes. “I wanted to hate you. I tried. You ruined me.”

Tears freely streamed down your cheeks. Jinyoung and you, you and Jinyoung - two wounded souls just trying to heal. “I’ll never leave you again,” you vowed with all you had. “I swear on my life. I’ll die before I do that to you.”

“I know,” Jinyoung sighed.

That was exactly what he feared.

You looked at him with confusion, waiting for an explanation. You were given none and Jinyoung refused to return to bed. He sat by the window, waiting for the city to wake and watching over you.

The next morning, you opened your eyes to find Jinyoung was gone. And you weren’t surprised.

Yugyeom took you back to the condo and you stared at your phone all the while. No calls. No texts. Your blood began to boil.

You typed a message to send him, You can’t build those walls when I’m around, huh?

But you didn’t have the heart to send it. Not when the sound of his screams echoed in your ears. Deleting the words, you tossed your phone on the nightstand and buried yourself in studying. Exams were in full swing this week. It was time to get to work.

For three days you heard nothing from Jinyoung. For three days he avoided you. You felt wounded and your heart was sore.

When Yugyeom and Jackson arrived to take you to your exam, you asked nonchalantly, “Jackson, you’ll be seeing Jinyoung later, right?”

“Yes, mam.”

You hopped into the car and put on your seatbelt. “Do me a favor and please mention in passing that I stand by what I said. I’ll never leave him. But a woman needs an outlet to let off steam and reward her hard work, and if he does not want to provide that outlet, the club will.”

“With pleasure,” Jackson said with a chuckle.

Yugyeom grinned mischievously.

It was early afternoon when your exam had finished and you excitedly jumped into the tinted Range Rover.

“Well?” asked Yugyeom eagerly, hand draped on the wheel.

Jackson turned around from his spot in the passenger seat. “How was it?”

You flashed them a smile and announced, “I slayed that shit.”

The two boys applauded.

“The evil physics has been defeated,” Yugyeom sang, putting the car in drive and cruising out of the parking lot.

A moment later, Jackson crooned, “Mr. Park would like to extend an invitation for you to join him at his office immediately if you are still in need of… an outlet.”

That had your attention. “Oh?”

Jackson nodded, amused. “He says he will be happy to take you out to dinner as soon as he is finished working, but you may join him in his office until then.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed, “Just what a girl wants after spending two whole hours in an exam. To sit in an office and wait on her stubborn ass man.”

Yugyeom looked at you in the rearview mirror and said, “We don’t have to go.”

The gears turned in your head. Jackson smirked, noticing your expression full of mischief.

“Take me there, please,” you said, crossing your legs. “I think it’s time I got my revenge.”

The office was in an executive building on an inconspicuous corner. Jinyoung had to make sure each of his business endeavors looked legitimate by all means. You stepped into the ornate lobby and let the elevator take you to the third floor.

When you stepped into the office, Jinyoung looked up, but didn’t move a muscle. “Since when do you go to the club?” he asked gruffly.

No greeting. He was still embarrassed over the other night, you mused to yourself. “Since freshman year,” you countered, moving to one of the two chairs before his desk and making yourself comfortable.

Jinyoung put his pen down and leaned back in his own chair, folding his arms tautly. “You can’t handle your liquor,” he said bluntly.

You nodded in agreement. “I know. Still the lightweight. But free booze. Free music. Free dancing.”

Jinyoung’s eyes flickered. There were images filling his mind of you dancing with men, men that didn’t hesitate to let their hands roam your body. “Are you trying to make me jealous?” he asked.

You grinned. “Absolutely. How am I doing?”

Jinyoung scowled and didn’t dare gratify you with an answer. Instead he shifted subjects. “How was your exam?”

“I fucking nailed it.”

Jinyoung chuckled.

“I did, Jinyoung,” you insisted, beaming with pride. “I crushed it.”

He bobbed his head. “I believe you. I’m very proud.”

You gave him a soft smile.

Finally Jinyoung rose from his desk and moved to the nearby table, pulling a bottle that had been on ice and pouring two glasses of champagne. “How should we celebrate?” He looked to you expectantly whilst handing you your glass. “I can get us a private booth at any of the restaurants or we can…”

“I know what I want,” you interjected, taking a sip of your drink.

Jinyoung shrugged. “Well, you have my credit card. Go buy it.”

You shook your head. “I don’t wanna buy anything.”

Jinyoung tilted his head and exhaled, running out of patience. “Woman, tell me what you want.”

“I want you.”

Jinyoung let a lull of silence pass before he hummed, “Mm.”

“Did you have a rough day?” you asked coyly, setting down your drink and running your fingers up his tie.

“Maybe,” he said, voice laden with exhaustion. “But you know I don’t talk about my work.”

You brushed past him intentionally and came to stand behind his desk, pushing a few things back to give yourself room. Then, you lifted yourself on top of it, sitting on the edge and spreading your legs, motioning him forward.

Jinyoung downed his drink and discarded the glass, then sneered, “I’m not going to fuck you. Not yet anyway.”

“I know that,” you replied sharply. “Just come here and turn around.”

His brow furrowed, bemused as to what you were after, but Jinyoung relented and stepped between your knees, pecking a kiss on your irresistible lips. You smiled against his mouth and grabbed his arms, steering him to put his back to you.

Once he had, you settled your hands on his shoulders and began to knead, massaging his tense muscles and feeling him relax under your ministrations. A soft hum of a moan left his lips and you smirked in satisfaction, putting more pressure on his back until he sighed in relief.

Lulling Jinyoung into the headspace you wanted, your hands fell deliberately down his burly arms, still squeezing his muscles to release their tension. Slowly, you skimmed your palms to his stomach, grabbing his shirt and yanking upward, freeing the material from where it had been tucked into his pants.

“What are you doing?” asked Jinyoung lowly, voice sinking a few octaves.

Nipping the shell of his ear, you whispered, “Let me play.”

Jinyoung shivered as you began to kiss his neck and you were quick to loop your legs over his thick thighs, dissuading him from trying to escape your touches. With his shirt loose, you brushed the hem aside and fiddled at his belt.

Sliding your hand into his pants, you resisted the urge to giggle at his hardening length, but you did tease, “I’ve barely touched you and look how hard you’re getting, baby.”

“I started getting hard the second you spread your legs on top of my desk,” he confessed in a raspy snarl, staring down at the erotic sight of your hand down his jeans and your legs locked around his thighs.

You chuckled devilishly in his ear and pulled at his half-hard cock, stroking the length of him in your tightly gripped fist. Bringing a hand to your mouth quickly, you licked the span of your palm before reaching down to pump his shaft.

Jinyoung tensed against you when you focused on the head of his member, even more so when you sucked intently on his neck. Your breath was hot, making the sweat gathered at his hairline cool on his skin.

“Jinyoung,” you whispered pliantly, once he was rock hard in your grasp. “Please let me do this for you.”

His hips stuttered in tandem with your movements and so did his words, “Do what?”

You worked down his length with both hands, gathering a drop of precum with your finger and teasing his slit. You thought he would come undone and unravel in your hands at any minute with the way his breaths were tumbling out.

“Make you feel good,” you purred.

Jinyoung shivered at the thought. His attention was still fixated downward, where your hands had vanished inside his pants. You were jerking his cock faster and faster, like you were trying to get him off embarrassingly quick just so you could tease him for it later.

