#I just want soft clothes and relaxing social situations man

[rat-hand]

I love that the Omegaverse takes sensory issues seriously!

[artistic-boi-cakko]

Miguel O'Hara X Artist male reader (Aftercare)

Pure fluff for part 1 click here

M/N could finally fall asleep peacefully, after long hours of work, caffeine degrading his system. It was indeed his first time with Intimacy, he for the first time kissed and lost his virginity immediately after that. He wasn’t able to believe that he was so freaking lucky that the man who is probably the most attractive one he has ever seen made his way with a timid, anxious, reserved and someone with basically no idea of social cues?

M/N was glad, his chest was filled with an unusual pride. He was in Miguel’s arms taking the rest he needed. Miguel was having his eyes closed and taking some rest, he wasn’t asleep, just resting. He was happy to get the boy he longed for, it wasn’t just physical intimacy which Miguel felt, it was way more than that. He loved M/N.

.

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After a few more minutes and making sure M/N was deep asleep. Miguel opened his eyes, let go of M/N, making him lay more comfortably on bed. He got up from the bed and looked at the clock. 4AM, It said, he chuckled and walked towards his room and picked up some wet tissues. He went to M/N’s room and pulled out some wet tissues from the tissue box. He wiped off some uncomfortable sweat and semen from M/N’s body. M/N’s body was mesmerizing, soft, small, with a perfect amount of fat in them, he was neither skinny nor chubby, he was perfect. Miguel was wondering how the boy even managed to remain single and untouched for such a long time, he was 25 already with no experience. It was almost unbelievable for Miguel, he thought he was living a dream which he never wanted to wake up from.

He finished wiping M/N then pushed the boy more in the corner. He walked towards the boy’s closet and took out an extra bedsheet. He tucked in the bedsheet, lightly ironing the bedsheet with his hands, getting rid of most of the creases. He smiled looking at M/N sleeping with no worries, peacefully, he sighed, he wore his boxers, which he had brought from his room along with the wet tissues and laid beside the boy again. He looked at the boy’s face and kissed it gently “Sleep well, Mi Amor. Eres Mi vida", he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath then hugged the boy again. He could feel sleep embrace him and fall asleep into a slumber as well.

.

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Next morning, around 11AM.

M/N opened his eyes, he was in his room. His brain was barely working from last night’s experience. He rubbed the back of his palm on his eyes to clear out his vision. He looked around again, getting a better idea of the situation.

Flashbacks of Miguel’s smiling and assuring face with hints of tease came in his mind. M/N blushed at the memory and sat up in his bed, immediately regretting his decision as he felt pain shoot up in his back from his butt. He groaned in pain. With just that, Miguel entered the room with a small tube in his hand “5, the 5th noise I heard from you which aren’t words” Miguel chuckled, sitting beside M/N on his bed, he patted the boy’s back “How was the night? Did you like it?” his hand currently under his chin as he asked the boy the question. M/N blushed again “It was nice… thank you” he said and he hugged Miguel, who smiled and hugged back and kissed M/N’s head “I’m glad” he said.

“Wanna take a shower? Together? I haven’t taken one yet either” Miguel asked as he got up from the bed, standing tall in front of M/N, he shut his eyes and opened them again relaxing some of his face muscles “sure, nothing to be ashamed of, you saw everything. So did I” he giggled.

M/N threw the blanket off himself then placed his legs on the ground. Miguel quickly picked him up in his arms and took him to his own room, he entered his bathroom, attached to his room. Miguel put him down under the shower head and started taking off his own clothes, which he wore again from last night and got behind M/N who was standing with support of wall. Miguel held him in his arms to support him.

“Guess, why didn't I let you walk here on your own?” Miguel asked, as he turned on the shower faucet and kissed M/N’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have been able to walk here” he whispered, leaning back against Miguel’s chest. “Right, very right” Miguel said seductively in a deep voice and sighed “Now, relax for sometime, you’re own boss” he teased.

M/N laughed a little and nudged Miguel with his elbow “Idiot..hehe” he said “Thank you again” he said with a sigh and laid his head on Miguel’s bicep.

Miguel smiled and leaned down to kiss his head “my pleasure” he spoke.

Miguel started kissing along M/N's shoulder as he caressed his waist. M/N leaned forward and wetted his face more. He felt Miguel's large dick on his back more, he was thinking how it went all the way inside him, it was what he thought happened. "Miguel, you really went all the way in? I'm not in too much pain considering your size" he asked Miguel innocently, Miguel chuckled and slowly whispered in his ear "it only went half. Don't worry, you did great. It was your first time, I didn't want to hurt you" he said as he kissed M/N's shoulder one last time and took a soap bar. Miguel turned off water and started rubbing soap on M/N’s body. He was rubbing soap all over his neck, arms, back, chest, stomach, waist, hips, legs, inner thighs and rubbing them clean.

Miguel started rubbing soap on his own body. M/N held his hand "let me do it for you" he said, looking at Miguel. He started running Miguel's large body the same way he rubbed his.

Soon M/N turned on the water and both men started cleaning off the soap off their bodies.

Miguel grabbed a towel and gave it to M/N and grabbed one for himself. Both were wiping off their bodies.

They walked outside of the bathroom. M/N threw on his boxers, black t-shirt and grey shorts. Miguel was in his room, he wore his boxers, a white t-shirt and some teal sweatpants. He went back to M/N's room. "Baby boy, come to the kitchen to have some lunch. I made cheese chicken sandwiches for us" he said standing near the door then walking away. M/N nodded and followed Miguel like a cute lost puppy. Miguel laughed at this and ruffled his hair "Awh, such a cutie" M/N pouted at it but brushed it off.

Miguel served themselves some orange juice and sandwiches. "Thank you Miggy!" M/N spoke and started chomping on the sandwiches. Miguel smiled "Welcome" he said as he started eating his sandwiches as well.

"You're a great cook" M/N spoke his mouth full of food, he finished his part and kept his plate and glass on the kitchen counter. "Glad you like it" Miguel said.

M/N started washing his plate, Miguel quickly finished his lunch, grabbed his plate and glass and went towards M/N to help him with dishes.

The couple started washing the dishes and soon finished them.

M/N sighed "Phew- all done. Now what are you gonna do?" He asked. "Nothing in particular. Don't you have commissions?" Miguel asked. "Yeah, but I will take a break today to spend the day with you, Miggy" M/N replied as he went on his tippy toes and wrapped his arms around Miguel's neck. Miguel smiled and kissed his lips "let's watch a movie in my room then, cuddling on bed" he proposed the idea. M/N giggled "Sure! Let's binge watch today!"

And this way the couple spend their whole day.

Thank you guys for reading this if you read it this far, I'm glad and grateful!

Please comment if you guys want more of Artist male reader fanfics.

Have a good day and take care!

[mr2swap]

Swap hotel:Giveaway

This was one of the only moments of relaxation that I had this last week, I had them closed I was so relaxed that soon I would take one of the long naps that caused me to drink 5 margaritas and 2 piña coladas, I almost returned home in an ambulance when I started to feel Carl's withdrawal, it was very hot that day but I was lying on a soft bed, under an artificial palm tree.

The whole moment was interrupted by the blow when a very familiar masculine voice took me away from the dream, - Hey Bro! Where have you been? I've been looking for you, but the guy from the bar told me you were out here- a young blonde sat on the side of the bed holding an iced coffee, it was pretty obvious to me that this happened. It was just to show off his huge biceps and rub sweet in the face once again.

- Anyway! I don't have much time I have a big night planned before I turn all this over to you, I just wanted to say thank you, it's been the best week of my life and if you want to repeat it just call me I'm sure you have my phone! -

had been crazy all this shit, when I return to my body I'm going to make my father sue them for every penny and close his fucking Instagram account! I didn't know what I was getting into when Swap Corp's Instagram account invited me to promote their social networks, I had already done these hundreds of times, a fucking brand gives me a lot of shit that my parents could buy me and they only ask me for one single photo or video eating or wearing their overpriced clothes, with a shitty logo.

They promised me a lot of followers and more "job" offers in another of their exclusive 5-star hotels, of course, I accepted immediately when I saw all the internet celebrities who had been there, people from the world of bodybuilding that I admired in the list in addition to some actors and models.

When I arrived everything was perfect, the hotel had everything from a gym to a spa, which is great for me because although they promised me everything I wanted to drink, eat or smoke, all I needed was a pool full of beautiful models to massage my biceps in the pool after a long session at the gym.

Before I could even unpack and take a shower, I was drugged and put in this shitty body for 1 fucking week! Those pageant motherfuckers came and ravaged my room for 3 fucking minutes until I came out of the bathroom, my whole body randomly covered in shower suds with just a towel around my waist and my huge feet leaving stains all over the carpet and as soon as I opened the door I knew something was wrong.

The guy who organized the contest was accompanied by two hotel guards, of course, they were clean and well dressed, but there was one person who stood out among all of them, he was a fucking whale, he had never seen someone so fucked up! The man in the suit started talking as he tried to guess how much the man in front of him was thinking 286 pounds. I'd bet 20 bucks on that.

Before I could react, the man in the suit took me by the arm and stretched out his hand to hand a cloth necklace with a VIP identification... without thinking I left my last chance to give up the worst week of my life, I put the identification on the neck without looking that didn't even have my picture on it, instead of my hot handsome face, there was the picture of that man with that white unkempt beard that hid most of his obese face.

I felt a small chill and after a simple blink, my mind was transferred to the body of the man in the photo of my necklace, when my eyes opened the first thing I saw was a huge hairy belly, my legs would almost bend if it weren't for the wall that was at my back, the 4 men in front of me turned around and looked at me to help me not fall from all the extra weight on my knees.

When I recovered they gave me a glass of water and explained the situation to me, those sons of bitches launched another contest and the prize was a week of vacation in this hotel on my body, And while the man in a suit was explaining all this to me, that man is nice He kept putting his kinky hands on my cock and pecs, maybe he didn't notice or maybe he didn't even care when a newlywed couple came out of another room and stared at the show for several minutes.

Since then I am Stuck as "Carl" Every day I wake up thinking that this has only been a nightmare and at any moment I am going to wake up in my bed next to a model who seduces me at a party to take her to my bed.

but no, I wasn't dreaming what I always saw Waking up was this mountain of hairy fat uniting my old and aching body, The first thing I did Upon waking up swallowed the huge amount of pills that were in the drawer next to my bed to try to relieve the pain in my back, after that I went to shit and piss and came back to order a huge breakfast while watching what was new on Netflix.

I was able to up on “Love death and robots”, At least they kept their deal my Instagram followers doubled in a week. The only bad thing is that most of them are middle-aged men who put obscene comments in the comments like "fuck me" or "show us your dick"

From time to time I saw Carl having fun on my body while being photographed with my iPhone, being worshiped by two bald middle-aged men in the hot tub, or playing volleyball with all the lucky bastards with incredibly hot, skinny bodies.

Hey! You can support me to continue creating stories and see all my stories on my patreon and have access to the stories on my discord server.

[voraciousvore]

Big Corp Inc. (28/43)

Chapter 28: Meeting a Giantess

When lunch arrived, Martin came over to Candy’s cubicle to deliver her leftover pizza. He scooped her up in his hand and carried her to the break room so they could heat up their meals. Candy was having a great day so far. The boss hadn’t punished her, Bianca had a shot at finding love, and now she was ecstatic to be able to spend more time with Martin. She appreciated how he checked on her periodically and considered her needs, doing little favors for her such as helping her to the break room since it was such a long distance for her to walk.  

He had a kind and caring heart. She adored his smile that lit up his whole face when he saw her, his plush lips when he kissed her. She was attracted to his Giant warm body and his huge soft hands that he shuttled her around in. His deep masculine voice when he spoke made her swoon. She perceived his shy, socially awkward, dorky nature as cute and charming. He was a bright ray of sunshine when the rest of her life was dark, gloomy, and hopeless. In short, she was deeply in love with him. 

So, when he asked her if she wanted to go out again after work tonight, she was reluctant to turn him down. However, she had promised to help Bianca with her date today, if the human man agreed to go out with the Giantess. She informed Martin of the situation so he knew her reasoning. Martin was mildly disappointed, but he also wanted the best for Bianca, even if he didn’t know her that well. He sympathized with the poor Giantesses on the third floor who had to deal with Mr. Hardon’s unwanted advances all day. He thought Candy was very sweet for helping her friend. Candy promised to go out with him tomorrow, assuming nothing came up. 

Once they were done with lunch, Martin carried her back to her desk, and she resumed her work. For whatever reason, she had a lot of invoices to process today, more than usual. At one point, Candy was startled to see the name “Bucky” come up on her screen, but she didn’t know if this Bucky was the same Giant who had eaten her at the restaurant, or if the name was coincidental. The order was fairly mundane, typical things that most businesses needed such as cleaning products and toilet paper, but one of the lines stood out to her. It was marked “human pills.” Candy was curious. What were human pills, exactly? She had seen that particular product show up only recently, on a few invoices today. She shrugged and processed the order. 

A while later, Bianca showed up at Candy’s desk, full of energy. “Guess what, Candy?” she shouted, waving her phone around. “He said yes! He said he never considered dating a Giantess before, but he’s willing to give it a go.” 

“That’s great, Bianca! I’m so happy for you!” Candy responded. “So, what’s the plan?” 

“I’ll need to run home after work and change clothes, but if you could meet him on the human side at the railway station and guide him here, that would be so helpful,” Bianca requested. “Try your best to warm him up to the idea. He’s never been on the large side of the city before.” 

“Okay. It might be scary for him, so be understanding,” Candy advised. 

“Of course,” Bianca said. Underneath her excitement, Candy could tell the Giantess was anxious, afraid of rejection. Candy hoped everything would turn out well for her. 

The rest of the workday flew by uneventfully. Bianca stopped by at the end of shift to pick up Candy and take her to the railway station. As she got closer to the time of her date, she was becoming more and more jittery and talkative. “I’ll be at my place and back in a jiffy,” Bianca informed Candy. “Just, uh, take him back here. I should be back before you both arrive. He messaged me telling me he's waiting for you.” 

“Gotcha. And Bianca? Whatever happens… everything will be fine. Just relax. Breathe. Okay?” Bianca nodded, inhaled a deep breath, and ran off to get ready. Candy boarded the railcar and watched the gigantic scenery pass by as she traveled to the small side of the city. The rain from earlier had dissipated, leaving the air fresh and a scattering of fluffy clouds in a bright blue, sunny sky. Shallow puddles of water glistened with the reflection of blinding light on the pavement. 

Candy’s railcar dived under the barrier and resurfaced on the small side, coming to a stop at the station. The door rolled open to reveal a human, whom Candy recognized as the man in the photo on Bianca’s phone. Ironically, he looked smaller in real life than blown up on the Giantess's massive phone screen. 

“Are you Candy?” he asked shakily. If Bianca had been a little high strung, this man was a ball of wrecked nerves. Candy replied in the affirmative and invited him into the railcar with her with a welcoming gesture. On his way in, he tripped over his foot and grabbed one of the poles, narrowly avoiding slamming his face into one of the seats. “Oops, sorry,” he apologized, straightening out his back and smoothing down his messy head of hair. “Um… I’m not usually like this, I swear,” he said, attempting some preemptive damage control. “I have to admit… I’m scared.” 

“I understand,” Candy replied calmly. “I felt the same way, for my first time.” The door whooshed shut and the railcar shot along the track. Bianca’s date barely managed to secure his feet to prevent himself from careening into the window. 

“Um… is the station usually deserted like that? I didn’t see anybody else the whole time I was waiting. A bit odd, don’t you think?” he remarked, laughing neurotically. 

“That’s standard,” Candy explained. The man’s face dropped slightly. “The whole time I’ve ridden these cars, I’ve never once seen anybody else use them. Until now, of course.” She smiled. “I think most humans are still too afraid of Giants to venture to the large side of the city.” 

“Y-yeah. Makes sense,” the other human responded. “M-my name’s Giovanni, by the way. Gio for short.” He paled as the railcar ducked under the barrier and shot out to the large side. His jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of all the huge buildings and cars—and the Giants, naturally. He glued his face to the window, amazed. “Everything’s so big! I mean, obviously, but bigger even than I imagined!” He gulped. “You’ve been working on this side of the city. Is it… safe? Around… um…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word “Giants.” 

Candy hesitated. He was frightened, and she didn’t want to mess up Bianca’s chances with him, but she didn’t want to sugarcoat the truth either. “If you stay with Bianca, she’ll keep you safe,” she finally uttered. “It can be dangerous around some individuals, but you should be okay.” 

“And Bianca… she’s a… a… Giantess.” He swallowed again. “What’s she like?” 

“I work with her. She’s a wonderful person. I’m sure you’ll love her,” Candy answered, brightening when she spoke about her friend. “She’s very gentle with humans too, and she’ll make you feel more comfortable on this side of the city.” 

Gio opened his mouth to speak, but the railcar slid to a halt. He clamped his mouth shut as the doors slid open. Candy started to walk out, until she noticed Gio was rooted to the spot. “Come on,” she urged him gently, taking his clammy hand and pulling him forward. “You’ll be okay.” He followed her dumbly, staring around him in undisguised wonder. Since the workday was mostly over for Big Corp Inc. employees, there wasn’t much foot traffic. Even so, a massive shoe slammed down in front of the station as a Giant walked past, causing Gio to recoil and shriek like a little girl. 

“It’s alright, Gio. Just stay on the human pathways and you won’t get stepped on,” Candy assured him. He wiped beads of sweat off his forehead. He didn’t look too convinced, but allowed Candy to lead him out onto the human pathway. “Oh, there’s Bianca!” Candy pointed her out as the Giantess spotted the two humans and approached. She had changed into shorts, so the humans wouldn’t be peering up her skirt, that still showed off her shapely, towering legs. She wore a comfortable V-neck shirt that accentuated her breasts and hugged her slender waist. Her long, silky hair ran down her shoulders like black rivers. 

While Gio was blown away by every detail of her exquisite beauty, her extraordinary size was terrifying and overwhelmed him. When he had first matched with her on the dating app and viewed her photograph, he thought she was a human woman, likely shorter than him. He never pictured her in his wildest dreams to be as tall as a skyscraper. She was big enough to crush him like a bug on the sidewalk. He had come in with an open mind, but he panicked. He couldn’t hold himself together. His legs failed him and he fell backwards. He turned tail and fled like a rabbit back under the cover of the railway station. A car hadn’t arrived yet, otherwise he’d be gone. He dove under a bench and cowered with his arms over his head, shaking. 

“Wait, Gio!” Candy called, running after him. “Hold on, Bianca! Give us a minute!” she yelled up to the Giantess. Bianca’s face scrunched up like she was about to cry. Candy sat down on the floor next to the bench. “Gio, I know you’re frightened. I know. But there’s no reason to be. Bianca is kind; she won’t hurt you.” 

Gio whimpered. “It’s… this is just too much.” He tried to stop hyperventilating and slow down his racing heart. “I hear you, that she won’t hurt me. But even if that’s true, what could a little guy like me possibly offer a ginormous woman like her?” 