Which wasn’t far from the truth.

Suddenly, you gripped the base of his cock nice and hard, and stopped all motions. “Well…,” you growled with impatience. “Do I have your permission?”

Jinyoung exhaled in defeat, his hips moving of their own accord in a seeking thrust, desperate for friction. “Do what you want with me,” he mumbled, kicking himself for losing resolve so quickly. “I won’t stop you. Not today.”

You fought a giddy smile at finally getting your way and withdrew your hands from down his pants, pushing him forward to allow you room to slide from the desk. The moment your feet touched the floor, you twirled around him, switching positions, and pushed him up against the desk.

Jinyoung didn’t struggle, but he did grab the edge of the desk and hold tightly with both hands, breath bated.

Pressing your hands to his chest, you leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss, teased his tongue as he sighed into your mouth. Jinyoung was enraptured to say the least, clutching your waist gingerly and pulling you close enough that your breasts pushed against him.

As you kissed him, you rubbed your fingers over his clothed nipples, his cock twitching eagerly in his pants. Then, you took a tie from your wrist and affixed it to your hair, tightening the ponytail into position and pressing one last kiss on his lips.

You shoved Jinyoung against the desk once more, to remind him who was in charge until further notice and your eyes lit up at the blush across his cheeks and the fire in his gaze.

Jinyoung couldn’t believe his eyes when you dropped to your knees before him, grabbing his pants and boxers and tugging them down to his ankles in one sweep. His hard cock waited before your eyes, weeping and curving toward his abs.

Your fingers danced up his shaft, eyes on the vein bulging underneath. You liked teasing him, loved making him beg for release even more, but today you were in the mood to make short work of him. You were still bitter at being ignored for three days. You got a hold of him in your hand and licked a wet stripe from base to tip before meeting his gaze again.

Jinyoung clawed at his tie, loosening it frantically so he could breathe. The last time someone blew him would have been four years ago. You used to suck him off rather often, enjoying the way you could reduce him to a moaning mess. Jinyoung hoped this time would be no different.

“Jinyoung,” you whispered, peering up at him with the tip of his cock against your lips.

“Yeah?” he panted.

“Don’t hold back,” you said, holding his cock firmly as you took him in your mouth.

Inch by inch you sucked him down, lilting back before engulfing him again to wet him with your saliva. Jinyoung watched you stroke back and forth, each time going deeper until his member hit the back of your throat. You choked at first, out of practice after so long, but the tightening of your throat made his hips arch and his abs flex.

Jinyoung whimpered your name and that was all you needed to keep going.

You let his girth leave your mouth with a lewd pop, proceeding to pump him in your fist while you peered up at him with tear-filled eyes.

Jinyoung had let his head fall back the moment you choked on him and was content to stay that way. He couldn’t look at you. One glance of you with your lips around the base of his cock would make him bust in a heartbeat. And god knows you would never let him live that down.

You slipped him between your lips again, sucking on the head and teasing with your tongue before grasping his hips. He had thrust ever so slightly, probably unintentionally, seeking the heat of your mouth. Your eyes burned with more tears when his length hit the back of your throat again, but you swallowed him eagerly. Jinyoung inhaled a hard breath and fisted his hand in your hair.

Your warm, wet mouth was too much. It took all of Jinyoung’s willpower not to fill your mouth with cum. He couldn’t stop thinking about the vice-like grip of your pussy, how it was undoubtedly throbbing with need. He pictured you in his mind, moaning his name when he finally penetrated you.

“Yeah…,” Jinyoung growled, sucking another breath through his teeth when you hollowed out your cheeks. “Like that. Good girl…”

You moaned at the lust in his voice, sending vibrations through his cock and smiling when a little groan left his lips. You rewarded the sound, swallowing around the tip of him again and bobbing your head a little faster on his length.

Jinyoung was in bliss - absolute, mind-numbing rapture. Head tilted back, eyes pressed closed. You smiled with his cock in your mouth, hands rooted to his tensing thighs, and stared up at him in worship, heady at the sight of his chest rising and falling with labored panting. His full lips were parted as pleasured sounds left him with every thrust in your waiting mouth.

“Fu…ck,” he moaned, now gripping your hair with both hands.

You looped your arms around his thighs and set your nails to his plump ass. He had taken over control and all you could do was hang on for the ride. Jinyoung pumped his cock into your mouth, rutting into the back of your throat. Tears streamed down your cheeks and the sound of you gagging only made him twitch more.

“Good girl,” Jinyoung rasped, losing his mind to the feel of you. “Almost there.”

Sucking him off was nothing short of gratifying. Your pussy throbbed between your legs and you could feel wet arousal soaking through your panties. His cock would slide into you smoother than silk if he wasn’t so damn stubborn. At the thought, you moaned around his length and he whimpered.

Jinyoung couldn’t fight back his moans any longer and you knew he was at his end. His hips stuttered, his thrusts turning erratic, and he finally came with a shaky cry that sounded vaguely like your name.

You lapped him up, gulping down his release when you tasted it on the back of your tongue and swallowing every last drop. Seeing the ecstasy on his face made you desperate for climax and you pressed your thighs together.

Jinyoung still gripped your hair tightly, knuckles almost white, and slowly pulled his spent cock from your mouth. Without warning, he grabbed your arms and hoisted you up none too gently. “Fuck,” was all he said.

You opened your mouth and wagged your tongue at him in a taunt, proving you had milked him dry.

Jinyoung shook his head at you before reaching down to pull up his pants, fastening them quickly to get you in his arms again. “God, you’re good,” he growled, grasping you by the throat.

You were gifted a searing kiss and purred in response. At this point, you were sure he would give you anything you asked for.

“So fucking good,” he hummed, pressing a wet open-mouthed kiss or two to your jaw.

“Jinyoung,” you beckoned sweetly, eyes rolling when his lips drifted to your neck.

“Hm?” he questioned, pulling back to look at you.

“I’m wet,” you confessed, raking your tongue across your teeth at the way his pupils flickered.

Jinyoung cocked his head, brushing his nose against yours. Without another word, his hand trailed down your body and pushed between your thighs, getting a taste of your desire for him and the arousal coating your folds.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “You like choking on my dick that much?”

“Mm, yes. I do,” you retorted, nipping at his lips.

Jinyoung fisted his hand in your ponytail, his usual roughness coming through. “What should I do with you?”

“Fuck me,” you replied, rather blunt. “Think how easy you would slide right in.”

Jinyoung smiled, biting his lip. He was so enamored with you. You wanted exactly what you couldn’t have and it consumed you. “It does seem like a waste of good pussy, doesn’t it?” he teased, seeming to mull over the thought.

You nodded.

Jinyoung released you then and launched himself onto the desk, sitting where you had been before.

You stood rooted in place, watching him curiously.

Jinyoung motioned you forward and patted his leg. “Ride my thigh.”

You frowned and whined, “I want dick.”

He almost laughed. “I’m soft.”

“I can get you hard in no time,” you crooned, bracing your hands on his knees and stroking upwards. “We both know that.”

Jinyoung harshened his tone, no room for further argument. “My thigh or your own fingers. The choice is yours.”

You huffed petulantly and hiked your skirt up your waist, trudging over and mounting the desk. And him. Putting a leg on either side of his thigh, you sank down until your panty-covered folds met the rough fabric of his pants.