“Oh, Gio,” Candy lamented, shaking her head. “Just look at her! Her size doesn’t change what’s in her heart!” Gio cautiously peeked out from beneath the bench. He was shocked to see the Giantess struggling to hold back tears. Despite his fear, guilt wormed its way into his heart. He hadn’t intended to hurt her feelings. He did find her gorgeous, and judging from her messages on the app he thought she had a great personality, but he was worried he would be inadequate to satisfy her needs. He felt puny and insignificant in comparison. He was not only scared but deeply intimidated. 

Yet, he could plainly see she was a woman like any other, regardless of her colossal stature. She had feelings and wants and a need for love. He had promised her he would go on a date with her, yet here he was, hiding pathetically under a bench like a mouse. How could he call himself a man with his behavior? With considerable difficulty, he swallowed his fears and crawled out from under the bench. He dusted himself off, straightened out his clothes, and took a deep breath. 

“That’s better,” Candy said. “Are you ready for a proper introduction now?” He really wasn’t, but he nodded anyways. Candy made a move to lead him back out, but he stopped her with his hand. 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll go out on my own,” he choked. He had already made a terrible first impression, and he felt a need to redeem himself. He tried and failed to stop his limbs from quivering as he forced himself to step back out where the Giantess could see him. Bianca cheered up, seeing that he was willing to come out, but held herself back. She slowly kneeled down, so as not to appear quite so large as her standing height, even though she still loomed over him. Candy watched their interaction with bated breath from the station. 

Gio cleared his throat anxiously. “S-sorry about that, Bianca.” Even though he was trying to be brave, his body language betrayed him. He huddled his arms around himself as if to create a barrier and hunched his shoulders. “I’ve never met a Giantess before. I-I j-just got a little scared, is all. B-b-but I’m fine now.” 

“It’s alright,” Bianca replied softly. Her voice, while still feminine, was rich and full, matching her size. “I respect you for trying your best.” Carefully, so as not to frighten him, she offered him her hand, easily the size of a large mattress. He froze up for a moment, but then crept forward, placing his own tiny hand on one of her long, elegant fingers. He was surprised by how nice and soft her skin felt. If that other human trusted her, it must be safe. He took the plunge and climbed into her enormous hand, settling into the dip in the center. Bianca waited patiently for him to get situated and collect himself. 

“Okay,” he gulped. “You can pick me up.” Bianca slowly raised her hand up. Gio’s stomach dropped as he peered over the edge of her hand and watched the floor plunge away below. He felt so high up, easily fifty feet in the air, but then he realized the Giantess hadn’t even stood up yet. She made a motion to stand, so he scurried back to the middle of her hand for safety. 

He looked into her hazel eyes behind her glasses as she raised him up further to her full height. As scared as he was, she was mesmerizing. He had never met a woman who could easily just pick him up off the ground like that, like he was nothing more than an action figure. He found the notion surprisingly sexy. She could completely dominate him, do with him as she pleased. Despite his fears, he found himself getting turned on. He tried not to be too conspicuous as he surveyed the landscape of her body, with its grand mountains and valleys. She was irresistibly hot, even more so than her photo on the app had suggested. He was glad he didn’t run away. 

“Um… so where are we going? For our date?” he asked her, trying to play it cool as he rubbed the back of his head. 

“Oh, well, I heard about this new restaurant that just opened downtown that’s been getting a lot of buzz lately—Bucky’s, I think it was called?” 

At the mention of Bucky’s, Candy, who was still listening in to their conversation from the ground, freaked out and rushed over to Bianca via the human walkway. “No, don’t go there!” she shrieked with urgency. “The manager eats humans! Martin and I went there and he put me in a sandwich and devoured me!” 

Gio had been warming up to the idea of Giants, but this new information spooked him terribly. “He ATE you?!” he cried. He blanched and shuddered. He didn’t know that Giants ate people.  

“We won’t go there,” Bianca hastily assured him. “I know some better places where you will be safe and welcome.”  

Gio turned to look into her soft eyes. Though he had only just met her, he felt intuitively like he could trust her. “Okay,” he said. “L-let’s go then.” 

Chapter 29

Chapter 1

[diorkittys]

anxious !! ˚୨୧⋆｡

; summary - edward with a partner who has anxiety. [ dano!riddler + reader ]

[ another self indulgent piece ]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

; first things first, edward definitely struggles with anxiety himself—most likely social anxiety.

^ he’ll be extremely sympathetic with you because he understands how you feel. (of course, not to a tee)

^ never gets frustrated or annoyed with you; he knows you can’t control it. is overall very patient and will give you all the time in the world—him of all people understands the need for that.

; edward never pushes you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. you don’t want to go out tonight? fine by him—he loves being home with you anyway. you don’t want to speak to a cashier? he already has a greeting smile on his face, pulling his cash out.

^ honestly, kind of likes keeping you in your comfort zone—it consists of him and your apartment, and he’d rather keep you all to himself, if you let him! <3

; if you get overwhelmed by his riddles—whether it be because of pressure or because they make you feel insecure, dumb, he completely drops it.

^ it wasn’t his best anyways and no matter if you can solve it or not, he’ll love you the same. (probably likes to explain it to you afterward, though, if you want. assures you that you aren’t stupid!)

; likes to distract you with little things when you’re having an anxiety attack or about to: talks about stuff in full detail because it helps you calm down—his voice is always soft and gentle as well. <3

^ has talked you out of a panic attack a few times by just over-explaining his glasses. (his prescription, the color, texture, the way they open and close, the rims, etc.)

; he also likes to just sit with you when you’re having an anxiety attack. he’ll let you just cry it all out, both of you sitting on the floor. occasionally will remind you to take deep breaths and practices them with you.

; edward doesn’t really have to research anything about anxiety because, like i said, he knows what you’re going through—not fully, but enough. (will probably still go on google and search different grounding techniques and things just because he’s a nerd and wants to help the best he can.)

; if touch helps you ground yourself, he lets you touch him all you want: his glasses, hair, skin, clothes, anything. just sits there while you fiddle with his fingers or scratch at his pants or graze the rims of his glasses. <3

^ puts his blue coat around your shoulders for comfort as you lean into his side, taking in the familiar scent of the jacket and petting the material.

; talks for you in public! his specialty might not be being social, but he knows how to start a conversation. he does encourage you to try sometimes, but never pushes you past your limit.

^ when you’re ordering food, edward tells the cashier to wait a second as you quietly whisper what you want, clung by his side. “okay. yeah and can i also get…”

; if someone ever makes you uncomfortable or anxious, edward will drag you away from the situation, either making up an excuse or simply tugging you away abruptly… he’ll deal with it himself later.

^ his jaw clenched when he saw the way you nervously scratched at your skin, shifting on your feet while talking to the man… he was already thinking of so many new ways to spread fear on his dumb face. <3

; doesn’t force eye contact with you—he perfectly understands why you don’t like it and knows you’re listening without directly looking at him. (also struggles with eye contact himself, so he finds it nice not having to stare at someone without it being ‘weird’.)

; makes you little anxiety relief items! it’s an assortment of small trinquetes he put together for when you get anxious—all made by him (some bought from the store, but you don’t have to know that) and are all crafted with an extensive knowledge onto what helps you relax. (he observes you a lot to know.)

^ + gets you a little care bag to hold everything in for on the go. it’s either in your favorite color or in green because he wants you to think of him when you use it. <3

; reassures you through anything—never makes you feel stupid or irrational for being afraid of something and promises you that everything is alright!

^ “no, the little pain on your arm doesn’t mean you’re dying—i get it too, don’t worry.” “no one noticed you tripped on your way from the bathroom, it’s okay.” “your voice was fine—you didn’t sound rude at all!” (all while rubbing your back soothingly.)

; tries to be aware of your behavior during a panic attack so he knows the signs for future reference. also studies you so he’ll know what you need during that time—do you want to be touched? do you need reassurance? do you want to be left alone?

; buys you a weighted blanket! whenever you need pressure, he’ll wrap it around your body. he sometimes catches you being completely submerged in it, not even the top of your head showing—so he’ll poke his face in to see what you’re doing and sit with you.

; carry’s tums with him everywhere. he knows the physical side effects of anxiety and wants to be prepared in case you get a tummy ache.

; keeps an eye on you in public so he’ll know when you start to get uncomfortable. will tug you closer and squeeze your hand if you start showing the signs, smiles at you when you look at him.

; stays for as long as your panic attack lasts, until it’s nothing but hiccups. tries to crack jokes when you’ve calmed down and is proud when he hears you weakly laugh.

; always has words of encouragement when you do something for yourself. i.e: talking to someone without his help, going out in public by yourself, grounding yourself, anything. <3

^ “i’m so proud of you!” “you did great!”

; edward is overall very supportive and understanding and is the best boyfriend ever for all your anxiety needs! <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[softhourswithseb]

One more chance..

Summary: A rollercoaster of emotions. From friends to lovers to strangers with memories.

Sebastian stan X Reader

Chapters : ONE TWO THREE ???

A/N: it’s been very long since i have wrote. So if i sound really dusty I am so sorry. Eng lit has been killing me inside out. So i do hope you guys like this.

Also all characters in this is all fictional.

> Masterlist <

August 2021

Everyone tends to have a very robust life. Situations erupting from everywhere and consuming every one thoughts. Yet for you it was different now. Everything is quiet and going with the flow. Your routine was the same, your off to uni, or work, you come back home then it’s either clean, cook, Netflix, or work out. Whatever popped up first. This term in university was keeping everyone occupied, so you and your friends could not do much. There wasn’t any signs of anything coming up so you set back to relax.

Yet look at you now, in a clothing shop utterly confused why this girl is blurting out her whole love life to you. You stood there awkwardly, just waiting for the girl to realise that your a complete stranger. Yet she continued to babble on off to her own little world. You tapped on her shoulder and she looked back, her concerned face from her little rant went to a confused one.

“Oh my god.. i’m so fucking sorry.. you looked so similar to my friend and i just threw my whole shit onto you” You laughed at her saying it was okay, and that regardless if you was her friend or not. Whoever she was talking about sounds like a complete dick.

The stranger smiled.

“My name is Mira” “and I'm y/n, now start again cause this is a bit confusing.” Mira chuckled.

Mira went on to tell you about her current boyfriend Sebastian, how he didn’t actually wanted to be in a relationship and there was communication issues. She felt like that there was still hope that she push him to change he keeps playing with her. You gave her a subtle helpless look. The first red flag was the fact he didn’t even want to be in a relationship. However this was was not your relationship so you could not say much.

“I can’t really give a decent solution. I just met you and your boyfriend sounds like a prick. All I can really say is try communicate with him. It’s easier said than done. But if he refuses to then it’s obvious you should just drop the whole thing” Mira's face began to drop. oh shit.

“then again it is your relationship, you can do whatever you want.” reassuring her, she shook her head slightly and looked up with a faint smile. Miras eyes light up for a second her smile becoming more prominent.

"why don't you join me and my bf with his friend for a couple of drinks tomorrow night." You gave her an unsure look.

"We can get to know each other, Sebastian wont interrupt us he will be with his friend. A daily night hang out." It won't hurt plus uni has been draining me out. You looked up and nodded your head signalling you would. Mira hugged you slightly going off with her mini rant on how much fun it is going to be while giving her socials to you.

While this was all fun you had underlying feeling. Then again it could be the fact you was nervous.

______________________________

You looked up at the apartment and down at your phone to make sure the address was right. You hesitated before knocking, but the door suddenly opened causing a rush of panic to go through you. Before you stood a 6 foot man with soft brown hair and rough blue eyes. He looked you up and down yet showed no expression.

"You're Mira's friend right?" His voice coarse. He continued.

"Don't freak out i saw a glimpse of you by my window and guessed it was miras friend and I was right." A smug look painted across his face.

"Yeah sorry, I was just trying to see if I got the right address." You gave him back a polite smile, as that happened Mira appeared behind Sebastian's back but her smile faltering a bit, before you could ask she let you in and led you to the main room. There stood another man more tanned looking with curly hair patiently waiting with a ps4 controller in his hand.

Mira sat you down across from Sebastian and his friend and went to get some drinks for the both of you. You took your time to look around, the main room was nice filled with neutral tones and small flower pots. Probably fake. Pictures of mainly sebastian with his friends and a small couple of him and mira. This is probably his place. The balcony looked nice with two cushioned seats and small table. so peaceful.

"So are you going to tell us your name or.." You lost your track of thought to look towards sebastian and his friend.

"oh..my bad my name is y/n."

"Sebastian.. and this is Antonio, one of my closest guys." Antonio smiled at you.

"You can call me tony for short" you shook your head.

"I like Antonio better.." Antonio gave you a side eye and smirked.

"i see you are all getting along" Mira voice entered with a blunt tone handing you a drink. You took the drink from her and faced towards her.

"You okay Mira" she nodded and began talking to you. She was interesting but also kinda hypocritical. Yet this was better than staying home and doing nothing. You let her talk, laughing at the occasional cussing towards whoever she was talking about.

“Why don’t you let Y/n speak.. after all she is new here and i’d like to know her better.” Sebastian voice interrupted Mira. Sebastian looked at Antonio, who nodded in response but was more interested in the game

“That’s nice, but there isn’t much to say. Plus i’m quite invested in what Mira was saying” you tried easing the nonexistent tension you was feeling.

“yeah see she doesn’t want to talk. Talk to Antonio there’s no need for you to know her. She isn’t your friend.” Mira harshly said. yeah there was the tension.

“Yeah well she is in my house and who said i couldn’t make friends. Plus your barely letting the girl talk. Everything isn’t about you.. you know.”

He looked up from the game and smiled at you. You just looked back at Mira who looks like she was about to burst.

She grabbed her drink and stomped off towards the garage.

"Ah don't worry about her she likes to go through mini bitchy phases." You looked back at Sebastian slightly offended. He shrugged back in response unbothered.

"like you are any better." Mira spat back and shut the door the behind her.

Everything went to an awkward silence.

Yeah i should have stayed home.

You tried going pass Sebastian and Antonio, but Sebastian ended up pushing you down between him and Antonio. Antonio chuckled and whispered.

"Don't worry she will be fine in a few mins." Sebastian dropped his controller on your lap and went out to Mira who facing backwards towards you.

His arms wrapped around her, taking her in a warm embrace. He began giving her small pecks around her face. His last kiss landing on her forehead. Both of them looked perfect and imperfect at the same time. Almost frozen in picture. He took the bottle away from her hand and set it down on the table.

He slowly brought her face up and gave her a chaste kiss. Yet his eyes were focused on you. The moment you both made eye contact he winked.

what the fuck.

Antonio shouts in victory broke the trance you were in and quickly joined in with him.

The last few moments went by in a blur till you felt like it was time to leave. Once you got out of the apartment, mira caught up with you.

"Hey y/n i'm so sorry that i was in such a shit time, something happened earlier and when i saw you at the doorway with Sebastian and you was smiling and all and what happened before. it caused me to overthink and all. But Sebastian said you took an interest with Antonio. Your my new friend and it was wrong for me to think like that." she gave you a hard smile and light pat. Almost as if the speech was to reassure herself.

Before you could even turn away.

"i don’t want to be a bitch but do keep your distance yeah… Get home safely" you nodded but the shock was still settling in. It wasn’t like you asked for this to happen.

But it is better if i do keep my distance.

Your phone went off.

@...Seb has now started following you!

oh god..

______________________________

A/N: This part is very dead, i know but things will start to pace up eventually yk. Everything needs a starting point but i hope this part did interest you. Please do comment if you want another part or what you would like to see next!

There is a taglist for this so if you want to be in the taglist just comment TG :).

Love you all Ru <3.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VI

“I think I’m catching feelings

And I don’t know if this is empathy I feel

Just hold on

Remember when you said this was the last time?”

Sex, Eden

A/N: okay this chapter has probably been my favourite to write so far because we are finally. finally!!!!!! getting to a lil smidgen of softness!!!!! and the softness will only continue like originally I had a different lyric in mind for this chapter (a hozier lyric to stay on brand) and decided that it was too soft so I stocked it away to use in the future when things get even sweeter and harry gets even dumber 😌 we really hope you guys enjoy this chapter!!! and please remember that feedback is truly, madly, deeply™ appreciated!!!! not just by us but by all content creators!!!!! and if you enjoy it, please reblog it!!!! spreading content keeps creators motivated!!!!! and so do messages about what you liked!!!! it lets us know what sort of vibe to add in later!!!! okay now that that’s out of the way!!!! let’s dive in 😼  

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

word count: 29.1k

content/warnings: a good healthy dose of denial and justification to deny feelings, the defamation of gherkin pickles, pet names (literally), a strong independent woman who don’t need no man, a (not quite) man who definitely needs a strong independent woman, brunch served with a side of emotional trauma, breaking promises, nsfw social distancing, and Harry once again ignoring the phrase “bros before hoes”

///

Harry knows he’s good at a lot of things.

He’s good at picking up on fashion trends and turning them into timeless styles, molding each piece to fit his own persona with ease.  He’s good at identifying the locational origins of wines within five seconds of the sweet liquid crossing over his tongue.  He’s good at mixing his own drinks as well, always managing to craft the perfect concoction that suits each drinker’s needs.  He’s good at creating gallery walls in his apartment, at charming anyone into giving him what he wants with a slip of his mouth, and at pissing off his friends until they’re threatening to stake him just to get a little peace and quiet.  Harry is good at chess, at reciting poetry from memory, and at painting his non-dominant hand’s fingernails without smudging any nail polish onto his icy skin.  Harry is fucking excellent at coaxing orgasms out from his lovers.  He knows that he’s good at a lot of things.

The issue, he realizes the day after he asks Y/N out on a real date, is that planning a real date is not one of those things.

This, Harry rationalizes to himself, is not his fault.  After all, the last time he’d been on a real date was during the Victorian era, and Harry is fairly certain that taking a chaperoned stroll around his beloved’s estate garden isn’t in fashion anymore.  And when the way all of those dates ended is taken into account, Harry doesn’t think his past experiences should be the marker for a good date, anyways.  

It’s this frustrating lack of knowledge that leads Harry to do what he always does when he doesn’t know the answer to something: he Googles it.

With the top of the line Macbook Harry had purchased a few months back with the money from a CEO of some candle company perched on his lap, Harry relaxes back onto his leather couch, kicking his brown boots up onto the matching footrest as he does so.  Once the search engine is open and the cursor is blinking in front of his face, however, the vampire pauses, his manicured fingernails perched over the keys.  What question could he possibly Google for his situation?

Harry twists his lion head ring around his cool finger as he thinks, his tongue tucked between his lips in concentration while potential queries run through his head.  Ideas for a first date with a girl you’ve been fucking for a month.  Things to do in L.A. with a mortal when you’re a two hundred year old vampire.  Places to take someone after drinking their blood.  A snort echoes from Harry’s throat as the last idea pops into his head.  Somehow, Harry isn’t confident in what results those questions will show him.