The first roll of your hips was tentative. Yet another thing you were more than a little rusty at. Jinyoung sensed your inhibition and looped an arm around your waist, clutching you flush against him.

Jinyoung tucked his face to the crook of your neck and whispered, “Get yourself off.”

Oh, you wanted to. Release was at the front of your mind, holding the reins to your sanity. The image of Jinyoung reaching climax still lingered and you swore there was no better sound in the world than his moaning of your name. You wanted to hear it again and again.

“Please,” you spoke almost inaudibly, feeling small and helpless in his lap. “I need it.”

Jinyoung guided your hips, steering you to rub back and forth on his thigh. “Mm, that’s it,” he encouraged, lapping at the sweat on your neck. “Ride me like you mean it.”

You gathered more confidence at his words, grinding yourself down on him a little harder until your clit ached at the contact. You held his shoulders for balance, biting your lip at the feeling of his broad hands roaming to cup your ass.

Jinyoung kneaded your thighs and hips before settling on your ass again, humming his appreciation for your beautiful body and how it belonged to him, only him. He whispered little nothings in your ear, dirty things that riled you up and made you pick up the pace.

You moaned softly, gushing at the stimulation.

“Once upon a time,” Jinyoung teased, nuzzling his face between your breasts. “You used to ride me like it was what you were made for.”

And you would love to do it again if he would just let you sink down on his cock and be done with it. “Jinyoung,” you began to warn sternly.

Smack!

His hand collided with your ass and you squeaked, hips falling out of rhythm before settling back into motion.

“Don’t stop,” Jinyoung ordered, intently patting the print he had just made on your flesh. “And don’t slow down.”

“I…,” you trailed, lost in too many sensations at once.

His fingers tightened in your hair and yanked your head to the side. You felt his tongue racing over your pulse before his soft lips pressed a wet kiss on your jaw.

“Tell me,” Jinyoung snarled, reeling his hand back and landing his palm on your ass again.

Smack!

You gasped and rode him even faster.

“What do you want from me?” he pressed calmly before you could answer.

“Harder. Harder,” you pleaded, clinging to his arms for dear life.

Jinyoung chuckled with twisted pleasure at your torment, spanking your ass three solid times back to back. Your hips sped up at the sting, chasing after your high like it was the key to your sanity.

“Come already, baby,” Jinyoung urged, his dialect thicker than ever. “You’re soaking my goddamn pants.”

That rebellious streak flared and you griped, “I would rather soak your goddamn cock.”

Jinyoung bit down on the base of your neck, his member twitching at that. “Such a little angel out there,” he taunted, cupping your face. “No one would believe what a slut you are for me.”

You howled his name for mercy.

Jinyoung grasped your hips and brought you down to meet his thigh, rough and merciless. The moment you told him you were close, he commanded, “Come for me.”

You let your head fall back and your lips parted in a silent scream. This was the release you craved, needed above all else. To finally feel satiated after the suffocating tension and longing. Your nails set viciously to his shoulders and your hips slowed at the intensity of orgasm. Your engorged clit was suddenly too sensitive for the abrasive contact. Your body instinctively bowed away, but Jinyoung landed a palm on your ass with a vengeance.

“Don’t you dare tap out,” he scolded, keeping his hand poised at the ready to land yet another hit.

You kept riding him, overstimulating yourself to the point your lower half shuddered involuntarily. Satisfied at the endless, tiny cries falling from your mouth, Jinyoung grabbed your ass and rubbed the mark he had made, soothing the sting.

“You’re done,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms.

You went slack, satisfied he could support your weight. You let your head rest on his shoulder, burying your face in his neck, and held him tightly. Your body continued to tremble with orgasm, settling through the last of the aftershocks. Breathing in utter relief, all you wanted in that moment was for Jinyoung to never let go of you.

He turned his head, trying to get a glimpse of your face, and asked, “Feel better?”

Finally, you roused yourself, lifting your eyes and looking everywhere but at him. “I made a mess,” you murmured bashfully.

Jinyoung studied you, noting how you avoided his gaze, and asked, “How many exams do you have left?”

You smiled at what he was implying. “Three.”

“I’m gonna need more pants.”

You laughed at that.

Jinyoung let his hands slip reluctantly from your hips as you clambered off of him and he watched you with nothing short of amusement while you pulled your skirt back down and adjusted your clothes.

“So, yeah,” you stammered, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m gonna head home and study.”

Jinyoung cocked his head. “Why are you being awkward?”

You were finally forced to look at him and lied, “I’m not.”

“You are,” he asserted. Jinyoung could smell bullshit a mile away, especially yours.

You shifted your weight.

“Was it… something I said?” he asked worriedly, jumping down from the desk and approaching you. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s…,” you trailed, looking away. Your hunger had been soothed, but not your heartache.

Jinyoung cradled your face tenderly, eyes filled with concern. “Talk to me,” he whispered.

You pried his hands from you and snapped, “I can’t talk to you. You decide when I’m allowed to see you.”

Jinyoung sighed in realization. He knew the cold shoulder was too effective on you and regretted being as severe as he had been. But he couldn’t let you know the threat that you were under. Or the misery it inflicted on him.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said.

You dragged your feet toward him, falling back into his arms and tucking your head beneath his chin. Jinyoung was all too relieved to wrap his arms around you, kissing your brow with affection. For a moment, you were content to hug him. Then your mouth got in the way.

“I just want to be with you all the time. I’m crazy about you,” you rambled, brushing your lips over his own. “You make me absolutely out of my fucking mind crazy.”

Jinyoung studied you. Then, he cut the tension by smarting, “Stalker.”

You recoiled and snorted. “Asshat.”

Jinyoung flashed his teeth in a grin. “Dinner?"

“Ugh,” you grumbled. “Shower first.”

Jinyoung nodded, snickering. “Okay, okay. Go home and shower. Yugyeom will bring you to the restaurant. Deal?”

“Perfect,” you replied, turning on your heels and making for the door.

“Hey,” Jinyoung called out.

You turned.

“Where’s my damn kiss?”

Without hesitation, you ran back into his arms, colliding into his chest and nearly knocking the wind out of him. Jinyoung held you close and kissed you, tangling his fingers in your hair. The two of you giggled and smiled and kissed like a pair of hormone crazed teenagers with no clue what they were doing.

When you finally pulled away, Jinyoung watched you go and you swore you had never seen a more beautiful mess of a boy in your life.

No sooner had you stepped out of the shower did your phone ring. Clad in a towel, you answered eagerly, “Hey, Hoseok. It’s been a while. How are you?”

His voice was unnerving. “Seokjin wants to see you right away.”

“Oh,” was all you could manage, heart picking up speed. “Did he say why?”

“No, but he wants you in here right now. It sounds serious.”

This was new territory for you. Seokjin never summoned you with such a manner. You reckoned you were in trouble or at least, someone was in trouble. “I see. Okay. I’m coming. I will be there as soon as I can.”

Yugyeom put the key in the ignition and revved the engine. One look at your face and his smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

You closed the door behind you and fastened your seatbelt, answering, “We need to make a stop first.”

The sun set as Yugyeom drove to your employer’s building. You hadn’t been back since the contract was established between you and Jinyoung. Obviously, you were no longer available to serve as eye candy for wealthy men. It had been strange being able to focus on school without making routine trips to see Seokjin for jobs.