Tapping his black lacquered nails against the keys, Harry purses his lips as he loses himself in thought.  How had he even gotten himself into this position?  The reason he hasn’t planned a date in centuries is because he doesn’t date, and for good reason.  What use does a soulless vampire have for dating?  Mortals use romantic outings to open their hearts to one another, and Harry, in contrast, can’t open what he doesn’t have. 

Despite his wondering, however, he knows exactly how he got himself into this situation: he let himself get jealous of a fake-tanned, shaggy-haired idiot named Jacob, a name that Harry despises on principle alone.  It had been a perfectly fine name until that awful Meyer woman decided to make it one of the banes of Harry’s existence.  And while Harry doesn’t have a particularly forgiving nature, he had just finally begun to get over the association, but thanks to that hallway confrontation at the end of Y/N’s date with the obtusely orange fool, Harry is now reminded that he will forever hate the name with a burning passion.  And shaggy hair.  And fake tans. And while the irony of him, a vampire—with a middle name of Edward, for Christ’s sake—hating an insignificant mortal named Jacob, simply because he dared to make a pass at the object of Harry’s fascination, is not lost on him, all of that was pushed aside the moment Harry smelled the perfume his fascination wore for the mortal boy. 

Y/N never wears perfume for him. And though she had assured him that her dressing up had been for him, he can’t shake the fact that Jacob had gotten to experience it first. 

It’s not that Y/N needs to wear perfume for him.  In fact, if Harry’s being honest with himself, he likes that she doesn’t spritz artificial scents all over her body before letting him into her home and between her legs.  She has one of the sweetest natural scents Harry’s ever had the pleasure of inhaling, all lavender and honey and utterly intoxicating.  Of course, as all mortals are, Y/N is unaware of the mouth watering fragrance that drips from her skin, while Harry is all too aware of it at all times, but her obliviousness to her natural scent doesn’t change the fact that Harry would bathe in it if he could.  If it were possible, Harry would pump an entire room full of her personal cloud of lavender and honey, lay back on the floor, turn down the lights, spark a joint, and let himself get lost in the very thought of her.  That would be Harry’s personal definition of Nirvana.

But Y/N isn’t aware of her natural, skin sweetening aroma like Harry is, which means two things.  Firstly, that Y/N doesn’t feel the need to smear anything unnatural on her body to attract Harry; she knows she doesn’t need to go through all that trouble.  And that was fine with Harry, until he realized the second thing, which is that there potentially could be someone that Y/N would go to all that trouble for if he doesn’t keep her entertained and occupied.  She had told him her date with Jacob hadn’t been on her terms, and that she’d done it just to be courteous towards a co-worker, but that doesn’t sedate the truth: There will always be a maddening possibility that occasions could come into play in which Y/N will spray a choking cloud of gardenia and freesia over herself, all in the hopes of appealing a suitor.  The issue is that in those hypothetical cases, the suitor Y/N would be trying to impress wouldn’t be Harry.

Actually, that’s only the first issue. The second issue is that it could be another fraternity moron with an equally stupid name. 

After the vampire had come upon Y/N ending her date in front of her door, just minutes before their own rendezvous was scheduled, Harry had felt an initial burst of blind rage, and everything after is a blur.  He vaguely remembers trying to make Jacob uncomfortable and delighting in how he succeeded, until he saw the anger on Y/N’s sweet face.  He remembers a brief discussion about limits and honesty, and about how she was only interested in him, and that he shouldn’t waste his time stressing about her supposedly dormant dating life.  And, most importantly, he remembers asking Y/N to accompany him on a real date, one that would blow her date with the VeggieTales carrot out of the water.

Now, of course, he’s beginning to regret his impulsive decision, purely for the fact that he now has to figure out how to woo a mortal girl just enough to keep her away from creeps with horribly coiffed hair.

And yet, despite this regret…there’s something new curling inside his belly as he types the phrase date ideas for L.A. into the search bar, the blinking cursor reflecting in his eyes before he presses the enter key and millions of results pop up.  Ah, the joys of the internet, he thinks as he scours the results with inhuman speed.  It’ll take Harry a few different clicks to find the perfect activity for himself and Y/N, and his hyperfocus on the topic will stop him from over analyzing that new feeling twisting inside him.

It’s a win-win situation, if he can say so himself.

Harry’s halfway through the first disappointing article (somehow, he doesn’t think taking Y/N on a hike is very romantic) when the door to his condo opens and reveals Mitch in the frame, dressed in his usual casual attire, this time of blue jeans and a plaid shirt.  Harry has spent the last century trying to refine the older vampire’s taste in clothing, even going so far as to once donate the entirety of Mitch’s closet to a homeless shelter, but all his efforts have been in vain, as his friend still insists on wearing the standard (and boring) style for every decade they’ve lived through together.

“Hey,” Mitch greets from the end of the corridor with a nonchalant nod, shutting the door behind himself before sauntering further into the living room. “Thought we were meeting at the bar at eight?”

It takes Harry a moment to remember the agreement Mitch refers to, his brow creasing as his eyes flicker to the corner of his computer screen.  By the time he registers the numbers 8:41 shining back at him, the memory of agreeing to get drinks with Mitch after his evening gig has resurfaced. “Fuck, I’m sorry.  I lost track of time.”

“I thought so.” Mitch moves the decorative pillow next to Harry on the couch, taking a seat in his usual spot. His voice is slightly sarcastic as he gives Harry a knowing look. “That’s been happening a lot lately.  Lapses in your memory and such.”

“It's old age, I suppose.” Harry’s lips quirk up in amusement, although he knows that Mitch’s comment is pointed towards a subject they’re both acquainted with, courtesy of Harry’s absence on their annual Vegas trip about a week prior. “It’s finally getting to me.”

The long-haired immortal makes a vague sound of humorous acknowledgement, but offers no other response as he turns his gaze to the younger vampire. 

Harry watches as his friend’s expert eyes appraise his appearance, examining how the older vampire takes note of the messy state of Harry’s hair that indicates he’s been tugging on it in frustration, the redness of his lips, the way he’s curled over his open laptop.  Although he makes no further comment on Harry’s newfound tendencies, his brows furrow in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh—” The amusement is replaced by an unfamiliar feeling of nervousness that sweeps through Harry’s entire body. “I’m doing research.”

When he’s given no other explanation, Mitch prompts his younger friend. “On?”

“I...asked that girl from the club out on a date— Y/N. Like, I invited her on a proper one.” Harry elaborates, twisting his lionhead ring around his finger as he speaks. “But I don’t really know, like, what to do with her.  I’m a little out of touch with what a typical twenty-something woman wants to do on a real date.”

And this is another thing Harry is usually good at— being confident and sure of himself.  Normally, he speaks with ease and a nonchalant cadence to his words, lacking any worry about how he’ll be perceived.  Harry knows what he wants, and knows how to articulate it.  Right now, however, he feels the complete opposite.  There’s a tension aching its way through his muscles and settling into the pit of his stomach, curling around those organs that haven’t been truly needed in years, and the utterly bemused expression weaving its way onto Mitch’s face doesn’t help.

The quiet vampire cocks his head to the side upon receiving this news, propping one foot up onto Harry’s coffee table and addressing him with a mocking air. “Why are you taking her on an actual date? From what you’ve told me— which isn’t much, and that strains our best friend reputation, if I’m being honest— I thought you two had an...understanding?”

“We did.  We do.” Harry stumbles over his words as he half shuts the laptop, setting it down on the coffee table and giving Mitch’s foot a quick playful shove off the lacquered surface as he repositions himself. “But she went on a date with someone else, so I have to—”

“Are you jealous?” His friend cuts over him with an incredulous tone, and the disbelief sends a flare of something akin to shame through Harry’s body. “Because she had a date?”

“I’m not jealous.” With a firm voice, Harry manages to scoff at the very notion. “I may be a monster, but my eyes are red, not green. It’s just—”

“Well, technically, they are.”

The immortal ignores the shit-eating correction. “—occurred to me that our arrangement will end if Y/N starts seeing some mortal bloke. So, if she wants a relationship, then I can fabricate one for her.”

Although the excuse slips off his tongue easily enough, Harry refuses to meet Mitch’s eyes as he picks up his laptop and opens it again, clicking his way onto another article in the search results.  The older vampire’s stare feels as if it’s scorching his icy skin, and Harry can’t exactly say he enjoys the sensation, but it’s better than the alternative of admitting to Mitch—and to himself—that he may harbour the smallest trace of feelings for the human girl.

However, Mitch seems to buy the rushed explanation. “Fabricate a relationship?” He repeats, scratching the base of his chin slowly. “Doesn’t that seem a little...cruel?”

“It’s not.  It’s only for a bit, and once I’m done with her, I’ll probably just…” The words lodge in his throat for some unknown reason, but he forces them out. “I’ll probably just wipe myself from her mind, and she…” Harry’s sharp teeth tug on his plump bottom lip. “She won’t remember me.  It’ll be fine.”

Yes, Harry repeats to himself as he scrolls through all the results Google has to offer.  It’ll be fine.  It has to be fine, really, because what’s the alternative?  Harry’s kind aren’t exactly built for a long term commitment to anyone that’s less than immortal.  The kindest thing for him to do would be to let Y/N go now, without having to use compulsion at all.  It would be so simple, he thinks.  One small text, a few words along the lines of “it’s not working out, and we probably shouldn’t see each other again, I’m sorry. H.” would probably suffice.  And surely she’d be a little upset, but she’s mortal, and a mortal’s feelings never stay the same for long.  It would take her a few weeks, or maybe a month at most to get over the creature she’d begun a casual sexual relationship with.  Within a year, Harry and their short-lived friendship would be nothing but a small blip in her memory, and she’d be moved on to someone else.

Harry can see her future so clearly that he almost believes it’s shining through his laptop screen like an old film.  Y/N, going back out for the first time after Harry breaks things off.  Y/N, bumping into a handsome stranger with a bright smile and dull eyes.  Y/N, slumped over her kitchen table and fighting a hangover as the stranger hands her a cup of coffee.  Y/N and the stranger going for dinner.  Walking hand in hand.  Kissing goodnight at the door.  

Harry’s mind spins through scenarios faster and faster, racing through every possible future for Y/N before he can even take another breath.  Although some scenarios have different paths, different breakups, different faces, they always end at the very same place: Y/N in a white dress, walking down a flower strewn aisle, and taking the warm hand of someone who is not Harry.

If Harry needed to breathe, the wind would’ve been knocked out of him the moment he pictured those warm hands with blood pulsing beneath the skin lifting Y/N’s veil, cupping her flushed cheek, and sealing their lips to hers.  It’s a perfectly normal image.  A human pledging themselves to another human.  It’s natural, by human standards, as they seem to value monogamy over everything else.  The path Harry is seeing is the path Y/N was always meant to take.  So why does it make his icy blood curdle?

Mitch, who seems to be completely unaware of the wild road map his friend’s mind has just drawn, speaks out his concerns in a quiet but careful voice. “Are you sure you’re not getting too attached?” He asks, gauging Harry’s reaction to his question as if it’s a catastrophic statement. “You’ve been spending more and more time with her, you blew off the Vegas trip for the first time…” The older vampire gives a soft shrug of his shoulders. “If it were just for sex and blood, that would be one thing, but it’s almost like you’re getting…addicted to her.” 

Although the statement first brings a laugh to Harry's strawberry lips, the initial chuckle quickly fades away as the gravity of Mitch’s statement hits its recipient.  Certainly, he feels an indescribable draw to Y/N, but he knows, deep down, that any addiction he has to her is more so to her blood than anything else.  After all, what else could he possibly indulge?  The last time Harry let himself be addicted to a person, he ended up with a broken neck and newfound bloodlust.  He’s learned since then.  He’s not so naïve, or so foolish, as to let his emotions wander like that again. He knows better.

“There’s no addiction—I just like her blood more than others, that’s all.” Harry assures his friend, tapping his thumb against the band of his mother’s opal ring. “I know I’ve been a bit of a flake lately, but it’s just while I have her around.  I’ll get tired of her eventually; I always do.” He deliberately flashes his crimson eyes at his friend with a knowing smirk. “And then all it’ll take is a few choice words to take care of whatever lingering marks—metaphorical or otherwise— I’ve left on her, and it’ll all be done, and in the past. You know me, mate. Sometimes I like playing with my food.”

That last sentence makes his mouth go sour, almost as if his body is punishing him for uttering something so indifferently ruthless. Especially because deep down, there’s the smallest seed of doubt in his speech— the tiniest hint of uncertainty, telling him that the detachment he is playing up is not true. 

Harry forces it to be true. It has to be. Both for his sake, and Y/N’s. 

Mitch spends a long few minutes gazing into the blood red irises marching his stare, determined to find a crack in their façade. However, Harry’s good at hiding his feelings, given that he’s had decades of practice on how to keep a thick curtain draped over his innermost thoughts. He won’t let anyone see his weaknesses anymore, no matter how microscopic they might be. 

When the older monster’s search turns up empty, he repents with a long sigh, waving his hands free of the whole affair. “Whatever, Harry.  You seem to know what you’re doing.  Just be careful, alright?”

“I do know what I’m doing, thank you.” Harry elects to ignore the last statement Mitch tacked on, and instead flips his laptop around to show his friend his findings with a triumphant—albeit, forced—grin. “I’m doing brunch.  Google says girls Y/N’s age like brunch, and that the Persimmon Pantry in downtown L.A. has authentic crepes that are to die for.”

“Too bad you’re already dead.” The older vampire deadpans, pushing the laptop closed and raising himself from the couch into a standing position, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. “If you’re going to be dating a mortal, do we get to meet her?  Because I think Niall may need a bit of a heads up after the accidental run in that happened last time—”

“Do you usually meet my meals?” Harry counters easily as he sets his laptop aside, standing to escort Mitch to the door. “Don’t be sentimental, Mitch.  I’m certainly not.”

When Mitch’s eyes meet his own once again, there’s a degree of clarity running through them that nearly stops Harry in his tracks. “Aren’t you?” Mitch asks, voice neutral by careful control. 

Harry sucks in a quick breath out of habit, pasting a bright expression over his face in lieu of actually revealing his swirling insides. “Not since I learned my lesson.” He says easily, tapping two fingers over his dormant carotid artery with a sly smile. 

The casual act does the trick, and Mitch’s eyes roll in a familiar jesting fashion as he steps towards the door. “Right.  You’ve got it under control, then.”

“All under control.” The words slip off Harry’s dry tongue like honey, his sweet cadence filling the space between them. “Not to worry.”

///

Y/N thinks this may be the most out of control she’s ever felt her entire life.

A few weeks ago, she would’ve said that taking Harry home from the club was the most out of control she’s ever been.  And three months ago, dropping her whole life and moving to L.A. might have been the answer to that question.  And another three months from now, Y/N might get herself into the middle of a new entirely stupid act— which is completely probable, given her track record— and that’ll become the new marker for the most out of control thing she’s done.  But right now, at this moment, the most out of control thing she’s done is say yes to Harry asking her out to brunch.

When compared to everything else she’s done with Harry—and let Harry do to her—brunch may seem entirely harmless, but it’s the connotation behind it that scares her.  Harry is taking her on a date.  A real date.  A date to a brunch restaurant, at 11 A.M. on a Sunday, when it’ll be completely bright outside, and people will see them together.  A date with both of them in presentable situations, rather than being coated in sweat and completely dressed.  A date where Harry refrains from whispering the filthiest fucking shit Y/N has ever heard into her ear, although she wouldn’t put it past him trying to do that over a plate of avocado toast.

Harry is taking her on a date.  And last time Y/N checked, she wasn’t exactly good at those.

Her ex hadn’t really been the romantic type, to say the least.  Their dates typically revolved around their high school’s dance and athletic schedules.  Bradley took her to homecoming and to prom, and football games on Friday nights, where all her friends would meet them at a diner after their school— more often than not— lost.  He would take her on long drives where they got nowhere fast, with the two of them sitting in silence, and his music playing through the speakers.  She went over to his house once a week for dinner.  He’d take her to a movie every second Saturday.  And while it was all fine, none of it was very romantic. ‘Robotic’ is a more appropriate term.

And even with the fear of actual romance aside, Y/N has no idea what to discuss on a first date with someone.  She had already known a lot about her ex when they began going out, so there wasn’t a period of “getting to know you” that needed to happen.  The few first dates she’d had after him hadn’t been stellar, or even noteworthy.  If anything, they had been guides for what not to do on a first date.  And the funniest thing is that, while she’s fairly sure her last first date had been the catalyst for Harry asking her out, the actual date itself had been awful.  But if she’s right, and that was the factor that set Harry off, then maybe she should be grateful for all those awful dates from her past, because Harry, in contrast to all those horrible dates, is different in every conceivable way.

Harry is just different.  When she speaks, he listens.  When he looks at her, he really looks at her, and he sees her in a way she’s not sure she’s ever been seen before.  And, honestly, he has seen her in ways she’s never been seen before, and that’s exactly what Y/N is worried about.  How do you sip a mimosa with someone at the Persimmon Pantry after they’ve throat fucked you on your couch, or bent you over the kitchen counter, or handcuffed you to their bed?  How do you ask someone about their favourite movie when they’ve coaxed multiple orgasms from you over the phone as Sinister played from the TV screen?  How do you listen as someone tells you about their childhood dog when the last dog you were concerned about was the position they bent you into as they spread your—

Y/N clears her throat and shakes her head of the thought, reevaluating her heated complexion in the mirror that hangs on the back of her bedroom door. “Stop it.” She mutters to herself, attempting to give her reflection a stern look. “You’re not going to be able to make it through this if you’ve thrown the towel in before Harry’s even picked you up.”

And that’s another thing, Y/N thinks, as she opens her bedroom closet and begins searching through it for something acceptable to wear.  Harry insisted on picking her up, even though the restaurant he chose was a fifteen minute walk from her apartment.  She’d brought this up to him when he asked her to brunch over the phone (which is a whole other thing in and of itself— he only called her when he had his hand wrapped around his cock and needed her voice to finish himself off; wouldn’t a text have been sufficient?), but Harry had blown off her concern without a second thought.

“Part of taking you on a date is picking you up, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but the Persimmon Pantry is between our apartments.  Wouldn’t it make more sense to meet there?  Then you wouldn’t waste your time driving past it to get me.”

“I don’t consider anything involving you to be a waste of time.” Harry had answered immediately, his voice stern, but still allowing a vein of tenderness to run underneath it. “Is that your only concern, then?  Me picking you up?”

No, Y/N had thought.  It’s not my only concern, but how the fuck do I explain everything else?

“Yeah.” Y/N had answered tightly, her voice weak. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, it’s not a concern of mine, so don’t worry.  I’ll pick you up at 10:45 Sunday morning.” And then there had been a pause, full of baited breath and nerves, before Harry’s thick accent rang through her phone again. “I can’t wait to see you.”

Those parting words had sat in her stomach since, warm and cozy and inviting, keeping a soft, constant glow filtering in her veins until the end of the week came. 