You turned the corner and entered the office, seeing Seokjin standing behind his desk with his hands on his hips. “Hey, boss. I…,” you began.

Seokjin laid eyes on you and snapped, “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

You watched him stomp toward you and questioned carefully, “What do you mean?”

“That your client is your ex-boyfriend,” he roared.

Your eyes were wide. “Oh. That.”

Seokjin folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at you in disappointment, but he softened his tone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

It went without saying that you had dealt with many bad, dangerous men in your life. Seokjin was not one of them. Nothing about him inspired fear in you. The relationship you had with him was built on trust and solidarity. Even when he was angry, you weren’t afraid to be honest with him.

You swallowed. “Do you want the honest answer?”

He scoffed. “Is that even a question?”

“I didn’t want you to cancel the deal,” you admitted quietly.

Seokjin was in disbelief and decided to repeat it back to you, almost to make sure you understood what you were saying. “You wanted me to approve the contract for you to be a sexual servant to your ex?”

Well, when he put it like that it did sound awful. You shrugged. “I don’t have a good explanation for you, boss.”

There was no way you could explain your relationship with Jinyoung. It would take days, weeks even. The two of you had been through so much together, so much damage and evil and every fucking thing that could go wrong did go wrong. You both were forged in the same fires.

“There are rules here,” said Seokjin, pragmatic. “Rules in place specifically for drama like this.”

You nodded. “I understand that.”

“Clearly you don’t,” he interjected, like a parent scolding a child. “You have no idea how out of hand things get in situations like these.”

You remembered Jinyoung’s words on that day - I bought you so no one else would. Jinyoung would sell his soul before he let you sell your body.

“It’s not like that,” you tried to reason with him. “You don’t know our history.”

Seokjin shook his head and returned to his desk. “It doesn’t matter. I’m pulling the contract.”

You understood his fear. His entire business was founded on confidentiality and secrecy. Any form of drama or scandal could expose a lot of powerful people and put Seokjin back on the street.

You opened your mouth to argue, but an irritated voice behind you came first, “Is this how you conduct business around here?”

Both you and Seokjin looked to see Jinyoung entering the office with Jackson a step behind him. With their added presence, Hoseok joined only a second later.

“Mr. Park,” Seokjin began, emerging once again from behind his desk. “You should have been more forthcoming as to the nature of your relationship with…”

Jinyoung countered, “Maybe so, but that’s water under the bridge now. Did I just hear you proceeding to nullify my contract without consulting me?”

Seokjin set his jaw. “Putting your ex-girlfriend into an indentured contract to soothe your own…”

Jinyoung took a single step toward your boss and seethed. “Believe me, Mr. Kim. You don’t want to go there with me,” he hissed. “End the contract, but she is still to be paid the full balance for this month. Take your share as well. It doesn’t concern me.”

Hoseok called your name tenderly, drawing your attention, and said, “Don’t go with him. I’ve seen this happen before. It doesn’t end well like you think it does.”

“Hoseok,” you started, moved by his concern.

Jinyoung brushed past you, putting himself squarely between you and Hoseok, and asserted his territory. “And who the hell are you?”

Hoseok was not intimidated in the least. “I’m the one that’s been protecting her for the past four years. Who the hell are you?”

“Hoseok,” Seokjin beckoned, sensing the situation was going to devolve.

“I see how you’re looking at her,” Jinyoung snarled under his breath.

Hoseok didn’t deny it.

You grabbed Jinyoung’s arm, attempting to steer him away. “Jinyoung, don’t make a scene.”

“Considering your boss called you in here without me, solely to rip you a new asshole and then take the rest of your money, I’m past making a scene. I’m gonna make a fucking spectacle,” Jinyoung snapped, shifting his weight as you grasped his sleeve.

Seokjin drew your attention, speaking from a good place. “I’ve been where you are and I know how it ends. Think about what you’re doing.”

Your brow furrowed, but you knew he was referring to getting into bed with a dangerous lover. You had been ignorant to the power Jinyoung now held and how deeply he had rooted himself in the underworld of your city.

He was your Jinyoung and you could turn a blind eye to what he did because you were head over heels in love with him. Naively so, you had to admit. And for that reason, you believed Seokjin when he said he knew what it was like.

“Seokjin,” you spoke resolutely. “Thank you for everything. I owe you more than I will ever be able to repay in my lifetime, but please accept my resignation.”

Jinyoung stopped, angling to you in surprise.

You met Jinyoung’s penchant gaze and added, “Effective immediately.”

Hoseok called your name.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized with all sincerity. “I never meant for this to happen. I don’t want to cause you any harm after all that you have done for me.”

Seokjin accepted your apology and bowed in response.

Hoseok enveloped you in his arms when you hugged him goodbye and with his eyes intently on Jinyoung, whispered in your ear, “Be careful. Someone ratted you out.”

You blinked in surprise and the moment Hoseok let you go, you turned to face Jinyoung. There was no shock on his face, only aggression and anger. “Outside,” was all you said, tone low.

Silence, cold and unforgiving, between the two of you down the elevator, through the lobby, and finally to the top deck of the parking garage. Once in the fresh air, free from the potentially eavesdropping ears, you asked, “Did you tell him about us?”

“No.”

“Did you have someone tell him about us?”

“No.”

You scoffed out a laugh, mirthless. “You’re lying.”

Jinyoung snorted. “There is literally nothing I can say to appease you when you’re pissed.”

“Don’t manipulate me,” you snapped with a roll of your eyes. “Tell me the truth.”

Jinyoung smiled, though he was far from amused. “See that’s the thing with you. When you have an idea in your head you just want someone to confirm it, you don’t care what the truth is.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. All you’ve ever done is pull my strings. The minute I do something outside of what you want, I get punished,” you yelled, bristling with annoyance.

Jinyoung shook his head. He had indulged you thus far, but was officially at the end of his rope. “I don’t have to stand here and take this from you. You of all people. You left me because I did what you didn’t want.”

This was the weak spot of the relationship; the one unmistakable fact that always tore the two of you apart.

You would always assume he was lying, because that’s what he did. He would always assume you would leave him, because that’s what you had done.

Tears filled your eyes and the next words left your mouth like venom, “You don’t love me. You just want to own me.”

Jinyoung approached slowly, something dark manifesting in his eyes. Not until he was within arms’ reach of you did he whisper, “I love you with my heart and soul and every fucking breath in my body.”

Your eyes widened.

Then, he condescended, “But right now I’m not in the mood to deal with your self-righteous ass. Yugyeom will take you to dinner. Use my damn card.” And with that, he turned and proceeded to leave.

Rooted in place, you shouted after him, “Jinyoung!”

He kept walking away, no hesitation in his step.

Spiteful, you continued to shout, “It’s my turn to ignore you for three days!”

Still stomping off, Jinyoung raised a hand and waved, retorting, “Be my guest!”

You practically snarled, clenching your hands into fists as he hopped into his car, Jaebeom behind the wheel, and drove away.

Pivoting on your heels, you faced Jackson and Yugyeom and they turned their heads in opposite directions, pretending they hadn’t seen your petty lovers’ quarrel. Saying nothing, you trudged toward them and jumped into the backseat.

The moment you were concealed behind tinted windows, your lips spread into a wide smile that reached your eyes.

Jinyoung said he loved you.

Pulling out your phone, you texted him shamelessly, You said you love me.

A return text chimed not a minute later. Who is this?

You laughed aloud, propping your head in your hand against the window. The love of your life, you replied.

I see three days went by fast, was his retort.

You sighed. Don’t keep me away too long this time.

The next text took an extra minute to deliver, Come to the penthouse after dinner.

You smirked wryly and typed, I think I’ll sleep in my own bed tonight, Mr. Park. Goodnight.

Jinyoung looked down at the screen and pursed his lips. Sensing he had lost this round, he texted back, Goodnight, baby.

Jaebeom pulled a vibrating phone from his pocket and handed it to Jinyoung, saying, “Mark confirmed it.”

Jinyoung looked at the image and frowned. It was from a surveillance camera, captured in black and white. Jiwon and Seokjin; a seemingly harmless photo of two men talking on the street.

“He’s getting closer,” Jaebeom commented under his breath, speeding through a yellow light.

Jinyoung’s phone chimed with another text. The number was unknown and Jinyoung’s eyes widened in disbelief at the image attached.

It was you, standing on the deck of the parking garage, watching Jinyoung walk away only moments ago. The sunset was a clash of colors in the background and you had never looked more radiant.

She’s so beautiful, read the text beneath. Shall I take her away or shall I make her hate you, Jinyoung-ie?

Jinyoung stared at the text, reading it over and over. “Too fucking close,” he finally murmured.

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a/n : this story was previously Lacuna on my old blog, minheoney. I’m really excited to finally finish it! This fic was my baby for so long and I’m ridiculously happy to give it a new home :)

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[honey-makki]

It Didn’t Stop You

Characters: Tsukishima Kei X Fem!Reader

Summary: You expected working with Tsukki to be a nightmare, but it turned into a dream. Will it stay that way?

Warnings: 

Song: cardigan - taylor swift

Genre: angst

Word Count: 1.4k+

A/N: this is for you @sneezefiction​. Yes I almost turned this angst into smut, yes this hurt me to write, yes all i know how to do is write angst and be sad 

You knew your desk partner was cold and calculating, only letting a select few into his life, and an even smaller amount into his heart. You found this out in your second year, the first time you were paired with him and he brushed off your greeting. He only spoke to you as necessary and stayed closed off except when working together on assignments. Tsukki invited you to his house often enough to quickly knock out assignments. You could see a change in him when he was at home, a weight lifted off his shoulders. I guess keeping up the walls takes a toll on him and this is the one place he can relax. ----------- Jumping up to the present, it is the start of your third year , and you just found out you were paired with Tsukki again for the year. I bet he’s annoyed that he didn’t get paired with Tadashi again. Eyeing him over you see just the slightest smile on his face, but no other change in demeanor. Your routine stayed mostly the same, completing assignments on the weekend in Tsukki’s room. It started to change in June, when packing up your stuff to head home, you noticed it was pouring outside. The lo-fi music Tsukki was playing must have drowned it out. Man, I’m gonna get soaked even with my umbrella.

Clearing his throat to get your attention, he offhandedly said you could stay until the storm had passed. As soon as he finished speaking, he flopped down on his bed, tossed his headphones on and began to read a book. Still dumbfounded, that Mr. Coldhearted had offered to let you stay so you wouldn’t get soaked, you just stood there for a minute. Now everytime it was raining in the slightest, there was an unspoken offer to let you stay until the rain stopped. At some point he took his headphones off so if you needed to tell him something you could, even if he wasn’t searching for conversation. Your relationship was changing with him just as your feelings were. Tsukki offered to let me stay again, even though it's barely even drizzling outside. His hand is only a few inches away from my head since I opted to sit against his bed. No, he's obviously not going to make a move on you, other than this, his demeanor has still stayed cold at school. He still doesn’t talk back to your thoughts, spare sometimes giving a small hum in response. If he had feelings for you he would attempt to make conversation with you. So he obviously doesn’t, but like, what if he did? You don’t see him staring at your sitting figure. Noticing how you look more tense than before, skin paler with a slight glean of sweat on the back of your neck. “Hey, Y/N, are you ok? You look a little sick, come lay down up here.” His tone implies that it’s not a choice, but done so out of concern, and the fact he has no idea how you are feeling right now. He shifts over so you have room to lay down, now noticing that you have a rising blush on your face, thankfully he chooses to not poke fun at you right now. Tsukki sneaks glances at you out his peripheral, both checking to make sure you don’t look worse off but also checking you out. He always thought you were cute, but seeing you lay on his bed corrected his thought, you weren’t cute, you were sexy. Your skirt rides a little higher on your thighs, exposing a soft expanse of skin not covered by your knee highs, chest shifting with unusually heavy breaths. Tsukki may not be known for rising up to the challenge, but if this didn’t pan out the way he wanted, he knows you would be too embarrassed to say anything to anyone else, so there is little risk. It’s simple, he wants to get his dick wet, and you are on his bed, open for him. Simple for him at least. You are acutely aware of your surroundings. The soft silky expanse of blanket, the cool side of the pillow below your head, the stillness of the air, how much you move when you breathe. You can feel every inch between you and Tsukki as if it was part of your body,so when he starts to shift to resting on his elbow looking at you, you see it coming but it doesn't surprise you any less. “How are you feeling Y/N? Your looking a little less pale but a little more-- red?” Hes not stupid, he knows your nervous, and how you’ve probably never been in a situation like this. Taking advantage of that, he places a hand on your leg and asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

He purposefully placed his hand on your thigh highs with just the slightest amount of skin contact. The slim pieces of skin beneath his finger feels like it's on fire. It would be impossible for him to not notice, the hitch in your breath or the clenching of your thighs. You still haven’t given him a verbal response, just instinctual physical reactions and you decide to roll over facing him, still for a loss of words.

I was not ready for this today. I have not mentally prepared myself to be so close to him. It's so obvious that I like him, this is so embarrassing. Not to mention the way he so casually placed his hand on my thigh?? Does he care about me? Does he like me? Until this moment, he hasn’t ever really done anything to indicate that he has fe---

Warm breath on your neck and his eyelashes fluttering against your face pulls you out of your own little world as he places an inquisitive kiss on your neck. The breathy moan you let out gave him all the confirmation he needed as he straddled your torso, supporting himself with his arm next to your head. 

The kiss, your first kiss, isn’t loving or sweet, its hungry and you wanted, no you needed more. Hands pulling him flush against your body, tangling in his blond locks, you can feel him smiling into the kiss.

 Tsukki isn’t smiling, Tsukki is smirking. He might not know you have feelings for him but he knows that you want him and thats all that matters. Using his free hand, he grabs your bare ass, and slips his tongue into your mouth while you freeze from the shock. His tongue exploring your mouth, goading you into responding.You tentatively begin to kiss back again, not really knowing what to do. In the distance Tsukki could hear the front door open and stopped kissing you, knowing one of his parents just arrived home.

“Hey, Y/N the rain has stopped. I’ll see you for our next study session yeah?” He says while sitting up and smoothing out his hair to prevent any questions. As you hurriedly get your stuff together, all he can think about is the problem in his pants, the way your ass looks in that skirt, and how wet your cunt is based on how you are squeezing your thighs together.

 --------------

That day changed things. Making out with Tsukishima became a pastime for the two of you. Falling deep in love, or lust, depending on who you are talking about. Tsukishima never really considered this serious and didn’t treat you any different than before, with the exception of what became your sacred ground, his bed.