Y/N glances at the blinking clock beside her bed.  It’s 10:17 now, a couple days after that conversation, which means she has less than half an hour to pick something to wear, style her hair that’s currently dripping wet from her shower, and throw on enough makeup to cover up the bags under her eyes that have been developing over the last few nights.  After becoming so used to sleeping with Harry next to her every weekend, Y/N is now finding that not having him in her bed, smoothing her hair and rubbing her cheek as she cuddles into his cool chest is prohibiting her from getting a good night’s sleep.

Another concern, certainly, but not one she can deal with at this moment.  The best she can do is smear on some concealer and hope for the best, and with that in mind, Y/N turns her full attention to her evaluation of her closet.

“Brunch,” She murmurs to herself, slowly pushing her clothing apart to examine each article. “We’re going to brunch.  What do you wear to brunch?”

Brunch, she decides after a moment of consideration, is casual, but not sloppy casual, so jeans and a t-shirt are off the table.  It’s Sunday casual, like the outfits her mother would pick out for her to wear to Sunday afternoon teas with the other church women once she turned 15 and had to “start acting like a lady.”  Sunday casual, Y/N thinks, but maybe not those outfits.  The raised necklines and starched collars had made her neck itch the entire time, and she had picked at the hemlines of her dresses under tables until the seams began to unravel.  Sunday casual, but more of her actual style.  Sunday casual, but sluttier, maybe?  Could one describe Sunday casual as slutty?

Y/N groans as she takes a step back from her closet, clutching her towel to her chest with a tense hand.  Maybe she’s going about this the wrong way.  Maybe she should try to match Harry…? 

A sharp snort falls from Y/N’s mouth.  Yeah, like she could ever match Harry.  Harry, who is so obsessed with labels that even his handcuffs are embossed with the Gucci logo.  Harry, who is so attractive that it’s almost otherworldly.  Harry, who can make her tiny apartment look like a New York Fashion Week runway by simply walking down the corridor of her entrance.  Matching Harry is almost impossible.  She could show up in a full length gown, and Harry would still outshine her in a graphic t-shirt and flared jeans.

“Hey.” Y/N chastises herself lightly, catching her judgemental eye in her mirror once again. “Stop it.  Don’t be mean to yourself, just...just pick something to wear.  It shouldn’t be this hard.”

After returning to her closet search and trying on a few different combinations, Y/N finally settles on an outfit consisting of a pale yellow sundress with a sweetheart neckline and tea length skirt, but dresses it down with a denim jacket and a pair of cotton candy coloured vans.  It’s bright and fun, but still casual enough that it looks like she just threw it on.  

“Oh, this old thing?”  Y/N raises her eyebrows in mock surprise as she moves to her bathroom to begin to tackle her hair.  She keeps practicing the imaginary conversation in the mirror with herself, and while she knows she sounds insane, it oddly keeps her nerves in check. “Oh, I just pulled it out of my closet a few minutes before you got here.  Haven’t worn it in years.  Do you like it?” The mortal pauses as she reaches for her makeup, deciding to keep herself to a more natural look for the day. “Thank you, Harry, that’s so sweet.  You look nice, as well.”

She lightly fills her brows before sweeping some neutral eyeshadow over her lids, pausing her muttering to herself to concentrate on drawing her eyeliner as neatly as she likes.  Once she’s satisfied with that, she moves to mascara, adding a thin coat to her lashes and blotting off the makeup she smudges underneath her eye by mistake.  When that’s finished, the young woman takes a step back from the mirror, appraising her appearance.

It’s not awful, honestly.  She could do worse.  In fact, if it weren’t for the ball of anxiety currently twisting its way through Y/N’s stomach, she might even praise herself for the cute and casual look she’s managed to pull off.

“You look good.” She murmurs to her reflection as she reaches for her small silver hoops, slipping them through her lobes with a quick and practiced motion. “Good job.” With her eyes locked on her reflection, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Today is going to be fine.  Better than fine, actually.  And it would probably go better if you stopped talking to yourself, so maybe let’s get that in check before Harry gets here—?”

As if on cue, a now familiar knock on her front door causes the mortal’s mouth to snap shut, clamping off the rest of her third person monologue.  When she makes a quick pause to straighten her jacket and fetch her over-the-shoulder woven bag, Y/N impulsively decides to grab her favourite perfume bottle, giving her body a quick spritz before making her way to the door and opening it with breathless anticipation.

Harry, of course, looks fucking incredible.  Although his casual outfit consists of a black short sleeved button up shirt tucked into white slacks, Harry manages to work the whole number like a model.  His usual cross necklace, unique rings, and stately single cross earring adorn his body, drawing Y/N’s eyes to the glint of the metals as a pair of black sunglasses sit atop the man’s defined nose.  He meets Y/N’s eyes behind them, a grin beginning to paint itself over his cherry lips as his jeweled hand pushes the sunglasses from his face and into his chestnut locks, revealing his bright jade gaze full of genuine kindness. 

“Well, look at you. Proper model now, aren’t you, Miss Urban Outfitters?” Harry’s voice takes on a casual tone, but the flirty phrase sends a shiver of pleasure down Y/N’s spine. “You look so fucking good in yellow, love.  Why have I never seen you in yellow before?”

The shiver of pleasure reverberates throughout Y/N’s entire body. “Maybe because I’m usually naked when I’m around you?” She retorts quickly, reaching to the little hook next to her door to grab her keys. 

“Hm.  That’s true.” The pleased cadence in Harry’s voice catches Y/N’s ear over the click of the door lock. “Guess you go for the Victoria’s Secret look more often, hm? Though I’m not complaining. You look just as good in lace.” 

“Thanks. But not today, I guess.” Y/N says quietly as she pushes down the heat boiling her face, unable to bite her tongue before the words slip out. “We’re on a real date today.”

“Right you are, Watson.” Harry grins cheekily as he motions for the girl to walk past him, following closely with a guiding hand on the small of her back. “We’re on a real date.  It’s probably a little overdue, but you know what they say...better late than never, right?”

The moment she takes a step past him, it hits Harry.  Although her delectable signature scent of lavender and honey is still there, it’s faintly hidden behind the nearly overpowering scent of gardenia and freesia he smelled last time he was in her hallway, when that oafish buffoon had the audacity to try and seduce her.  And despite the fact that Harry prefers Y/N’s natural fragrance to any other scent on the planet, knowing that she took the time to spritz herself with perfume before greeting him brings a dimpled smile to his face.  Harry considers making a comment about it, but bites it back at the last moment.  The last thing he needs is to have to explain why he pays such particular attention to Y/N’s scent.

When the pair exit the apartment building, Harry takes the lead in front of Y/N, unlocking his flashy car with a click of the remote and opening the passenger door with ease.  He extends a hand, grasping the mortal girl’s hand in his own with care as he helps her into the car.  The click of the car door shutting comes a moment later than expected as Harry pauses to fix the hem of Y/N’s dress, making sure it’s free of the doorway before closing the door without clamping the light fabric.

Harry doesn’t even think twice before readjusting Y/N’s skirt, with the move coming as naturally to him as breathing once did, and merely notes the stuttering of Y/N’s heartbeat with a half hidden smug smile.  It’s not until he’s in the driver’s seat and stopped at a red light that he realizes what that stuttering rhythm is indicating.

Y/N is tense.  Even without his supernatural abilities that allow him to hear her heart, register her strained breathing, and feel the energy radiating from her body, Harry would be able to tell that some part of her feels...uncomfortable.  Nervous, even.  But for what?  What about Harry—aside from the obvious that the human is unaware of—could make her nervous?  After the countless hours in bed together, the lazy Saturday afternoons, the kitchen singalongs, Harry would think that Y/N would be as comfortable with him as he is with her.  After all she’d shown him when they have sex—

Huh.  Maybe that’s it, Harry thinks, giving the mortal a quick look from the corner of his eye.  The light ahead of them turns green, and Harry continues to ponder his realization as he presses on the gas.  If sex has become the norm for them, then maybe a date is outside of her comfort zone.  Or maybe, now that her brain isn’t fogged by the endorphins that roll through her veins whenever Harry coaxes an orgasm from her trembling body, Y/N is realizing how unnatural it feels to be around Harry.  

As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, humans aren’t dumb.  If they get too close to someone of Harry’s kind, some sharp-sighted mortals begin to sense that there’s something different about them.  Aside from the easy targets and quick decisions, part of the reason that picking up meals in clubs works so well for Harry and his friends is that a mortal’s senses are dulled in the flashing lights and inebriated atmosphere of a club.  If Y/N is beginning to sense that there’s something different about Harry, or if she’s beginning to feel uneasy about being around him, then she must be wondering why.  In Harry’s experience, mortals will relate their uncomfortable feelings about the supernatural into something they have more experience with to make sense of it all, and if that’s what Y/N is doing, then she’s probably attributing her newfound discomfort towards Harry trying to take advantage of her.  If he could read her mind, he might see a horrific scene playing out like an old movie: Harry buying her a meal, soaking her rational thinking in mimosas and other drinks spiked with God knows what, and then helping her back to his car, where he drives her back to his apartment, practically carrying her inebriated body through the door towards his bedroom…

The car takes a sharp right turn into the restaurant parking lot, and Harry guides it to a spot with his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.  The idea of Y/N thinking him capable of that, capable of hurting her like that...it takes Harry a moment to extract his clenched hands from the wheel.  If that was really what Y/N was thinking, then he could fix it.  All it would take to set her at ease would be a quick request, a repeated statement, and the girl’s breathing would even out, and everything could continue like he had planned.

“Y/N?” He begins, keeping his voice as smooth as silk as he sets the car into park and turns it off. “Look at me, please.”

And then she does.  And Harry forgets his plan within a moment.

There’s nervousness apparent in her eyes, yes, but no fear.  Although her lips are chewed red, they don’t tremble when she answers him with a quiet “yes?” Despite their close proximity, she keeps leaning closer to him, and whether she’s aware of the action or not, the constant inch of her hand closer to Harry’s softens the immortal more than he thought possible.  He can’t compel her to let down her guard when she already trusts him.

“I know that this is different for us.  Doing something like this.” Harry begins, keeping his eyes as sincere as possible without compelling the young woman in front of him, who is keeping her eyes on his emerald irises with steadfast attention. “But I want this to be a proper date, like...like what I should’ve probably taken you on a month ago.”

Warmth rises to Y/N’s cheeks at the confession. “So do I.  I like being around you, Harry.  A lot.  I’m just a little...nervous, I guess.”

Harry bites back a smile at how she sounds like she’s confessing something, as if her body language hasn’t been telling him that from the moment she got into his car. “I know.  So I think it would be best, just to prove that this is a real date, if we don’t have sex after we finish brunch.”

A choked sound falls from Y/N’s mouth, and Harry delights in watching her scramble for words before she manages to form a half indignant reply. “I didn’t say I was going to sleep with you!”

“You don’t have to say it, pet, because we both know you can’t keep your hands off me.  Exhibit A,” Harry nods at her hand, which is mere millimeters away from his thigh. “Being how you kept trying to grab onto me through the entire drive.”

Another gasp of indignation fills the car, and the emphasized outrage sets Harry at ease.  He’d rather Y/N be equal parts annoyed and—if the soft look hidden behind her eyes is any clue—endeared than have her equal parts nervous and anxious.  He’d take any anger directed at his expense if it meant she was at ease. 

“I wasn’t trying to grab you.” The mortal mutters under her breath, her eyes falling from his as the increase of her heart pricks Harry’s ears. “That’s just where my hand fell naturally.”

“Right.” Harry answers in a disbelieving voice, his smirk growing as Y/N rolls her eyes in response. “Well, either way…” He extends a jeweled hand and grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger, enjoying how her breath stutters as he turns her head to look at him. “What do you say?  No sex after our date?  Think we can behave ourselves?”

“I can.” Y/N answers, irritation laced through her voice to hide the desire settling between her words. “You, on the other hand...I doubt you’ll be able to keep it in your pants.”

A wry smile works it’s way over Harry’s lips, and the vampire wets them with his tongue as he uses his gentle grip on Y/N’s jaw to tilt her head forward. “I have wonderful self-control, darling.” He breathes the words, letting the scent of mint roll over Y/N’s face, and delights in the way it intoxicates her with every syllable.  Harry ghosts his lips over the curve of her jaw, smudging his kisses down her neck until he can feel her pulse thumping unevenly beneath his lips.  His mouth opens just slightly as he leaves a lingering kiss on the area, his tongue gliding carefully over her sweet-scented skin. 

Despite every instinct in his body telling him to sink his teeth into the beating pulse he feels and quench the thirst that burns in the back of his throat like a roaring fire, Harry manages to pull away. “See?” He murmurs softly, his cool breath still clouding Y/N’s every inhale. “Self control.”

While Harry is a master at withholding his desires, the effect his actions have on Y/N is apparent in her reply. “Good.” The mortal swallows thickly, her pulse fluttering again as Harry releases her chin and drags his fingers down her neck. “That’s good to know.  So no sex, then.”

“Right.” Harry grins triumphantly as Y/N attempts to collect herself.  The smug expression on Harry’s face lets her know that he’s completely aware of the impact he has on her, and it drives her insane to no end.  Although her conscience is urging her to play his game, and do her best to fluster him as he flusters her, the more rational part of her stops that thought in its tracks.  This is what she wanted, wasn’t it?  To open herself up again, to open herself up to Harry in a way she hasn’t before?  To prove that she can let someone know her without burrowing themselves between her thighs?

The latch of her car door brings her from her thoughts, and her head jerks to the right to see Harry with one hand on the door handle as he extends the other to her to help her from the car.  Y/N, still fumbling with her seatbelt, takes a moment to grasp his hand in return, too swept up in the fact that Harry remembers to open her door to ponder how he always reaches her side of the car so quickly. 

However, there are some new developments that don’t slip from her attention, like how Harry keeps her hand grasped firmly in his icy grip even after she’s out of the car, pausing only to click the lock on his keyring before walking with her towards the door.  Or how, despite his long legs, he never falls out of step with Y/N, making sure to keep his strides measured and even so as not to yank on her hand.  Or how, even though her hand is already half extended out of habit, Harry reaches the door of the restaurant first, opening it smoothly and stepping back, gently laying his hand on the small of Y/N’s back to guide her inside the restaurant.

“Uh, thanks.” The young woman murmurs to him, a tone of perplexity running beneath her words.  She’s not quite sure why all of this surprises her; hadn’t Harry already proved that, despite his harsh and suggestive exterior, there’s an undercurrent of manners instilled into him?  

Maybe, she thinks as she watches Harry step forward to the restaurant host, the surprise and confusion is due to the lack of manners she received from her ex.  Despite the “small town charm,” as her mother had called it, Bradley had lacked the ability to successfully perform any gallantry, and any attempts he made to do so had only annoyed Y/N.  Whenever he tried to do something that may fall into that category, like insisting on driving everywhere they went, or choosing where they’d go for dinner, Y/N never felt that the actions came from a place of protection or chivalry; on the contrary, Y/N felt like each action was taken on the basis that she herself was incapable of doing the same things Bradley did.  On the one occasion she’d brought it up to him, he had scoffed, and argued that he was just trying to be a nice guy, and why would she have a problem with him trying to help her, and if she was going to complain, then he wouldn’t—

An icy touch to the dip of her back jerks Y/N from her thoughts, both metaphorically and literally as her body spasms away from the touch.  Upon hearing the alarmed gasp that falls from her lips, Harry turns his head to the side, a look of concern painted over his face.

“Everything alright, darling?” He asks in a quiet voice, his hand retracting from her back with uncertainty. 

“Yeah, sorry, just—caught up in thought, I guess.” Y/N covers quickly, giving him an apologetic smile. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

If the way the mortal shivers is any suggestion, Harry can guess what exactly about his touch took her by surprise. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, his fingers hovering a few millimeters above the fabric of her dress. “The, uh, the table I reserved is just on the patio around the corner.” Although he lays his hand on Y/N once again to guide her, Harry is careful to place his palm further up her spine, where the sensitive skin of her back is covered by her jean jacket in addition to the thin yellow sundress.  As much as he usually adores making her shiver, there’s something different about the action when he knows it’s because of his inhumanly cold touch, instead of his inhuman ability to pleasure her. 

The pair move in a line, following the hostess in a beeline through the busy restaurant and out onto the sunlit patio, where there are fewer occupied tables.  Stopping in front of a table partly shaded under an umbrella that’s away from the other diners, the hostess turns to the two of them, her eyes flickering over Harry once again.

“Is this table to your liking, Mr. Styles?” She asks, her voice sweet as sugar.  The stickiness of it grates against Y/N’s skin, but Harry gives no indication of finding it irritating.  In fact, he seems to give hardly any notice to the hostess at all, only half glancing at her before nodding his head. 

“Yes, it is, thank you.” He steps out to the side, grasping the back of the chair facing away from the sun and pulling it out.  It takes Y/N a moment and a half step already taken towards the opposite chair for her to realize that he’s pulling it out for her.

“Oh—” Face flushing with realization, Y/N steps back around Harry, settling down into the offered seat as he carefully pushes it in. “Uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry replies, pausing to be sure she’s comfortable before taking his own seat across from her.  The hostess, who had been watching his actions with a keen eye, gives another smile to the vampire.

“Alright, Paige will be your server today, but before I leave,” The hostess spares a short glimpse at Y/N before turning her full attention back to Harry. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The creature is aware of the effect he has on mortals, and has been since he was first turned.  While he normally plays that to his advantage (and while that was, to be frank, part of the reason he was able to take Y/N home from the club the night he met her), the attention is beginning to grind against his nerves.  It’s easy enough for him to ignore a human, especially one he has no interest in whatsoever, but he can see the way Y/N notices the hostess’ preference for addressing Harry.  More specifically, Harry can see the way it bothers her, and it would be amusing if his jealousy over Y/N going on a date with someone else hadn’t been the catalyst to their date today.

“No, that’s alright.” Harry finally responds to the waitress, glancing at her just enough so as not to be rude. “Thank you.”

The hostess smiles at him again before nodding to Y/N and turning on her heel, marching back towards the kitchen, and it takes just a soft snort falling from Y/N’s lips to pull Harry’s attention completely back to her.

“What?” He quirks an eyebrow up at the noise, reaching for the menu in front of him and flipping it open slowly. “Something funny?”

Y/N gives a small shake of her head as she mimics Harry’s action, casting her eyes downwards towards the now revealed menu. “No, not at all.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” The vampire reaches across the table to touch his date’s hand, flipping her arm carefully so he can lay two ringed fingers against the thin skin of her wrist, the fragile hummingbird flutter of her heart thumping beneath it. “And I’m too excellent at reading people to let it go.”

“Too stubborn, you mean?” Y/N corrects him as she raises her own brow, but much to Harry’s delight, she doesn’t pull back from his icy touch as she did earlier. 

Harry shrugs lightly, an unconcerned air tinting his attitude. “If that’s what you’d like to call it.  Either way, I’d like to know why you’re laughing at me.”

The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek, the action of her weighing her next words clearly written all over her face. “You seriously can’t tell me you don’t notice it.”