 You knew Tsukishuma was cold when you became his desk partner in your second year, but it didn’t stop you from working on assignments with him. It didn’t stop you from falling for him. It didn’t stop you from kissing him without any knowledge of his intentions. It didn’t stop him from taking advantage of that. And it didn’t stop him from breaking your heart.

Sitting with your friends at lunch, you see Tsukishima with Yamaguchi sitting with two of your classmates you knew were interested in them. Scoffing at the unwelcome sight in front of you, you think back. If I knew everything back then, I would curse you for the longest time. But when he catches your eye and winks at you, you can't help that your heart swoons and you shift in your seat. Feeling betrayed by your body, the last thing you see before looking away is him smirking at you and subtly blowing you a kiss. Maybe you’ll come back to me and you’ll tell me I’m your favorite.

Tags: @laughingismorefun

[dokoni-mo]

Far Away, Together || Darth Vader x Reader (Chapter 4)

(A/N: oh boy oh boy, welcome back again you lovely people! The series has definitely taken a bold detour from what i had originally planned, but i am really really proud of it so far, and I hope yall like it too :)))) as always, feel free to ask to be added to the taglsit!!! The other chapters are also linked below if you need them for any reason. Thank you all so much for sticking around!!!! One more quick note: the chapters are gonna start to get longer and longer as the series starts to end (we’re in the home stretch!!))

Chapter One: [x]

Chapter Two: [x]

Chapter Three: [x]

Chapter Five: [x]

WARNINGS: mentions of self-loathing, some cursing, otherwise none!!

Key: (F/N) = first name, (L/N) = last name

Word Count: ~4700

~~~

Trying to coax your feelings into calming themselves down around him became harder and harder with the passing days. 

His visits became more and more frequent with the passage of time. He would visit your station in his hangar once a day, then twice a day, to sometimes even three times a day. Sometimes his visits were so close together that when he asked for a report on your progress, you had nothing to say to him. This was because you would still be working on the thing you had been working on when he previously came. 

Every time this happened, he would rumble out a flat oh. You would giggle in return. 

You had made good progress on his TIE over this stretch of time. Finally fixing the main computer to where it would turn on and stay on, you were able to talk to the ship much better, helping you to tell what made the TIE Advanced happy and what didn’t. You were very proud of yourself the night you got to show him your achievement, a broad, giddy grin on your features. He seemed to be pleased by this as well, since he made no attempt to choke you to death or slice you in half. A win, in your book. 

Over the expanse of time, you had also grown to be quasi-comfortable around Lord Vader. You were able to place your hands on your hips around him and hold a gaze with him without totally being in fear for your life were you to make a wrong move. As odd as it seemed, you also found yourself able to smile much more often when speaking to him. Your facial gestures were not long, quite the contrary. They were short, simple, mere flashes of your approval and content. 

What they lacked in length, however, they made up in authenticity. 

Alongside finding yourself smiling much more often, you had also found something much more… intriguing. 

Lord Vader seemed far more keen on making some sort of physical contact with you each visit he made. It seemed that at least once a day, one of his large, leather-bound hands would find its way upon some area of your body. Their most common target was your shoulder. The placement of his hand upon your joint was often precedented by you explaining what you had fixed on his ship, how you had fixed it, as well as any improvements you made while doing so. You assumed that hearing that his TIE could maybe one day fly again pleased him greatly, since he was never shy to place a firm hand on your shoulder as some form of… something.

Gratitude? Maybe. Pleasure? Perhaps. Pride? Don’t humor yourself too much, (F/N). 

The other common place that his hand would fall upon you was the area from the bottom of your triceps to the top of your forearms. These touches were far quicker than the ones that he placed upon your shoulder, and often done as he was leaving you to your work while he attended to other matters, and always done with just the tips of his fingers. These were the ones that confused you the most. Those were the most unnecessary ones out of all the ones he wished to give you. Why initiate and follow through with them? You didn’t see an obvious reason as to why he had to do them. You presumed that the touches upon your shoulder were a way to keep you progressing with positive reinforcement, but the ones to the side of your arm? You had no way of telling what he was trying to accomplish with those.

Maybe he’s trying to be friendly? I have been more comfortable around him… Maybe he does it just because he wants to…? 

No. 

That can’t be it at all. 

Hugging your knees to your chest, you leaned your head back upon the cot within your quarters, making yourself look up at the dull, gray ceiling, void of any interesting patterns. You had gotten done with your lunch break much quicker than normal that afternoon, and didn’t feel like getting back to work right away. Deciding not to force yourself to do so, you made your way back to your quarters for some alone time before you had to indulge in more alone time but with a heaping pile of TIE trash you had to somehow repair. To indulge in your fleeting moment of relaxation, you had seated yourself on the floor of your quarters, taking off your boots and setting them to the side. Of course, you had shedded your jacket and left it on the surface of your cot alongside your goggles, leaving you in just your tank top, pants, and socks. How professional. 

As you sat there in the small expanse of your quarters, you had allowed your mind to wander wherever it wanted to take you. You were only half surprised by the places it did. 

Home was a very prominent topic that your brain presented to you. Closing your eyes, you saw images of your home flash within your mind’s eye. You pictured the trees, the wildlife, the plants, the water that flowed nearby your house… 

Your home.

Delving further, you pictured your parents and the memories you still had of them. Lying awake at night, you would often replay these memories as a way to help yourself be lulled to sleep. These would comfort you, reminding you of a time where you were truly happy. A time before the Empire. 

The Empire. 

At the beginning of it's upbringing, you liked the Empire. You liked how it guaranteed safety and security to all of those who joined under its reign. You liked how they would promise of a better life to all of those who willingly came into its arms. 

You hated it now. 

Hate. 

That was one of the only things that you felt now. 

You hated the Empire with every fiber of your being. You hated how it allowed you to be so fucking stupid as to leaving your old life behind. You hated that it alienated you almost entirely from the outside world. You hated the old, cranky officers that barked you around. You hated that you had no friends. You hated how you ate the same rations in rotation every week. You hated the Emperor. You hated the moffs. You hated the officers. You hated how they made you feel. You hated how the Empire made you feel. 

Feelings. 

He made you feel good. 

You pretended not to notice the blush that crept its way onto your face every time he touched you. When you would talk to him, the galaxy around you seemed to fade away, making it feel like you and him are the only two people left. When he spoke to you, you would hang off every word he rumbled out of him. To you, he was enamourating. The way he loomed over you, the way he dwarfed you in every regard, the way he spoke to you, the way his breathing made you pay attention to him, the way his voice dripped in authority, the way his aura was soaked in power- 

You snapped your head back up to an upright position, your eyes widening and your face reddening. You shook your head, rattling away your thoughts as you washed your face with invisible water. 

No, (F/N). Don’t think that way. There’s no way in hell that you’re gonna survive thinking that way.

Taking your hands away from your face, you shot your gaze over to the clock that adorned your small end table. It was only about three minutes until it was get-back-to-work time. 

You figured that there was no point in sitting on the floor anymore. 

Sighing, you pushed yourself up with your arms and tucked your legs underneath you, raising you onto your feet. Grabbing your goggles off of your bed, you placed them upon your person so that they rested upon your forehead, displacing a few locks of your hair. After a quick shake-out of your hands and legs and a big stretch, you walked over to the door of your quarters, grabbing your boots to put them on in the hallway as you walked. 

Pressing the button on the side of the doorframe, you trained your focus on how the door slid back into the wall encasing it, just as it had done hundreds of times before.

Looking past the door frame, you were confused. Instead of the normal lights of the hallway that met your gaze every time prior, you were greeting with a black abyss on the other side of your door. This confused you greatly for a moment. 

Are they doing repairs or am I suddenly blind?

Focusing your gaze for a moment longer, you noticed how the black abyss before you was not devoid of light. A soft glow emanated from the abyss in certain areas, and blinked steadily in others in various shapes. 

Oh shit. 

Feeling your blood run cold, you craned your neck to look upwards near the top of the black pool before you. 

Oh, shit. 

Lord Vader just barely fit inside of the doorframe. In fact, he technically didn’t, since the top of his helmet was cut off by the top of the structure. His shoulders were so large that you would bet money that he had to turn one in order to walk through. With his cape over his shoulders, hiding his arms from sight, his mask was pointed down upon you like a child pointing a magnifying glass at a helpless ant on the ground. Since you were out of your boots, the height difference between the two of you was even greater than normal.

Fantastic.

Seeing him there before you, you immediately assumed that he was not happy with you. Instead of getting back to work, you had allowed yourself to use your time as you had pleased. This was not tolerated by the Empire. You were expected to always appeal to the Empire, no matter what. 

You had failed to do that with your actions today. 

Being sure of this scenario in your head, you brought your arms swiftly to your sides to stand at attention in front of the sith lord, your gaze not faltering off of his mask’s eyes. 

“L-Lord Vader! I apologize I am not at my station, I just got done with my lunch break early and-”

“It is none of my concern what you wish to do with your mandated break times, (F/N).” he said before you could blubber on any longer. 

Your shoulders relaxed as you processed what he said. “Right, of course…” 

Not knowing what else to say, you were relieved that he continued on speaking, “I have come here to speak with you, (F/N).” 

“What is it, my Lord?” you asked, crossing your arms across your chest. 

He paused and stared at you a moment before speaking again, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. 

“I wish to speak to you… privately.” 

This sent a shiver down your spine. Privately? He always spoke to you privately, per say, but it was never by his specific request. Even now, you were in private. No one else was in their quarters that you knew of. But this was…

Different.

Knowing that he would dislike you making him walk all the way back to his hangar, you were faced with your only option. 

Let him in. 

“Uhm, well… we could speak here, My Lord, if you wish…” you peeped out as you nodded over your shoulder into the contents of your quarters. 

Shifting his gaze from your face briefly to point his mask towards the expanse of your room, he made no attempt to speak. After looking into your room for a brief moment, he rumbled out a short, hasty, “That will suffice.” 

With the words of his approval, you dropped your gaze and pushed a lock of hair behind your ear as you stepped to the side, forcing your back to meet the wall to your left. Lord Vader saw this movement as your consenting invitation for him to enter your chambers, and he did so quickly and hastily. Much to your expectations, he did have to turn one of his shoulders in order for him to fit inside your doorframe. This would have ordinarily made you smile to yourself, if you were not so nervous about having a sith lord inside your quarters. 

Pushing the button on the side of your doorframe again, you bit your lip as you watched the door slip out of the wall and entrap you within your small room with Vader. You were now undoubtedly, unquestionably, almost unimaginably alone with the sith. 

Here, you knew for a fact that no one would hear you scream if you pissed him off. 

Taking a short, hasty, deep breath, you turned to face the expanse of your quarters to address Lord Vader. His breathing was now even louder than normal, since it was so easy to echo off the cramped walls of your quarters. He was standing in the middle of your room, and he nearly took up the entire space. The tips on either side of his cape nearly touched both sides of the small room, and the top of his helmet was only inches away from the ceiling, even with him looking down to meet the gaze emanating from your eyes. Crossing your arms, you stood before the sith lord inquisitively. You couldn’t help but to think that he can’t be comfortable here, since he barely fit. 

This only fueled your belief that whatever he wished to talk to you about must be important. 

“What do you wish to talk about, my Lord?” You asked as you looked up at the sith in question. You hoped that you didn’t sound as nervous as you were. This was the first time that you had been alone in a bedroom with anyone, let alone a man, in an extremely long time. Hell, let alone a man that you… 

No. Not now (F/N).

“(F/N),” he said, not moving a single muscle as his gaze bore down into you, “I am afraid that I will be leaving for a period of time.” 

A weird pang ran through your veins as you process what he had said. Leaving? So suddenly? This must be important. You were used to him going away some place every now and again, but he would often be back within 24 to 36 hours. This made it seem like he wouldn’t be back for a while. 

You felt… sad. But yet… 

Why did he bother telling you? 

“Leaving, my Lord?” You retorted back at him. You decided that you needed further details in order to make a proper judgment on how to feel. 

“Yes,” he said, “I will be traveling to a nearby system to meet with it's royal family. They have expressed interest in joining the Empire, and I have been sent by my master to handle the situation.” 

You licked your lips as you felt a wash of cold flow over you. His master. That could only be one person.

The Emperor. 

You felt a sour taste on your tongue. You tried to wash it down with a swallow before speaking again. 

“What does this trip entail, my Lord?” 

“I will be spending three days on the planet mingling with the royalty in order to coax them into pledging themselves to the Empire. The planet is home to many valuable mining resources that would prove useful.” 

The way he spoke so matter-of-factly uneased you. From the time that you had spent talking with Lord Vader, you had started to pick up on his habits of speech in some regards. For example, when he was frustrated, he would often raise his voice ever so slightly and insult the receiver in some fashion. When he was pleased, his sentences were short and to the point. However, the way he was speaking now, you had no way of picking up his intentions on. It was like trying to find artistry in a brick wall. 

After a brief pause you had made to contemplate his intentions, you had settled on a safe, vanilla answer. 

He’s telling me this so that I don’t wonder where he is the next few days. 

But still… 

Why tell me this in my damn room?

You decided to leave that question as forever unanswered as you let your response fall out from behind you lips. 

“I… I understand, my Lord. I will be able to continue on with my work with no problems in your absence.” 

Sure, you would be able to, but would you enjoy doing so? 

Definitely not. You had grown very fond of your talks with Lord Vader. 

Expecting some sort of a response, you held another championship staring match with the sith as his breathing echoed off of the walls. The air was laced with a plethora of feelings. Content, mystery, and awkwardness to name a few. You wondered how long this was going to last before he said anything. 

You almost closed your eyes in relief when he did. 

“I… I am required to bring one representative of the Empire along with me.”

Huh? 

What the hell? 

What in the hell was he going on about? Okay, cool, he had to bring someone along with him. But why would you care? He’s probably gonna bring some senator along with him, like that one from Lothal or maybe the one from Alderaan. Was he just trying to share? 

Unable to fully hide your confusion, you raised one of your eyebrows slightly as you placed one of your hands on your hips and let the other fall to your side. 

“Yeah…?” was the only thing that you could think to say at this. You tried in vain over and over in your mind to peace together why you needed to know this information. 

“(F/N)...” he rumbled out, “I do not think you fully understand what I am asking of you.” 

Your brow furrowed before he continued, “I am asking if you would accompany me on this trip.” 

What? 

You had thought you had gone crazy as you felt a blush flinging itself upon your cheeks. Why the hell would he want you to go with him? You were just a mechanic. Just a mechanic from Endor. Why were you so important? How the hell could you represent the entire Empire by his side?

Frowning to yourself and looking down for a moment, you decided that you couldn’t. 

He had made a mistake. You were not the right fit for this job. 

“Lord Vader, I…” You began to say. Continuing on, you wrapped your hands around your biceps and rubbed them up and down sheepishly, your blush still peppering your face. “My Lord, I’m flattered by your offer but… but I think that you are better off taking someone else for your trip. I’m just a mechanic, my Lord. There’s no way I could do a proper job of representing the Empire.” 

“The things you would have to do are quite simple, (F/N). All that you will be required to do is converse briefly with the royals, consume a meal with them, and attend a gala or two. All of this will be done alongside myself, so you will not be alone in partaking in these actions.” he responded to your denial, almost too quickly. If you had been fully paying attention, you would have figured that he was trying to convince you to go. 

“I know, my Lord, it’s just…” you frowned again, dropping your gaze to the floor and gripping your biceps tighter. Why did you feel like crying? “I think that you asked the wrong person.”

This was met with another pause from him. Rethinking your sentences, you thought that maybe your choice of words hadn’t been all that smart. They had made you seem as if you were questioning the dark lord, questioning whether or not he really did know best. 

If you were anyone else, you knew that you would be dead on the floor right now. Luckily, you were you, so you were somehow by the grace of your maker not met with this fate. 

Although, with how you were feeling now, with no explicable reason for you to be feeling such a way, the thought of that fate didn’t exactly sound too bad. 

Before you could slip deeper into your thoughts of self-doubt and anxiety, you felt a familiar feeling of cool leather on your right shoulder. From the sheer weight and firmness of the feeling, you knew instantly that it was Lord Vader’s hand. 

You felt the ghost of a thought of him pulling you towards him in an embrace dance across the back of your mind.

“(F/N)...” You heard him say. Despite his beckoning, you refused to look up at him, keeping your gaze locked on the sight of your small, sock-covered feet in front of his large boots. 

After a long moment of you refusing to look up at him, you felt a foreign touch upon your chin. The touch was firm but gentle, and it wrapped around the curve of your bone so perfectly. The touch became more firm as it gently pulled your head upwards so that you neck craned, forcing your gaze back upon Lord Vader’s mask. In your peripheral vision, you noticed that both of Lord Vader’s arms were curved in such a way so that his hands could rest upon your upper body. 

This told you two things. 

One: Lord Vader’s left hand was on your right shoulder. 

Two: Lord Vader’s right hand was holding your chin in place, making you look up at him. 

To say your cheeks were pink was an understatement. They only grew pinker as he stared down at your face, his grasp unwavering from your joint and chin. 

“(F/N)...” he repeated, “There is no one I trust more to accompany me.” 

Your cheeks were pink before, but now they were quickly turning red.

For the first time ever, your mind was completely blank. 

“I… Okay.” was the only thing you were able to force out of your lungs.