Cocking his head to the side, Harry gently yet consistently continues to stroke two fingers over Y/N’s velvety skin, the heat of her veins burning beneath his touch. “Notice what?”

Although she opens her mouth, Y/N’s reply is cut off by the clicking of high heels approaching their secluded corner, and it’s only a moment before a waitress (whom she assumes is Paige) is standing in front of their table.  Like her coworker before her, Paige gives a brief hello to Y/N before turning all of her attention to Harry, smiling brightly at him as she gives her opening spiel.

“Hi!  My name is Paige, and I’ll be your server today.  Can I get some drinks started for you?” She asks, her hands clasped tightly in front of her (Y/N always hates when servers don’t write down orders; she knows it looks impressive, but the attention it takes to remember exact specifications gives her secondhand anxiety) as she addresses Harry.  

The order is right at the tip of Harry’s tongue. “We’ll have two mimosas, please.  And two ice waters, as well.” He replies, smiling briefly at her as his fingers continue to glide over Y/N’s wrist.  The girl catches the way Paige’s eyes flicker to the movement, her (just barely) professional smile shifting for a fraction of a second before fixing itself, and while Y/N knows that it’s irrational, a small part of her can’t help but be pleased.

“Sounds good.  I’ll be right back with those.” She chimes giddily, her heels clicking against the ground once more as she walks away.

The moment she’s left, Harry has his full attention turned back to Y/N. “You didn’t answer my question.” He murmurs, his emerald eyes alight with curiosity. “Notice what?”

An exasperated sigh sounds from Y/N as she makes a face. “The way they stare at you.” She answers, jerking her head over her shoulder towards the restaurant door. “The hostess, the server—they were both practically undressing you with their eyes.  Are you telling me you didn’t notice that?”

Harry’s curious expression drops as he begins to shift in his seat, the stroking of his fingers over her wrist pausing for just one moment.  Ah, Y/N thinks.  Here it is.  A confession that, yes, Harry did notice it, and Harry (and his ego) loved the attention, and he—

“I noticed it, yeah.” He begins, a reluctant look painting itself onto his statuesque features as a finger on his free hand rubs over his lion head ring.

A glum feeling of satisfaction settles into Y/N’s stomach, and she pulls her hand back a few inches, completely removing it from Harry’s grasp. “I thought so—”

“But I didn’t see the point in mentioning it.” Harry continues, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m here with you.  Why would a spare look from a hostess or a server be anything but inconsequential to me?”

Huh.

“I…” For once, Y/N is stunned into silence. “Well, I just thought—”

“Y/N.” Her name sounds like a melody when it falls from Harry’s mouth, and the sincerity layered in his voice makes her snap her eyes to his. “Do you truly think I would flirt with a waitress on a date I asked you on?  Does that sound like me?”

“Well, honestly…” Harry’s stare bores into hers, prickling Y/N’s skin with the new and nearly uncomfortable sensation of being seen. “I don’t want to think so, but considering how we met…”

“Ah.” Harry’s lips turn down into a small grimace, but quickly right themselves as he once again grasps her hand in his two large palms. “I won’t pretend that I’m not a bit of a—”

“Whore?”

Harry’s lip twitches in amusement again at the blatant tone of the girl’s voice. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about you slut-shaming me?”

The flush that overtakes Y/N’s face indicates that she remembers. “Yes, we did.  But I seem to recall you agreeing.  After you teased me for it, of course.”

“Of course.  We both know how much you love teasing.” Harry digs his nails ever so slightly into her wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to pull a small gasp from her mouth as his grip begins to mimic the handcuffs that she had begged him to use on her. “But all that aside...I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what they think of me.  I’m here with you.  Despite most of my flaws, my mother raised me right.  I wouldn’t do that to you.”

The thunderous thumping of Y/N’s heart rings through Harry’s ears, a constant reminder of why he’s here.  Beneath her soft skin, beneath every telltale mark and scar, beneath her glittering eyes and silky lips, there’s the thing that keeps Harry alive.  Rushing through this girl’s arteries is the sustenance that Harry needs to survive, the sweetest liquid he’s ever consumed, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it at his beck and call.  If being the gentleman of Y/N’s dreams is what will keep her available for him, then that’s what he’ll do.  The pounding of her heart is the beat that keeps him in time with the tune of his life.  It’s nothing more and nothing less. 

Still, Harry chooses his next words attentively, to bring back a joking manner to the conversation. “Someone must have done a number on you, huh?  Was everything not so charming in Smalltown, USA?  Did your parents split when you were a kid?”

And although Harry asks the questions with a smirk on his face, laughter in his voice, and mirth in his eyes, he doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest, how her hand tenses beneath his, and how her eyes drop for a fraction of a second.  He’s touched a nerve, one that is obviously frayed and hurting, and the regret that instantly washes over him is tinged with the confusion of how he’s capable of feeling such an emotion so intensely. 

“Um—” While Y/N knew that she had to tell Harry about her disastrous dating history sooner or later, she had really hoped it would be later rather than sooner.  Is a discussion about one’s scumbag ex appropriate first date talk?  Can she bring it up now, or should she wait until they’ve finished their appetizers? 

“Alright, so I have two mimosas and two waters for you…” Paige’s return distracts Y/N from her dilemma for just a moment as the server sets down the four glasses in front of the respective recipients.  With her attention turned back to Harry, she takes a step back from the table. “Are you ready to order?”

Y/N’s eyes snap to the open menu in front of her, which had become the least of her concerns over the last few minutes. “Oh, I haven’t—”

“We’ll get two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, please.” Harry closes his menu before reaching for Y/N’s and repeating the motion, handing them back to Paige with a charming yet neutral smile. “And a side of hashbrowns, please, to share.”

Brow furrowing as the server scurries away without giving her a second glance, Y/N gapes at Harry, her voice wrought with confusion. “Why did you order for me?”

Harry raises his mimosa to his lips and takes a long sip, setting the condensation-covered glass back down on the table before replying. “You didn’t know what you wanted, and the crepes are delicious.  Did you want something else?” With a lick of his red lips, he glances over his shoulder. “I can call her back if—”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Y/N wraps her hand around the alcoholic drink, swirling her finger over the cold glass. “I can order for myself.  I’m a grown woman.  Do you think I’m not capable or something?”

Harry cocks his head to the side, appraising how the mortal’s expression is closing off with every passing moment.  This bothers her, he realizes.  The idea of him not thinking she’s capable of something bothers her, enough that she’s clenching her glass, and her normally clear eyes are swirling with anger more and more with every passing moment.

“I know you’re capable, Y/N.  I just thought that…” Shifting in his seat, Harry clears his throat as he gathers his words in his mind.  Wasn’t he supposed to be the one asking the questions? “It’s supposed to be polite.”

“In what century?” She replies, her mouth falling agape in surprise as her eyes widen. “Men used to order for women because women weren’t allowed to, right?  Because men made the decisions?  Holding open a door is one thing, but choosing for me—”

“Okay, maybe choosing for you was impolite.  I thought you were unsure on what to order, but I should’ve asked first.  I’m sorry.” Harry half mumbles the apology as an uncomfortable feeling of shame begins to buzz in his stomach. “But the ordering thing, that— men did that as a sign of respect, so women wouldn’t have to talk to someone they didn’t know.  I really didn’t mean anything by it, I swear.  My mum just taught me that it was polite, so I...it’s a habit.  I’m sorry.  I won’t do it again.”

He watches as Y/N chews her bottom lip, seemingly contemplating the authenticness of his apology.  Everything he had said was true, of course.  His mother did teach him that it was polite to order something for a date so she wouldn’t have to speak to someone she doesn’t know.  Of course, it was also true that the practice had died out a century ago, and most women now preferred to speak for themselves.  Harry can’t begrudge Y/N if she dislikes what he did; she’s proved time and time again that she can be rather independent.  However, Harry’s surprised at the disappointment he feels about her reaction.  If this is going to be a proper date, he’d like to hold it up to his standards of proper.

“Alright.” The mortal says after a moment, releasing her lip from her teeth and finally raising her mimosa to her mouth. “You’re forgiven.  But I think I’ve earned the right to compensation for your assumptions.”

“Compensation could be arranged, I suppose.” Harry leans forward with a sly grin, his fingers finding the delicate skin of Y/N’s wrist once more. “I feel like I’ve been fairly firm on the no sex thing, but I could pencil you in for some compensation tomorrow evening, if that works for you.”

Y/N swirls the liquid in her glass as she bites back a smirk. “I was thinking of something a little different than an orgasm, actually.”

“What could possibly be better than an orgasm given by me?” Harry questions, his free hand fingering the cross around his neck. “Didn’t you once compare them to a gift from God?”

“I don’t recall ever saying that, actually.” The mortal girl replies in a dry voice, setting her glass down with a decisive thunk. “I don’t want an orgasm—”

“Oh, that’s a bloody lie—”

“I want information.” Tapping her fingers against the table, Y/N stares Harry down with firm eyes. “Like where did you grow up that your mother taught you it was appropriate to speak for a woman?  Or why have you avoided any personal questions I’ve tried to ask over the last month?”

Harry retracts his hand from Y/N’s wrist as she voices her inquisition, settling his fingers on the rim of his mimosa to begin tracing the smooth glass. “To be fair, pet, you haven’t asked many personal questions.  You’ve been too busy bouncing on my cock, haven’t you?”

“Maybe, but I won’t be today, as per our agreement.” Y/N steeps her fingers together as she leans towards him, the comical sight of her posture forcing Harry to repress a snort. “And you brought up personal questions first, Holmes.  So you kind of screwed yourself, didn’t you?”

“I suppose I did.  I’ve gotten so used to you doing the screwing, Watson.  Guess I’m getting sloppy— although you seem to like that.” Harry can’t help but get in one last dig before conceding, taking a long gulp of his beverage before smacking his lips. “I’ll tell you what.” He says, pointing a jeweled finger at his date with his glass still wrapped tightly in his hand. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N quirks up an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Let’s play a little question game.” Harry sets down his glass as he elaborates, his signature smirk growing over his cherry lips. “We alternate questions back and forth, asking whatever we’ve wanted to know.  And the other person has to answer it honestly.”

Or as honestly as possible, Harry amends in his head.  For obvious reasons, he’ll have to fabricate the majority of his answers, but that’s nothing new to him.  Over the years, he’s had to create multiple spiels about his childhood, taking tiny pieces of truths and weaving them together with updated lies.  Spitting out a few standard stories about where he grew up and why he left London is small change compared to his burning desire to know more about Y/N’s past.  

The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek again, weighing her options in her head as she holds Harry’s questioning stare.  As much as she hates to discuss her life story, and as much as she’d been hoping to hide it from Harry, she knows that she has to be honest with him if she wants him to be honest with her.  As awkward as it may be, she’ll have to tell the stories sometime.

“Alright.” She relents after a moment, blowing out a harsh breath and lifting her mimosa to her lips. “But I get to ask the first question.  Ladies first, and all that.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Harry flashes a cheeky grin at her, his left eye dropping into a quick wink. “Start your inquisition, Watson.”

Harry’s been in this position millions of times, so he knows the types of questions that are about to tumble from Y/N’s pretty lips.  She’ll start off by asking where he grew up, and where he went to school, and how many siblings he has, before moving to things like why he moved to L.A., and how he made friends, and—

“What else did your mother teach you, besides manners?” Y/N asks suddenly, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth to catch a stray drop of liquid on her bottom lip as she lowers her glass. “And what was the most important thing?” 

The nature of the question catches Harry so off guard that he doesn’t remember to quell the throb in his chest where his heart used to beat at the mention of his mother, and the old half healed wound flares with pain.  What had his mother taught him?  Harry ponders the question as Y/N’s curious eyes ponder him.  What hadn’t she taught him? 

“My mother taught me…many things.  Many good things.  She was a wonderful woman.” Harry begins honestly, albeit carefully, speaking in a measured voice as his eyes fall to her opal ring that sits upon his pinky. “She taught me how to read as a child, before I began school.  She taught me...she taught me how to cook a bit.  I’m not nearly as good as she was, but I’m passable.  And yes, she did teach me how to behave around women, how to be respectful.  But the most important thing…”

Y/N watches as Harry’s eyes bore into the ring on his finger, as if he’s staring into a crystal ball of the past to search for an answer.  Perhaps, in a way, he is. 

“The most important thing,” Harry repeats again, his eyes finally snapping away from the entrapment of the ring. “Was how to let someone know you appreciate them.  It’s easy, I think, to go about your day without telling someone you care for them.” Stroking his thumb over the band of the ring, Harry thinks back to the countless ways his mother had wordlessly shown Harry and his sister how much she adored them. “Little touches, or little favours, things like that— those go a long way.  They help someone feel less alone.  They can be the difference between a good day and a bad day.  She used to, um,” A lump suddenly develops in his throat, and Harry struggles to swallow it down as he voices a memory he hasn’t spoken aloud in over a century. “She used to comb her fingers through my hair when I was a little boy, whenever I was upset.  I’d come home from—“ Harry cuts himself off before he mentions his father’s blacksmith forge, where he was an apprentice. “—from school, and she would take one look at me and be able to see I was frustrated.  She always sat in this big chair in front of the fireplace, and she’d pat her lap, and I’d sit in front of her knees and lay my head on her leg, and she’d card her fingers through my hair as I told her every bad thing that happened that day.” Unconsciously, Harry raises his own hand to his chestnut curls, raking his fingers through them.  The motion doesn’t bring nearly as much comfort as it once did. “She always listened.  She never made me feel like my problems were silly.  She just listened.  It made me feel better.  Made me feel…” The vampire’s hand drifts from his hair to his lips, rubbing over them pensively. “Loved.”

The mortal girl’s eyes soften as she listens to the memories of the man in front of her, who begins to look younger and younger with every word that falls from his lips.  Although she’s surprised by the candor of his answer, it pleases her; she thought pulling truths from Harry would be like pulling teeth.  One note of his story, however, catches her attention with an ache. 

“You said...you said she was a wonderful woman.” Y/N murmurs, carefully gauging Harry’s reaction to the question. “Is she...not anymore?”

“I’m sure she would be, but she passed away a…a while ago.” Harry’s eyes shift to the ring again, the dainty band with its opal stone standing out from the rest of his chunky jewelry.  Y/N wonders if that’s because it once belonged to someone else. “She got sick, and couldn’t get better.”

With a careful but tender motion, Y/N slides her hand across the table and settles it on top of Harry’s, cupping his larger hand in her smaller grasp. “I’m so sorry.” The sincerity in her voice snags Harry’s attention, and the vampire looks up to find the mortal staring at him with understanding eyes. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you.  You must miss her very much.”

It takes Harry a moment to clear the lump from his throat enough that he can choke out a response. “I-I do, yeah.  Every day.” He’s not sure if it’s his icy skin or the burn of Y/N’s touch, but he slowly pulls his hand from beneath her grasp, reaching for his glass of ice water instead.  He gulps down half the liquid, setting the cup down with a decisive thunk before pasting a strained smile onto his face. “But that’s enough of my sob story, don’t you think?  It’s my turn to ask a question.”

A small frown works its way over Y/N’s face as Harry pulls away, and she clasps her now empty hands together around the stem of her mimosa glass. “Fine.  What do you want to know?”

“The answer to my previous inquiry.” Harry’s emerald irises sweep over her figure, his tongue poking between his teeth as his simper becomes more genuine. “Someone must’ve really done a number on you if opening a door for you is a shock.  What’s the story there?”

Although she knew that this would be Harry’s first question, Y/N still bides her time by knocking back the rest of her mimosa in one swift gulp, wrinkling her nose at the lingering taste that catches in the back of her throat. “His name was Bradley.” She begins, tapping a fingernail against the delicate glass. “And he—”

“So sorry to cut you off, darling, but,” Harry raises a finger to pause her speech, his rings glinting in the L.A. sun. “Bradley?  You fucked someone named Bradley?”

“It was a small town!  It’s not like I had many options!” Y/N argues hotly, her eyes rolling harder than they ever have before. “Now are you going to be quiet and listen politely, or are you going to keep interrupting me before I can even begin?”

Harry laughs once, shaking his head with an amused air. “Sorry.  Continue.” Despite the teasing smirk still tugging at his lips, Harry raises a hand to the corner of his mouth, pretending to lock it shut with an imaginary key.  He even takes care to slide the invisible key into his shirt pocket, patting it with satisfaction once the deed is done. 

Y/N takes one more moment to glare at him, but Harry’s newfound silence continues, and so she does, as well. “His name was Bradley.  I met him through a mutual friend in our freshman year of high school.  I’d seen him around before, but we’d never talked, really.  And after he asked me to Homecoming, he just kind of…stuck.” The girl shrugs in a way of explanation. “Like, he started coming around more to my house, taking me out to movies.  And it was nice.  The attention, I mean.  There was no one else I was really interested in at school, and Bradley was cute, and he was friendly, and our families really liked each other.  It made sense.”

As she speaks, a crease works its way between Harry’s perfectly sculpted brows.  Most mortal romances, he’s come to find, are rather dull, but this one seems more boring than others, and he can’t stop himself from raising his jeweled hand in the air as if he were in one of the classes Y/N mentioned, waiting for the teacher to call on him for an answer. 

When Y/N notices the hand, an exasperated sigh falls from her mouth, but she leans across the table and retrieves the imaginary key from Harry’s shirt pocket, her warm fingers leaving pinpricks of fire across his chest.  A small smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips as those warm fingers touch the lifted spot, mimicking an unlocking motion before she sits back in her seat. “Yes?”

Harry rests a bent elbow on the table, propping his chin up on his fist as he leans forward. “I have a question.” He begins innocently, watching as Y/N narrows her eyes at his sudden polite intrigue.

“Yes?” She repeats again, wariness written into her tone as she evaluated the suspicious air of Harry’s behaviour. 

“I was just wondering how big Bradley’s dick is.” Harry’s grin grows to wicked proportions as Y/N’s mouth falls open in shock. “Because, honestly, he doesn’t seem to have that much going for him, and I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out why you dated him, and the only answer I can come up with is—“

“That his dick must be huge?”

“That he’s well endowed, yes.” Harry finishes smugly, tapping a finger against his chin. “I’m curious.  Are we talking about a carrot?  A cucumber?  A zucchini?” Lip twitching again, Harry stifles a laugh as Y/N’s face hardens with exasperation. “A stalk of celery?  I suppose the length could be a selling point, but if there’s not enough girth to fill you—”

“His dick wasn’t the reason I dated him.” Y/N replies flatly, a deadpan stare meeting Harry’s mirth filled eyes. ���Although, since you’re curious…it was the size of a cucumber, but not an English cucumber.  More of a garden variety.  Not incredibly girthy, but good for a beginner.”

“A beginner?” Intrigue sparks at the pit of Harry’s belly (along with what he thinks is jealousy, but he’ll wait to dissect that at a later date) as the vampire leans forward more. “This bloke was your first?”

“We were together for years, so—” Y/N cuts herself off with a shake of her head, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger nervously. “No, wait, that’s another question!  You don’t get another question if I didn’t!”