~~~

Packing for the visit was remarkably easy to do. 

You owned very little, so fitting it all into one medium-sized backpack with the Empire’s logo slapped on the front was no challenge. Much to your disdain, you had to wear your full formal uniform throughout the entirety of the trip. The difference between that uniform and your normal one was the color (the formal being black and the normal being green-grey) and the material. The formal uniform was much more wrinkle-resistant than the everyday one, so you looked a million times more formal and empirical than how you ordinarily did.

You hated it. 

Pulling the backpack onto your shoulders and giving yourself one last look in the mirror, you decided that you were ready to head over to Lord Vader’s hangar. It was there that you would board the shuttle that would transport you and Lord Vader to that stupid planet with it's stupid royals. You felt like you could shit your pants right then and right there.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you looked over your features over and over again. Noticing anything out of line, you would quickly and hastily fix it, making sure that you looked your best in your shitty formal uniform. 

In your head, you told yourself that you did it to make sure you didn’t look like total shit. Deep down, however, you knew that you did it to look good for him. You would never admit this. 

Satisfied with your poking and prodding of yourself, you adjusted the backpack on your shoulders and headed out the door, not giving your small quarters one last look. Hastily making your way down the hallway, you ignored the stares and whispers that you noticed in your peripheral. You had no time nor interest in confronting them. 

The first thing you noticed when the doors opened was the busyness of Lord Vader’s hangar. This was a stark contrast of how you normally saw it. Right now, it was hustling and bustling with officers trying to get everything coordinated and troopers finding their positions. 

This must be normal, you presumed, when trying to move one of the most important people in the galaxy around. 

He was easy to spot in the crowd since he was so much taller and larger than the others. He was currently conversing with an officer who held a datapad and was likely rambling on about who the pilots where and the exact course that they planned to take. How interesting. 

Not knowing what else to do with yourself, you made your way over to him. Without even taking ten steps into your journey, you were stopped by a stormtrooper with a fancy guard around his shoulder. A captain, you presumed. 

“Are you Miss (L/N)?” The trooper asked, his voice distorted by the microphone in his helmet. 

“I, umm, yeah, that’s me.” You responded, a bit taken aback by the sudden interaction. 

“Great. I can take your bag for you then, Miss (L/N). Lord Vader also wishes to talk to you before you depart.” The trooper continued, holding out his armor-clad hand for you to place your backpack into. 

You looked at the trooper’s hand before hesitantly slipping the backpack off your shoulders and placing it within the trooper’s grasp, mumbling out a thank you. You were surprised at how polite that trooper was as he left with your bag. You always respected the stormtroopers, but that sometimes wasn’t a mutual respect. 

With your brief interaction done, you made your way over to Lord Vader. As you drew nearer, you noticed how the sea of troopers and officers parted and dissolved away, busying themselves with other means. His hands placed firmly on his belt, Lord Vader looked to you as he addressed you. 

“(F/N). I am pleased to see you here on time.” 

“I try to impress, my Lord.” You retorted back. You must have felt bold that day, as evidenced by your small quip and the faint smile that accompanied it. 

Not a moment after your small interaction was finished, a voice came over the comm system signaling that it was time to board the shuttle, already filled with it's pilots and a handful of troopers. Letting the sith pave the way, you followed as his cape fluttered behind him. Once the two of you were standing soundly in the shuttle, the doors to the craft were closed in a soft whirr, the light difference making your eyes strain. A moment after, you felt the shuttle rumble beneath your feet then smoothly purr to life, signaling that you had taken off and were now exiting the Super Star Destroyer. 

Your heart was beating a mile a minute from your excitement. You were so happy to finally be leaving that damn thing behind, even for just a little while. 

He must have sensed your emotions stirr inside you when you had felt the shuttle taken off. This was evidenced by him letting his gaze fall to you after a long while of simply staring straight ahead. You pretended not to notice his gaze as you continued to stare straight ahead, watching him in your peripheral.

Your cheeks, of course, dusted pink again. 

After simply looking at you for what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke. 

“(F/N).” he said flatly, as he always did when he wanted your attention. 

The usage of your name prompted you to look up at him, a hint of wonder and curiosity in your eyes. 

“Yes, My Lord?”

He looked at you for a moment in silence before returning his gaze to its original position. 

“If you wish to simply call me ‘Vader’ when the two of us are alone… I will allow it.” 

In that moment, you wished that the rest of the galaxy around the pair of you could somehow easily and quietly slip away for the rest of time.

~~~

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