“But you haven’t finished answering my first question—”

“I would if you’d stop interrupting!” Silencing Harry with a stern look, Y/N holds up her left hand, pinching two of her fingers together. “Do I need to pretend to lock your mouth again like I would a seven year old, or can you sit and listen like an adult for five minutes?  What happened to that old fashioned chivalry from earlier?”

Harry lets out a defeated sigh, sitting back in his chair with proper posture.  He takes a moment to adjust himself, straightening his back, fixing the fall of his shirt, adjusting his cross, planting his feet on the ground of the patio, and finishing off the show by rolling out his shoulders before squaring them. “Alright, I’m sorry.  I’m ready to listen.  Please continue.”

The young woman inhales deeply, testing Harry’s rapt attention as she takes her time sipping her ice water.  When she sets the glass down and finds that Harry has stayed perfectly still, his irises glued to her, she continues. 

“So Bradley and I got together our freshman year, and stayed together for the rest of high school.  It was comfortable.  His mom liked me, and my parents liked him.  He came to church with us—” Y/N notes that Harry’s eyebrow lifts a quarter of an inch, but only for a moment before dropping back down into its neutral state. “—and he and I went out once or twice a week.  He was…nice.  But he didn’t do the stuff that you do, the…etiquette stuff.” She taps an index finger against the table, thinking back to all the movie and diner dates that have blurred together in her mind. “Well, he’d try, I suppose, but not in the way you do.  Whenever he did something that was supposed to be chivalrous or gallant, it felt like he was doing it because he thought I was incapable.  And when I brought it up, he got mad.” Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shy shrug as she smiles apologetically at Harry. “That’s why I didn’t understand you ordering for me.  I know you didn’t mean it in the way he did, I can tell that, but it just kind of…reminded me of him.  It left a bad taste in my mouth; he left a bad taste in my mouth, I guess.”

A beat of silence falls between them, and the intense way that Harry is looking at her is prickling the hair on the back of Y/N’s neck. 

“I get that.” The brunette speaks after a moment, voice low and accent thick. “Being haunted by someone.  Even after they’re gone, even after time passes…something can remind you of them, and it can be enough to bring you to your knees.”

Although Harry’s eyes are locked on hers, Y/N has the distinct feeling that he’s seeing someone else in her place.  Before she can ask what he means, however, he’s blinked himself out of the self-imposed trance. 

“So what was the final straw?” Harry clears his throat quietly as his mind comes back to the present. “Between you and Cucumber Dick?”

A tiny giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth despite her far from humorous answer. “Well—”

The telltale clicking of heels interrupts the unspoken thought, and within a moment, Paige is standing next to their table once again, a tray balanced on her hand with precision as she offers another one of her smiles to Harry. “Here you go—two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, and a side of hash browns.” The server sets the first plate down in front of Harry, but he quickly lifts it again and sets it down carefully in front of Y/N before accepting the second dish.  He repeats the motions with the hash browns, sliding them to the middle of the table and within Y/N’s reach. 

“Thank you.” Harry speaks with a kind tone, but offers no other comment to the girl, who’s allowed her eyes to slide to the dark ink that decorates Harry’s arms. 

“Of course.” Paige stutters, giving no pretense of paying attention to Y/N. “Could I get you anything else?”

Harry glances at Y/N’s empty mimosa glass, raising an eyebrow in question. “Would you like another drink?” He asks her slowly, his voice unsure.  Normally, he’d just order a second one for her without a thought, but now that he knows how she feels about him ordering for her, he’ll have to work on beating back that particular bit of Victorian etiquette. 

“I would, yes.” Y/N replies with a smile as she touches the stem of her empty glass. “Thank you.”

A strained smile flickers over Paige’s lips. “No problem.  I’ll be right back.”

Harry nods in satisfaction as he watches the server retreat. “There.  We have a few more minutes.  Keep talking.”

“Ah ah ah.” Y/N picks up her fork and sticks it into the hash browns, pulling away a crispy bite for herself. “I think I get to ask a question now, especially since you’ve crammed a few different inquiries into your last turn.”

“And here I was, thinking you loved when I crammed things into—”

“Harry.”

A teasing smile breaks across the vampire’s face, more genuine than Harry thought possible. “Fine.” He relents, cutting the corner off his crepes and popping the savory bite into his mouth. “What else would you like to know?”

Where to begin?  Y/N considers his question pensively as she takes a bite of her own crepe, her expression raising in surprise when she finds that she enjoys Harry’s entrée choice.  The smokiness and spice of the chorizo is undercut by the tangy saltiness of the cheese, all wrapped together with a few garnishes in the perfectly cooked crepe.  Savoring the bite as she chews, Y/N begins to run through the list of questions in her head. 

She could ask more about his family, but if the aching sadness that had radiated off of him at the mention of his mother was any hint, any answers Harry could give on that topic may be off tone for a first date.  And while inquiring about what he said before, about being haunted by someone seems promising, it may also be a bit too much.  As much as she dislikes talking about her personal life, she gets the feeling that Harry absolutely abhors it, and while she was surprised about him asking her on a date, she’s been even more surprised to find herself enjoying it.  The last thing she needs is to fuck that all up by interrogating him about an ex. 

With those two possibilities pushed aside, only one burning question is left on the tip of Y/N’s tongue, and she hurriedly swallows her mouthful of crepe before letting it fall. “Alright, I’ve got it.” Cocking her head to the side, Y/N points her fork at the man in an accusatory manner. “Did you ask me out on this date just because you were jealous I was out with Jacob?  Was that the only reason?  Because you saw me with him, and you didn’t like it?”

Harry wraps his ringed hand around his water glass, the metal of his jewelry clinking against the surface as he pulls a face.  Even if he wanted to be honest with Y/N about this, Harry isn’t quite sure what the honest answer would be.

“I’ll admit, I was a little…bothered by it.” Reluctance is threaded through every word that Harry manages to spit out. “Moreso by your taste in men than anything else— Jacob wasn’t exactly up to par.”

“It wasn’t like I chose him myself.” Y/N retorts, pulling a grape from the bunch of side fruit on her plate and popping it into her mouth. “Was that really all that bothered you?  That he wasn’t up to par?”

Tapping his fingers against the wooden table, Harry takes a moment to ponder the question. “No.” He says finally, deciding to continue his honesty streak. “No, that wasn’t all that bothered me.  You’re right, I didn’t like seeing you with him, but it wasn’t because of him.  Not entirely, anyways.  I can’t imagine I would’ve liked seeing you with anyone.”

A light flush works its way over the mortal’s cheeks, and Harry can hear the stuttered thumping of her heart. “Why?” She asks in a half whisper, her teeth worrying her bottom lip unconsciously. “Why is that?”

Harry muses the various answers he could give as Paige brings them refills on their mimosas.  It’s not like he can tell her that he wants to keep her available for snacking whenever he gets a little thirsty.  Well, he could, but then he’d have to wipe her mind, and he’s not particularly inclined to do that at the moment.  And, if he’s being honest with himself…he’s not entirely sure that’s the truth anymore.  Is sheer convenience the reason behind his terrible reaction to Y/N seeing someone else?  Or is that reaction linked to the way he felt when she opened her door to him that morning, and the sight of her all dolled up for him hit him like a truck?

Either way, none of those answers are suitable to confess in the moment, so Harry merely gives a dimpled grin. “That’s another question, darling.  We’re not very good at limiting ourselves, are we?”

“I suppose not, no.” Y/N smiles sheepishly as she takes a sip of her fresh mimosa, her eyes watching Harry over the rim of the glass. “Your turn, then.  What else do you want to know?”

What else would he like to know?  Harry thinks, taking another bite of chorizo as he mulls over the question.  Now that the floodgates have opened, now that he has the opportunity, now that he has the ability to ask, Harry wants to know everything.  He wants to know what makes Y/N tick, what her pet peeves are, and if she prefers mornings or nights.  He wants to know what her favourite school subject was, if she was ever in her school’s plays, or on any of the sports teams.  He wants to know her favourite flavour of ice cream, what TV shows she binge watches when she wants to distract herself, and if she’s really read all those books that line the floor to ceiling shelf in her room.  He wants to know her, he realizes.  She’s more fascinating than he ever thought possible, and her blood is more addicting than he knew.  He wants to know every aspect that molded her into the person sitting before him.  And one of those aspects is—

“Why did things end between you and Bradley?” He finally asks, his voice low and cautious. “Was it mutual, or...?”

Despite the time Harry took to think of his question, Y/N knew exactly what it was going to be, and she has her answer ready to go the moment the words roll from Harry’s pillowy lips. “He was cheating on me.” She admits with a sigh, her eyes glued to her mimosa glass as she swirls the orange liquid within it. “He went away for university, and I stayed home.  I guess he met someone at school.” Allowing her eyes to flick up to Harry for a moment, Y/N finds the man staring at her blankly with a harsh crease between his brows. “I kind of thought it was going to end, honestly.  He began to get more and more distant...we’d talk less over Skype or the phone...but I didn’t think he’d…” She trails off for a moment, thinking back to the day she found out. “Well.  He did.  I found out from his roommate, and the next day, he and I were through.  And almost five years of memories, time together, shared moments...all of that was just gone.”

Although it’s been years since things ended, and Y/N has moved on in tenfold, she can’t help the way her voice aches at the end of her explanation, which acts as proof of how the raw wound had healed in a way that wasn’t quite right.  No matter how much time passes, no matter how many people she’s been with, no matter how little she cares for Bradley now...nothing will change the fact that he hurt her.  Nothing will mend the jagged scar he created.  Sure, it may fade with time, but it’ll never disappear completely.  And as much as Y/N hates that Bradley still has an effect on her after all this time, she can’t change it.  She’s tried.

“That…” Harry’s cool hand wrapping around her own drags her back to the present, and she lifts her eyes to find the man staring at her with the most tender expression she’s ever seen his sculpted face wear. “That’s awful, Y/N.  I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“It’s—it’s fine.  Really.” Y/N half mumbles the words, distracted by the small circles Harry’s thumb is rubbing against the bone of her wrist.

Chestnut curls swaying, Harry adamantly shakes his head, the crease between his brows deepening with each passing moment. “Don’t.  It’s not fine.  You don’t have to make excuses for someone who hurt you.”

“I’m not making an excuse, I just—”

“Did he hurt you?” Harry’s jade irises fixate on her own with determination. “Yes or no?”

Once Y/N locks her eyes with Harry, she can’t look away.  His gaze nears hypnotic the more she looks. “Yes.  He hurt me.”

“Then he doesn’t deserve you making excuses for him.” The vampire squeezes her hand to emphasize his answer.  Although he’s not compelling her to understand him, Harry looks at her with an unfamiliar sincerity that he hopes makes the depth of his words resonate within her. “You may be fine now, or you may not be, but the situation itself wasn’t fine.  Don’t use your healing as an excuse for his behaviour.  You shouldn’t have had to heal yourself in the first place.”

The gravity of his words rings in Y/N’s ears, and the girl gapes at him for a moment, her mouth half open in shock, before the realization of what he’s saying hits her.  The way he’s staring at her…it’s nearly uncomfortable, the way he sees her.  She almost can’t bear it.  How does he know to say exactly what she needs to hear, even if she doesn’t know she needs to hear it?  Since the first night they slept together, when he reassured her that she could relax and let loose, Harry has been honest and reassuring.  And although Y/N has greatly appreciated that trait in the bedroom, when she’s been at her most vulnerable in a physical aspect…her eyes lock with Harry’s once more, finding them still as steadfast as ever.  This may be the most vulnerable she’s been emotionally in a long time.  And the idea of that, for once, doesn’t completely terrify her. 

The questions get more and more personal from there.  Although there’s a few lighthearted inquiries sprinkled in to ease the tension (“What was the name of your first pet?” “It was a cat named Mr. Snuffleupagus.  I named him after the Sesame Street character.  What’s your earliest childhood memory?” “My sister nearly drowning me in a lake.  She thought I would float.”), the majority of questions asked are things that neither person ever thought they would admit to someone else.  

Those questions range from vaguely prying (“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” “Seventeen.  It was with—” “Bradley and his beginner penis, right.” “Alright, smart ass, who did you lose yours to?” “My first girlfriend.”) to diving deep into memories, stories, and opinions that neither have so much as breathed to themselves in the dark of the night, let alone someone else.

Despite the plan having been to leave after brunch, the pair find themselves engrossed in their conversation, drinking mimosa after mimosa as the late morning bleeds into early afternoon, and they continue to discover each other. 

As Y/N takes a sip of her fourth beverage, Harry regards her with curious eyes, which are focused on picking apart every moment of her body to dissect and devour in his head when he’s alone that night. “So you said pretty much everyone from your hometown marries their high school sweetheart.” He asks slowly, rubbing a jeweled finger over his ice-swollen lips. “But you didn’t, obviously.”

“No, I did not.” Y/N says in agreement, a tipsy snort sounding from the back of her throat as she raises her fluted glass in a toast. “Thank fuck, honestly.  Could you imagine me as a wife right now?  And a mother?  With children?”

Finger tapping against his lip, a cheeky grin tugs at the very corner of his mouth. “No, I couldn’t, frankly.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he answers. “But what I’d like to know is…do you believe in it?  Marriage, I mean?  Because you said your parents had rough patches, and you thought they mostly stayed together just to stay together, and you and Gherkin Pickle didn’t last—”

“I’m sorry, Gherkin Pickle—?”

“So what I want to know is…” With his thumb and knuckle still grazing his chin, Harry points his finger at the girl across the table. “Marriage.  Do you think there’s value in it?  Do you think someone can be monogamous for their entire life?  Do you want to get married someday?”

The alcohol is beginning to soak into Y/N’s brain, making her bolder with every thump of her heart in her chest.  She leans across the table to ghost her fingers over Harry’s knuckles, continuing to glide them over his cool skin until she reaches his statement rings. “Why?” She asks, a smirk twinkling its way onto her face. “Are you asking?”

“Not quite yet, no.” Harry can feel the alcohol beginning to buzz through his stagnant veins, and he’ll later blame his flirtatious response on the pleasant feeling. “Although you in that dress has me half considering it.”

“Only half considering it?” Y/N clicks her tongue in feigned disappointment, swirling the tip of her index finger over the opal ring that sits upon Harry’s pinkie. “That’s a bit disheartening.  I’ll have to up my game, huh?”

The sight of Y/N’s lithe finger tracing his mother’s ring sends a shock through Harry’s buzzing body.  He can’t quite tell if it’s the witty banter that she matches perfectly and with ease, the lighthearted smile that lifts her soft lips, the gentle pulse he can feel reverberating through her fingertip, or the cleavage that’s just barely slipping out of her dress as she leans over, but Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the mortal girl, not for one second.  He doesn’t want to miss a single moment of her like this.  How it’s all for him. 

“You know, I’m starting to regret my earlier proposal.” He murmurs quietly, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue as he watches the mortal take a long sip of her mimosa. “How much begging would it take to convince you to follow me to the bathroom right now for a little fun?”

Despite the warmth pooling between her thighs at the offer, Y/N shakes her head. “Too much begging.” She replies, setting her glass back down on the table with a soft clink.  She can already tell there’s a good chance that she’ll go back on the agreement they made, but she wants to make him sweat first.  As much as it tortures her, she knows it tortures him more.  And he’s certainly done his fair share of torturing.  Now it’s her turn. “But speaking of proposals…”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t push the subject of bathroom quickies again. “Right.” He pauses with his glass half raised to his lips. “Marriage.  Thoughts?”

Harry’s attention is rapt as his eyes drift to the mortal’s lips, which pucker slightly as her lightly inebriated mind thinks through the question.  Not for the first time, he wishes he had the ability to take a look inside her head and see how her thoughts form before she voices them. 

“I think…” She fixes her fork against her plate with a clink, her voice light but thoughtful as she forms her response. “I do think there’s value in marriage, but not inherently.  It’s not valuable just because it exists; I think it becomes valuable based on the work you put into it.  My parents, for example…” Her finger begins to circle Harry’s icy knuckle absentmindedly. “My parents didn’t put much work in, so I don’t think their marriage has that much value in comparison to what it could have if they tried.  But if two people put effort in, and strive to be the best partner they can be…I think there’s tremendous value in that.”

Harry responds with a low hum in the back of his throat. “That stands to reason.” He wishes he could take her hand in his own, but the sensation of her warm fingers tracing his skin is too wonderful to pull away. “What about monogamy?  Do you think it’s realistic?”

“I suppose my answer is the same.” Y/N shrugs lightly as her soft skin catches on the corner of Harry’s H ring. “It’s different for everyone, but I do think it can be realistic.  What’s not realistic is the idea that it’s easy.  People change over time, right?  Sometimes someone can change into someone completely different.  You have to expect that, and be flexible with it.”

For the first time since the beginning of their date, an uncomfortably negative feeling buzzes in the pit of Harry’s belly.  Of course Y/N thinks people change—she’s mortal.  But Harry, on the other hand… Harry is forever frozen at twenty-six.  Harry is static.  Harry is stagnant.  However Y/N will change, Harry cannot match it.  Ever. 

That realization helps him identify the uncomfortable feeling as his eyes fall on the girl’s finger tracing his rings.  It’s longing, he discovers, unable to look away from the way her fingernail scratches his immortal skin without so much as leaving a pinkening mark.  Harry will never change again, while Y/N has a whole life of it ahead of her.  Millions of possibilities that lead to millions of more possibilities, always shifting, never staying the same from one moment to the next. 

“As for your last question…” Y/N’s familiar cadence pulls Harry from his thoughts. “I’m not sure.  I wouldn’t completely rule out marriage, but it’s not an active goal of mine.  It all depends on finding someone I think I could grow with and still love at the end of every day.  And despite how simple that sounds,” The short laugh that leaves her mouth is wistful, but hides a tinge of bitterness. “It’s surprisingly hard to find.”

“It is, yeah.” Harry agrees, finishing the remnants of his mimosa with one fell swoop. “Incredibly hard.” His gaze sweeps to Y/N’s glass, which has about one more gulp of liquid left in it.  With the hand not within her grasp, he reaches across the table, picking up the glass and lifting it to her lips. “May I, pet?”

He can hear the way her heartbeat stutters in her chest, and feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she nods slowly.  Harry places the glass between her lips, carefully tilting it back until the drink runs out of the crystal and into her awaiting mouth.  A small droplet streaks from the corner of Y/N’s mouth, and Harry is sure to catch it on his finger after setting the glass down. 

Y/N knows that Harry is doing his best to fluster her, and while it’s working, she knows that she can play the game just as well as he can.  Keeping her eyes on his like a challenge, she grasps the hand touching the corner of her mouth, guiding his finger beyond her lips with a firm grip.  The sweetness of the orange juice and champagne concoction swells across her tongue, but that’s nothing compared to the sweetness of watching Harry’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. 

Pulling his finger from her mouth with a quiet pop, Y/N sets his hand back down on the table, squeezing it once before releasing both of his hands and resting her elbows on the table.  She steeples her fingers together, setting her chin on the makeshift rest as she regards Harry’s darkening eyes. 

“Thanks.” She murmurs, tilting her head to the side lazily as Harry shifts in his chair. “Didn’t realize I missed a drop.  That was a sharp catch, Holmes.”

Harry can’t help but flex his finger as his gaze drops to the digit, catching how a light sheen of saliva covers his skin.  Heat floods between his thighs, making him regret his choice of fashionable linen pants over standard jeans.  “Thank you, Watson.” He matches her banter, albeit with a slightly strained voice. “Shall we order another drink, now that we’ve both finished?”

The question hangs in the air between them like an invitation, open ended and carefully calculated.  Y/N leans forward again, unlocking one of her hands to run a finger over the dark ink staining Harry’s exposed forearm. “I think we should grab the check, actually.” She wets her lips with a swipe of her tongue as she feels Harry’s muscle tense under her touch. “I think I’ve had enough to drink.  Have you?”

All the moisture in Harry’s mouth disappears, his throat burning as the mortal girl’s scent envelops him with every move.  His eyes flicker to her neck, where the thumping of her heart is practically visible underneath her fragile skin.  With his inhuman eyes, he can just make out the ghost of a bruise he sucked into her neck a few nights before.  

Has he had enough to drink?  No.  He’ll never get enough.  But that’s not what Y/N means by the innocuous question. 

“I’ve had my fill, yeah.” Jerking his head in agreement, Harry motions towards the window, where he knows Paige has been analyzing every move between them.  Her displeasure at the close interactions between Harry and Y/N is nearly palpable as she makes her way back to their table, and Harry wonders if Y/N can also sense it, as she seems to be more perceptive than the average human.  When he turns his attention back to her, however, his brow creases in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, watching as Y/N shifts through her woven bag and extracts her wallet. 

“Grabbing my wallet?” Her expression is just as confused as his own when she replies. “To pay?”

“To—?  No.  Put that away.” Harry says sternly, using the same dominant tone he adopts in the bedroom (only half on purpose). “This is a date.  I’m paying.”

“This isn’t the 18th century, H.  We can split the bill.” Y/N begins to roll her eyes as she opens her wallet, reaching for the debit card stamped neatly with her name.

“I’m well aware it’s not the 18th century, love.” Lip twitching from the wry irony, Harry gently places his hand on her own and closes her wallet. “But it’s a date— our first one, at that— and I’d like to pay for you.  It’s just manners.” 

Although he can feel the grip on her wallet loosening, there’s still a degree of hesitancy apparent in Y/N’s eyes. “Harry—”

“And I don’t mean that in a chauvinistic way, and I don’t mean to imply that you’re incapable of paying.” He swipes his thumb over her knuckle once, letting his physical touch reinforce his words. “I asked you out, yeah?  So I think it’s only fair that I pay.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s pillowy lips as she worries them between her teeth, her resolve getting weaker and weaker with every passing moment.  It only takes three more beats of her heart for her to give a small nod, and Harry, satisfied that she’s agreed, reaches for his wallet to pay the bill.

Despite the temptation to short change Paige on the tip for her disregard for his date, Harry still leaves a sizable tip, saying goodbye to the server with a polite— and only polite— smile.  Once she has her back turned, however, Harry flashes his most genuine grin at Y/N as he scoots his chair away from the table to stand.

Y/N’s hands grip the sides of her chair to match Harry’s motion, but she freezes once she sees the man step towards her.  Within a moment, his jeweled hands are wrapped around the back of her chair, carefully pulling it out before offering her a hand to help her stand.

“Is this going to be a thing now?” Y/N asks, nodding to their clasped hands as she pulls her bag over her shoulder. “Pulling out chairs, opening doors—”

Placing his hand on the small of her back once again, Harry scoffs. “It’s always been a thing,” He argues, guiding her to the patio door and through the restaurant. “You’ve just been dating pricks, apparently.”

Despite his answer, however, even Harry can’t deny that the urge to resurrect his Victorian etiquette is as strange as it is sudden.  And, truth be told, there is something deeply pleasing in the light flush of blood he can hear work its way over Y/N’s cheeks when he opens the door of the restaurant for her, opens the car door, takes her hand to help her in, and shuts the door carefully before making his way to the driver’s side.  

It’s easy to spend the short drive back to her building with his hand entwined with hers, their fingers woven together as Harry’s thumb moves over her knuckles.  Y/N’s skin, like usual, is so warm, almost as if she’s made from sunshine herself.  At this point, Harry wouldn’t be surprised to learn that; her blood could certainly pass for being made from stardust. 

It’s all too soon that Harry is pulling into a parking spot in front of Y/N’s building and turning the key in the ignition, his favourite car smoothly powering down in one fell swoop.  Once the sound of the engine dies down, his eyes refocus on the girl next to him. 

Y/N, in comparison, is just as focused on Harry as Harry is on her.  She knows that it’s time to let go of his hand, time to climb out of the car, time to return to her apartment alone.  Time to fall out of the fantasy that has been this afternoon.  Despite knowing all of this, however, she stays glued to the seat, her eyes locked with Harry’s emerald irises in a soft battle. 

Harry is well aware of the predicament he’s found himself in.  While he was the one to establish the no sex rule in an attempt to keep Y/N comfortable, it’s becoming harder and harder to stick to it with every passing moment.  If he was smart, he’d bid the girl goodbye here, allow her to walk herself into her building, thereby erasing any possibility of him charming her into allowing him inside her apartment.  Then, once he was safely back home, he could draw himself a hot bath, scent it with lavender epsom salts, close his eyes to picture the way Y/N looks with laughter in her eyes, the sun spilling across her cheeks, her dress’ neckline falling dangerously low, and tug himself to a tension-relieving climax. 

However, Harry has never been known for his intelligence. Not as much as he’s been known for his recklessness.

Before he can second guess his most likely terrible decisions, Harry is out of the car and opening Y/N’s door.  He’s helping her out.  He’s guiding her into her building, and climbing up the stairs of her fifth floor walk up with her hand locked in his.  And now he’s standing in front of her apartment door, with Y/N shyly looking at him as she bites her fucking lip, completely unaware of the rampage raging inside the vampire before her. 

And the most infuriating, frustrating thing about the entire situation is the way Y/N is looking at him, like she can barely hold his gaze, but can’t force herself to look away.  Harry can feel the waves of need and uncertainty radiating from her, hear the thumping of her heart in her chest.  The last time she looked at him like this, like she’s unsure of where they stand, was the first night they met.  Harry remembers how she fumbled with her keys, nervously invited him in, and then let him use her in a way that literally drove him to his most primal state.  He remembers the euphoria of sinking his teeth into her neck, tasting her ridiculously sweet blood for the first time as his orgasm rolled over him, wave after wave of intense pleasure blurring together as his eyes burned crimson, the lewd sounds of their bodies moving together, the desperate whines that echoed from her throat...

“Thank you for lunch.” Y/N’s sweet voice interrupts his walk down memory lane, and with good timing— five more seconds, and Harry would have been pushing her against her front door to rut her dress up and slip inside her. “And the drinks.  I had a really nice time.”

Clearing his throat, Harry pushes the indecent thoughts from his head as best he can.  He can take care of this later, he tells himself.  He just has to be a gentleman for a few more minutes, and then he can go home, and be as depraved as he needs to be. “I did, as well.” The vampire squeezes her hand in preparation of letting go of it. “A really lovely time, actually.  I’d like to do it again.”

The way Y/N’s eyes widen ever so slightly as her breath just barely hitches, both of which would be imperceivable to human senses, makes Harry bite back a laugh. “I would too.” A more reassured smile rolls over her face as she leads his hand to her waist, setting it just over her hip and squeezing his fingers around her love handles. 

Even after everything Harry has done to her, all the ways he’s seen her, felt her, made her feel— even after all that— his hand on her hip over her dress still sends a shiver down her spine. “I don’t want you to go…” She confesses in a quiet voice, rubbing her thumb over his icy knuckles. “It feels strange, not having you come inside…”

“I know.” A sigh escapes Harry’s lips as he leans down, brushing his forehead over hers as he murmurs his response, his voice dangerously low. “But if I come inside, I know what I’ll do.  And I promised that I would behave myself today.”

“I don’t mind breaking promises.” Y/N wisps, closing her eyes as Harry’s breath, tinged with orange from the mimosa and mint from the candy the restaurant gave them with the bill, rolls over her in a delicious wave. 

Nudging his nose against her own, Harry shakes his head with the smallest of motions, his fingertips digging further into Y/N’s love handles. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His lips ghost over hers, barely even brushing before he pulls away again. “One of us needs to have some self control.”

Y/N wedges her free hand between their bodies, resting it over Harry’s chest with her fingers curled along the unbuttoned edge of his shirt. “If you insist.” Her fingernails dig just the slightest bit into Harry’s sturdy chest, savouring the way she feels his body tense beneath her. “If you want to be boring, then that’s fine.”

Harry laughs quietly at the small attempt to tease his ego, and although his instinct tells him to prove her wrong, he just nods his head. “Am I too boring to receive a goodbye kiss?” He brushes a loose hair back from her forehead before cradling her warm cheek, guiding his thumb over her cheekbone in a repeated action. “Haven’t kissed you in hours.  Feels wrong.”

Butterflies burst into flight in Y/N’s stomach at the innocent request coupled with the sweet explanation.  They’ve done everything in the wrong order, she thinks, as she allows Harry to smudge small pecks along her chin and cheeks.  The very first night they met, she allowed him to use her in any way he wanted, and he allowed her the same luxury.  They’ve spent the last month exploring each other’s bodies, getting to know every nook and cranny, every preference.  They’ve grown accustomed to how the other moves in their sleep, how they wake up in the morning, if they shower at sunrise or sunset.  And now, after all that, they’ve finally had what has probably been the best first date in the history of first dates, and this man, who has already coaxed countless orgasms from her shivering body, who has learned all of her likes and dislikes, is asking for a goodbye kiss like a nervous teenager walking his crush home from biology class.

How could she refuse him?

The answer is simple: she can’t.  In fact, she’s not sure she could refuse Harry anything he asked of her.  And maybe that would be worrisome— it probably should be worrisome— if the idea of giving Harry whatever he wanted didn’t bring a wave of warmth to Y/N’s belly that travels from her center to the very tips of her fingers.

“No,” She wraps the loose fabric of his shirt around her fingers, clutching him as close as she possibly can. “You’re not too boring, H.  You’re never boring.” Y/N sucks in a breath as she feels Harry’s teeth graze over her jaw, marking her ever so slightly as her lover makes his way back to her lips fervently. 

He smudges a kiss at the corner of her lips, pulling a strained whimper from her as she waits for him to kiss her properly. 

“Ask me.” He whispers, grazing his fingers over her cheekbone again and again. “Ask me to kiss you.  I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

The request is so innocent compared to everything else Harry has ever asked her to do, and his voice lacks the dominant command it usually carries over her, but Y/N feels just as weak as she would if he ordered her to get on her knees. “Harry…” Her voice floats through the miniscule space between them, so quiet that it’s barely audible over their laboured breathing, but Harry still thinks it sounds like a song. “Please kiss me.  Kiss me goodbye.”

A groan reverberates in the back of Harry’s throat, and the tiny molecule of composure that he has left in him slips away as he glides his lips over her own silky pair, his fingers threading into her hair on instinct.  Although he does his best to restrain himself, it becomes more difficult with every passing moment, and becomes damn near impossible when he hears the way Y/N whines at the sensation of their lips brushing together with more and more force.

Despite his best efforts, Harry soon finds his hands moving of their own accord as his palm travels from Y/N’s hip towards her ass, ruffling her dress as he grips her and thrusts a leg between her own.  He backs the mortal up into her door, her back hitting the wood with a delicate thud, and the groan she releases worries him for a split second before he feels her grind against his thigh situated between her legs.

Harry knows that the pretense of this just being a goodbye kiss went out the window the moment he touched her, and although she’s responding in kind, he has to live up to his word.  He has to.  He swore that he wouldn’t fuck her today, and as much as he wants to, as much as it seems that she wants to— and if the red hot heat burning his thigh is any hint, she very much wants to— he has to regain some self control.  Despite all his shortcomings, or how his thirst for her blood outweighs any other desire he has for her, he has to remain a gentleman.  Even if it means peeling himself away from the beautiful girl who is scratching at his chest, moaning into his mouth, grinding against his thigh, and speaking between ragged gasps—

“Fuck the promise.” She groans into his ear, her teeth grazing over his lobe with more pressure than Harry thought her capable. “Please, H.  I know what we said, but I need you.” 

Harry curses under his breath at the sensation, his eyes rolling back into his head for a split second, and he knows that if he doesn’t distance himself, he’ll succumb to her begging. “I can’t, darling.  I can’t.” He chokes out the words between pants, bumping his forehead against Y/N’s as he struggles to catch a breath that he’s forgotten he doesn’t need.  It’s funny, he manages to think, how he teased Y/N for not keeping her hands off him earlier, when he’s the one who can’t bear to be away from her touch now. “I want to— Christ, I want to— but I’m trying to behave.”

“Behaving is stupid.” Y/N mutters, smudging her lips across Harry’s stubbled jaw and down his neck, leaving small marks in her wake. “What happened to giving into desires?”

Good fucking question.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut tightly, a choked laugh escaping his heaving chest. “That was when we were just fucking.  Now we’re…”

Y/N regards the man with hooded eyes, a flutter of hope shining through the desire that’s settled in her chest.  What exactly are they?  They’re not dating, she knows that for certain.  But they’re not exactly just fuck buddies anymore. “We’re what?” She prompts after Harry trails off. 

“We’re…” Harry struggles to form a coherent thought, too entranced by the feeling of Y/N in his arms to think straight.  Sucking in a deep breath, the fragrant scent of the girl’s arousal burning his throat, Harry forces himself to take the smallest step back from her, although his hands stay locked around her hip and her cheek. “We’re saying goodbye.”

A defeated sigh falls from Y/N’s swollen lips, but she nods gently at the man before her, brushing her thumb over his exposed collar bones with great care. “Alright.” She mumbles, disappointment laced through her voice. “Goodbye.”

The glum tone brings a small smile to Harry’s cherry lips. “It’s just for a little while, love.  Not forever.” Harry teases her as he swipes his thumb over her flushed cheek. “Couldn’t stay away from you that long.” 

The breathless flush turns into a pleased warmth as Y/N struggles to hide the smile threatening to break across her expression.  Taking the change in mood as a hint, Harry ducks his head, pressing his lips against hers with an earnest softness for just a moment before stepping back and releasing the mortal girl from his grasp.

“Goodbye.” He murmurs again, his belly aching at the thought of leaving Y/N alone for the rest of the day.  It really does feel unnatural, he’s surprised to find.  Has he really gotten that used to being around her?

It’s a strange process, leaving Harry at the door.  After she finally says goodbye again, shuts the door, locks it tightly, and slips on the chain, Y/N finds herself touching the wood, her palm pressed flat against the surface as if she can feel Harry on the other side.  It takes her a moment to walk away from it, the buzz of the mimosas and their first date streaming through her veins.

Checking her phone for the first time, Y/N is surprised to find that it’s nearly 4pm— had they really been in the restaurant for almost five hours?  No wonder the server had been giving her a dirty look; they’d spent so long just talking and sipping drinks, ordering no other food, and not giving up their table.  She’d probably be glaring too.

Admittedly, there is a slight rumble in Y/N’s stomach, as they ate over four hours ago, but she ignores it as she takes a seat on the couch to untie her pink vans, tossing them into the corner before slipping off her jean jacket.  She tosses that over the couch too, running her hands through her mussed hair.  She’s not quite sure what she’ll do with the rest of her day now that she’s alone.  She could indulge some reading, or answer some messages from relatives, or maybe even—

A pounding on the door disrupts her thoughts, jerking her eyes from the book on her coffee table to her front door.  With her brow furrowed in confusion, Y/N rises from the couch and walks to the door, gliding the chain free and turning the lock before swinging the door open.

Braced in the doorway with shining eyes, ruddy cheeks, and a heaving chest as if he’s run all the way back up to her apartment, is Harry.  He takes a moment to compose himself, swiping his tongue over his lips as she takes in her more relaxed appearance.

“I couldn’t go.” He confesses, answering the question on the tip of Y/N’s tongue before she even has the chance to speak it. “I made it down to my car, and then—”

Y/N grabs him by the front of his shirt and yanks him into her apartment, slamming the door behind them before reaching for Harry again.  His hands are already outstretched to receive her, having grown used to their intimacy routine, and she’s pleased when he automatically rests his palms on her lower back and her neck as she wedges her lips between his once again.

“I don’t want you to go.” Y/N gasps the words against his mouth, barely peeling herself back from him to utter the sentence. “I need you so fucking bad, H, please—”

With great difficulty, Harry attempts to think straight, but it gets harder when Y/N bucks her hips and— well, it gets harder. “I meant what I said, Y/N.  I did, I—I made a promise, and I have to—”

“What do I have to do?” Y/N demands, tangling her fingers in Harry’s chestnut curls and forcing him to look her in the eye. “I fucking need something, Harry, and you’re the only one who can fix it.”

Christ.  Harry’s had his suspicions, but now he’s convinced that this girl has some direct line to all his weaknesses, because she knows exactly how to stroke his ego like no one else has before.  She presses every one of his buttons every time.  She’s allowed him to handcuff her, take her in every position, manhandle her, slap her around, and she still begs him for more.  Is there anything that she hasn’t done better than anyone else?

And that’s when it hits him.  The perfect loophole.

Harry is so excited at the possibility of relief that he nearly whimpers, just barely managing to bite back the sound at the last second as he smooths his fingers over his lover’s wild hair. “What about when I’m not here, pet?” He goads her softly, a glint shining in the corner of his darkening eyes. “What do you do then?”

“I…” Although confusion is present in Y/N’s voice, she answers him promptly— she’s gotten used to obeying his sexual requests over the course of the month. “I call you.  And you...you tell me what to do, usually.”

“Tell you what?” Harry hungrily prompts her again, tugging on her hair with the lightest of touches.  Like before, he wants to hear her say it. “What do I tell you to do?”

“You tell me how to—how to touch myself.” The mortal girl stammers, shyness creeping into her tone despite having begged for Harry mere moments earlier. “And then I do.”

“You do.  You behave so well for me.” Keeping his voice as smooth and sensual as possible— which isn’t hard for him, if he’s honest— Harry twirls a lock of Y/N’s hair around his finger, wrapping it around the length as his fingertip brushes over her lip. “I tell you what to do, and you do it.  And you moan for me, and send me the prettiest pictures.” He presses harder against her lip, dragging her mouth open as a whimper escapes. “And I always think: what would it be like to see that in person?”

Although the effect of the mimosas has faded by now, Y/N’s head is swimming in a cloud of Harry’s cologne and her own lust, and she struggles to understand the double meaning in his words. “What—what do you mean?  You’ve seen me in bed—”

The innocent confusion in her voice tantalizes Harry in the best way. “When I’m touching you.  But that’s not what I want.” He murmurs, grinding his hips back into her own. “I know how to get around my promise.”

He watches as the realization dawns on Y/N’s face, her heart stuttering as warmth floods through her body. “Y-you mean—?  You want to see me…?”

“I want to see you touch yourself.” Harry finishes her thought as his eyes darken, and he licks his lips at the image of Y/N laid out on her bed, legs spread wide, showing off just for him.  Only for him. “Will you let me?”

And there it is.  That wave of warmth and desire spreads through Y/N’s tummy, begging her to say yes to any request that falls from Harry’s mouth.  The urge is so strong that she nearly begins to strip, her fingers edging to the hem of her dress, before she manages to form a clear thought of pause. “Are you sure you want to see me…?” She dances around the word for a second time. “Like, I—I don’t know if it’s very sexy, or—”

“Is that a fucking joke?” Harry laughs incredulously, his thumb swiping over the edge of Y/N’s jaw.  He could leave so many pretty marks… “Of course it’ll be sexy.  Christ, love, it’s fucking you.”

The statement that Harry makes is so sure, so confident, that it nearly sends Y/N reeling.  The human’s eyelids flutter as he begins to pepper kisses along her cheekbones and down her jaw, his tongue swiping over her sensitive skin every few moments. 

“Anything you do is sexy.” He whispers the words against her skin, his voice low and accent thick enough that it seems to fill the entire hallway. “Literally anything… How you lick your lips after taking a drink, how you get in and out of my car so delicately… It’s all so fucking erotic.” Y/N shivers when a breath of cool air hits the damp skin of her neck as Harry laughs lightly. “I’ve got a bloody hard-on nearly every moment of the day.”

Hearing the confession that tumbled from Harry’s cool lips, Y/N thinks, is the verbal equivalent of doing three shots of tequila and chasing with a vodka soda.  The words wash over her as easily as Harry’s cologne does whenever she gets close to him, and her fingers tug on his brunette locks with need. “Really?  Even today?”

“Are you kidding?  Especially today.  Look at what you’re wearing…” His icy fingers skim down her neck before tracing over the cleavage that the neckline of her yellow dress leaves exposed. “Every time you leaned over to take a bite of food, I nearly came in my trousers.”

Despite the desire curling itself around Y/N’s core, she can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “That would’ve been a sight.” She scratches her nails lightly against Harry’s scalp, the motion surprisingly tender for their topic of conversation. “Would’ve had to ask Paige for another napkin.”

“It would’ve been properly humiliating, yeah.” Harry agrees easily, unconcerned with the thought as his lips follow the path led by his fingers. “But it would’ve been worth it.”

While the pair’s position is rather incriminating— Y/N’s hands in Harry’s hair, Harry clutching her as close as possible, his lips travelling over any exposed skin he can find— there’s an air of careful consideration floating around them.  As much as Harry wants to see the girl in his arms pleasure herself, he wants it to be her decision.  Anything less wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying. 

“Y’don’t have to do it just for me, Y/N.” The vampire takes the slightest step back to give her some room to breathe without his close proximity to cloud her judgement. “But if it’s my reaction you’re worried about…” Harry untangles one of her hands from his hair, ghosting it down his body before cautiously laying it over his white linen trousers, where his bulge is growing more prominent by the second. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

A desperate whine nearly escapes Y/N’s mouth, but she manages to bite it back at the last moment.  She wants him.  As nervous as she is to have him watch her touch herself, she’s more turned on than anything.  When she sends Harry explicit texts and photos that are most certainly not safe for work, part of the thrill is the reaction she gets from him.  A dirty photo is only as sexy as the other person’s reception of it.  To see Harry’s reactions in person… it would be a lie to say she’s not into the idea. 

But it would also be a lie to say that she doesn’t want something in return. 

“Alright.  You can watch me.” Y/N relents with a sigh, and she takes a moment to enjoy the triumphant look in Harry’s eyes before tacking on her addendum. “On one condition.”

“Anything.” 

Y/N squeezes her hand over his bulge, making the slightest stroking motion upwards towards his belly as a low groan rolls from Harry’s mouth. “I get to watch you touch yourself, too.”

There’s not even a moment of hesitation. “Done.” Harry seals his lips over hers firmly the moment the word exits his mouth, grinding against her hand as he backs her into the wall.  Her back hits the panel with a quiet thud, but Y/N is too busy twisting her fingers around the button of Harry’s pants to notice. 

“Ah ah ah.” Harry tuts as his jeweled hand grabs her wrist, pulling it away from his hardening cock while making sure not to use too much strength on her fragile joint. “You don’t get to do that, pet.  You’ll only be undressing yourself tonight.  It’s only fair.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve to talk about fair.” Y/N huffs her reply, but doesn’t pull her wrist from her lover’s grip. “You’re the one who made the stupid rule in the first place!”

Clicking his tongue, Harry takes another step back from the young woman while keeping his other hand floating over her hip. “And you agreed.” He reminds her as the corner of his lip tugs up. “So I think it’s best you behave, don’t you?”

Although the statement turns her legs to jelly, Y/N doesn’t let it show, and instead steels her resolve as best she can. “I’m behaving.” She mutters, crossing her free hand underneath the arm in Harry’s grip. 

“That’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it?” Harry swipes his thumb over the delicate bones of her wrist, feeling her pulse stutter beneath his touch.  The vampire swallows the venom that spills into his mouth at the thumping rhythm.  He’ll have time for that later. 

Chest heaving, Y/N wets her dry lips as best she can despite the lack of moisture in her mouth. “So where are we…?” She trails off as she glances down the hallway of her apartment. “The living room is probably best, position wise…one of us can be on the couch, and the other on a chair.”

“That’s true…” Harry nods his head, but a frown settles over his pillowy lips. “But it’s not very comfortable for you.  You usually lie down when you get off, don’t you?” Like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it’s spoken with a tone of efficiency and casual observance, simply to find the best approach for any situation. 

And, like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it sends a shock of warmth into her panties. 

“I-I do, yeah.” Y/N stutters her response, clearing her throat before adding onto the short statement. “I’m usually in bed.”

Harry nods expectantly, like her reply is just a confirmation for him. “We’ll go to your bedroom, then.” He says decisively, his grip on her wrist loosening. “You can lie down, get comfortable.  I’ll stand.”

Leading the mortal to her bedroom, Harry slides open the door, guiding her inside before shutting it with a firm click.  When he turns back around to look at her, she’s looking at him expectantly, her fingers twisting around each other as she stares at him with wide eyes.  She trusts him, he realizes, not for the first time.  She really does trust him. 

Although the anticipation is written clearly across her pretty features, Harry knows she needs a small prompt to begin. “How are you usually dressed when you do this alone?” He asks quietly, his own fingers working over the buttons on his shirt smoothly. “Completely bare?  Fully clothed?  Underwear only?” One of his dimples makes an appearance as he smiles with half his mouth. “Wearing only that sweater of mine that you’ve pretty much stolen?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that sweater’s too warm.” Y/N replies with an eye roll, tugging off the jean jacket covering her smooth shoulders. “I, um…it depends.  If it’s just quick, then usually I’m clothed, but if I’m taking my time, then I’ll just, um, I’ll be in my underwear.  Sometimes just my bra.”

Harry’s fingers finish with his last button, and he leaves his open shirt draped over his tall frame. “We’ll be taking our time, angel.  So just get as comfortable as you usually would.”

Y/N nods her head in a jerking manner, sucking in a deep breath through her parted lips in an attempt to calm the heave that threatens her chest.  The erotic tension in the air could be cut with a knife as she tosses her jacket to the side and works her fingers over the zipper of her dress, which catches for a moment and puts up a struggle as she fights to undo it.  Once she wins the battle, she tugs the yellow dress down her shoulders, letting it pool around her ankles before stepping out of it and tossing it to the side.  Her bra and panties aren’t matching, with the former being a delicate baby pink lace, while the latter are lavender cotton, but she doesn’t let herself focus on that detail.  Instead, her fingers hover for a moment at the waist of her panties, hooking in the elastic before she changes her mind at the last minute and decides to keep them on.  For now, at least. 

Harry watches the entire ritual with starved eyes.  He wants Y/N to start before he does, so she can get into a natural rhythm herself, but he can’t resist palming himself over his trousers like she did a moment ago, despite his icy touch not being nearly as satisfying as hers. 

Y/N, however, has different plans, regarding him with heavy lashes as she takes a step back towards her bed. “Your turn.” She murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed and curling her fingers around her ruffled comforter. 

“All in due time.” Harry assures her with a wry smile, ghosting his fingers along his inked abdomen. “Get comfortable, baby.  Pretend I’m not here.”

“Like that’s possible.” The mortal girl mutters under her breath, unaware that Harry’s supernatural hearing can pick it up as if she were shouting in his ear.  Nevertheless, she does as he says, scooting back on the bed until her shoulders reach her pillows.  She lays back on the soft cushions, shifting around until the padding feels comfortable beneath her back.  She lays there for a moment, her arms folded neatly over her bare stomach as she licks her lips expectantly. “Now?”

“Now…” Harry flicks open the button of his trousers. “Do whatever you like to do.  Whatever feels good.”

It takes Y/N another moment to work up the courage to actually do something.  The trick, she realizes, is closing her eyes.  If she so much as catches a glimpse of Harry watching her, her entire body tenses, and she can’t even manage to move a finger over her stomach.  With her eyes closed, however, she can imagine that Harry isn’t there, and she’s just in her room, with his only influence being in her mind as she touches herself.  It may not make much sense, when she could just use the real image of him to fuel her thoughts, but Harry’s presence is so dominating that pretending he’s not there seems to be the only solution.

And so, when her eyes are shut tightly enough that she can’t see the man, but loose enough that she’s comfortable, Y/N begins to touch herself lightly, her fingers tracing over the dips of her stomach with the smallest amount of contact she can manage.

Her touch moves over her skin like a flutter, its only purpose to warm herself up and ease herself into being watched, and while the small brushes against her own skin would normally have no effect on her, in this moment, with Harry standing by her bed, the action feels more erotic than she ever would’ve thought possible.  She slowly glides her hands up to the pink lace of her bra, tracing her finger along the edge of the cup before sliding over the lace to the hardening peaks of her nipples.  She’s more sensitive than she thought, and Y/N’s breath hitches for a moment as she brushes against one nub, tweaking it once more with her finger before repeating the motion on her other breast.  When a quiet but harsh exhale sounds from Harry’s direction, the human girl amuses the idea of removing her bra to give more visual stimulus, but quickly decides against it.  Harry said he wanted to see what she does to herself, she thinks, keeping her eyes closed as she massages her breasts once more.  He didn’t ask her to perform a strip tease for him.

And, in truth, a strip tease is the farthest thing that Harry wants in this moment.  Any girl can take off her clothes and touch herself to put on a show for a voyeur.  If Harry really wanted to watch that, he could easily find countless porn videos depicting the real thing.  But the sight of Y/N gliding her fingers over the soft lace of her bra, tracing unseen roadmaps over the mountains and valleys of her chest and abdomen, parting her lips just slightly as she twists her nipple once more… that’s what Harry wants.  Despite the countless erotic activities Harry has engaged with Y/N, this may be the most intimate, even without touching her.  Maybe that’s why, he muses, only half in the thought as he slowly tugs down the zipper on his trousers, doing his best to make no noise so as not to startle the girl in front of him.  She’s letting him see what she does to herself when no one is around, when she just wants to make herself feel good.  It’s a selfish act, in the best way.  And it’s making Harry’s cock throb like never before.

Y/N’s hands have reached the edge of her panties now, and with her legs spread wide open, Harry can see the dampened spot staining the lavender cotton a shade darker.  Her scent wafts over him as she moves, slipping her hand beneath the fabric, and Harry’s own eyelids flutter as she fills every one of his senses.  There’s a small part of his more instinctual mind cursing him for thinking of this— for establishing an activity where he can see her, smell her, but not touch her.  However, there’s a larger part of his mind thanking him for this.  For the opportunity to bask in Y/N’s own sensuality and pleasure.

The dampness that greets Y/N’s fingers as she slides into her panties isn’t a surprise, but still provides relief.  For a brief moment, the girl had been worried that she’d be too nervous about the situation to let herself enjoy it, but as she teasingly circles her index finger around her clit, she knows that enjoying it won’t be a problem.  Although she misses Harry’s cool touch, the feeling of his rings sliding over her clammy skin, and although it may seem untrue when Harry is in bed with her, no one knows Y/N’s body like she does.  No one can instantly know what feels good and what doesn’t, what needs to be touched with more force, what needs to be gently caressed with a feather light pressure.  Y/N alone is the keeper of those secrets, and although she’s begun to whisper those unspoken tokens to Harry in the dead of the night as he lays between her thighs, she alone knows the real truths.

She continues to circle her clit for a few moments, gradually applying more and more pressure as her free hand clutches her bare thigh, her fingertips digging into her squishy flesh.  It doesn’t take long, however, for Y/N to need more, and she allows her fingers to run over her entrance a few times before dipping her index finger into her hot core. 

While the sound that leaves her mouth is quiet and could potentially go unnoticed, it’s the loud groan from Harry that snaps the human’s eyes open, and the sight in front of her that stops her movements in their tracks.  With her index finger still half inside her, and her grip on her thigh tightening, Y/N gapes at him unabashedly, because Harry looks like a fucking god. 

Her eyes sweep over him methodically, committing every inch of his appearance to memory so as not to ever forget what he looks like when pleasuring himself.  His chestnut curls are tinged with sweat, just beginning to plaster to his damp forehead and neck.  His jade eyes are darkening by the second, while his strawberry lips are parted and dry, despite him swiping his tongue over them every minute or so.  His toned chest is bare, displaying his dark ink for Y/N’s viewing, heaving with every movement of his tattooed arm.  And lower… Y/N moans again as she clutches her leg tighter, nearly enough to bruise.  Harry hasn’t completely removed his pants, but he’s pushed them down low enough that he’s freed his cock, which stands tall and proud and angrily red at the tip that pokes through the tight fist he has wrapped around the length.  Despite the tension in his body, however, Harry flicks his wrist lazily, teasing himself as much as Y/N did earlier, and she wonders if he does it for the same reason she did.  To give their lover something to look at. 

With her eyes locked with Harry’s, Y/N pushed her middle finger inside herself, whimpering at how the extra digit stretches her out.  She curves her fingers as they move in and out of her at a leisurely pace, focused more on reaching deeper than reaching a quick speed.  While her hand busies itself inside her panties, she slides the other from her thigh back up to her breast, gripping and massaging it as her lashes flicker. 

“Look at you.” Harry utters with a groan, breaking the silence between them as he thumbs over the leaking head of his cock. “Christ, you look so fucking filthy.” His eyes shift from hers for just a moment, glueing themselves to the shadows of motion he can see beneath her underwear. “Does that feel good, angel?”

A high pitched whine falls from Y/N’s mouth as she presses the pads of her fingers against the spongy spot inside her, setting off a wave of bliss inside her belly. “Yeah.  Feels—feels really good, Harry.” His name leaves her lips in a breathy mewl as she tweaks her nipple over her bra, throwing her head back against her pillow. 

The newly exposed skin of her neck beckons Harry.  It’s completely covered with a thin veil of sweat, with the heat radiating from her throbbing pulse seemingly reaching towards him at the end of the bed.  He takes a half step forward without realizing it, only catching his action when his knees bump the edge of the mattress. “Fuck—” He closes his reddening eyes to collect himself as his hand quickens its pace around his prick, only opening them again when he’s sure he’s under control. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I have a bit of an idea.” She mutters in reply, stroking small circles over her clit with her thumb. “It’s not like you can hide it.”

“But you’re hiding.” The vampire replies in a strained voice, tightening his fist around his cock as he nods to the girl’s covered core. “Take those off for me, pet.  Please.”

Y/N withdraws her fingers from her dripping center, her skin shining in the light of her bedroom as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of the panties. “Wait—” she says suddenly, pausing her obedient motion. “Wait, I—”

The moment his foggy mind registers the word, Harry’s palm stills over his length, and although he doesn’t let go completely, he forces his body to calm down as he appraises the human. “What?” He questions, concern laced into his thick accent. “What’s wrong?”

Sitting up on her elbows, Y/N raises her head from her pillow as she scoots closer to her bedroom wall, stopping once her heated skin grazes the tapestry. “I want you next to me.” Her eyes are pleading as the words fall from her mouth, quiet and desperate. “I promise I’ll stick to the rule— I won’t touch you. I just want you to be comfortable, too, and… and I like it when you’re close.  Please?”

The idea of refusing her doesn’t even enter Harry’s mind.  Within seconds, faster than a mortal ever would, Harry has stripped off his trousers, leaving himself in just his dark blue boxers that are still half rugged down.  He crawls onto the bed quickly, only letting his knee brush against Y/N’s leg before situating himself six inches away from her.  Even with the distance between them, he can still feel an electric energy radiating off of her as her fragrance becomes thicker and all encompassing, making his head swim in the intoxicating honey and lavender perfume. 

“M’here.” Harry murmurs the assurance softly, his fingers aching to reach out and touch her.  Surely that’s not against the rules?  After all, caressing someone’s cheek, and only for a moment, isn’t necessarily sexual.  With that rationalization in his mind, his jeweled fingers brush against the young woman’s flushed cheek, grazing upwards to push a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Y/N whispers back to him, her hands now resting on her tummy as she stares longingly at the figure next to her in bed.  She wonders if the comforting touch is allowed, but decides not to question it.  Questioning it may make it stop, and that’s the last thing she wants.  Instead, Y/N simply places her hand over Harry’s, interlocking their fingers together and bringing his hand to her mouth to smudge a soft kiss over the back of his icy knuckles. 

Harry can feel the pulsing of her heart through her lips, and it takes all of his inhuman strength to pull his hand from hers as carefully as he can. “I think you made me a deal, didn’t you?” He asks, disguising the want in his voice behind a teasing tone. “You said that if I got up here next to you, you’d…” Harry clicks his tongue as he nods at her cotton panties. “Hm?”

Despite the small laugh that escapes her, Y/N rolls her eyes. “You’ve got a one track mind, I swear.” She hooks her fingers into the edge of her panties, lifting her bum off the bed to tug them down her legs and toss to the side. “Happy?”

Harry licks his lips as he watches the girl’s hands drift back to her bare thighs, gliding over the silky skin with small strokes. “Very much so, yeah.” He replies, pushing his own hair back from his face before trailing his fingers back down his stomach.  He wraps his right hand back around his leaking cock, stroking it once as he glances at Y/N again. “Keep going, dove.  Don’t stop on my account.”

It’s like they’re back at the beginning,Y/N thinks, as she dips her index and middle fingers back into her wetness before she circles them around her clit.  With Harry next to her, his presence so very there, Y/N has to close her eyes again to compel herself to relax.  It takes a few moments of massaging her clit and focusing on keeping her breathing steady before she can open her eyes again and allow her gaze to slide back onto Harry. 

The vampire, as expected, looks like an erotic renaissance painting.  His hand is moving faster over his cock now, which is bubbling precum with every few strokes.  His hips buck into his hand every so often, searching for more and more friction as he chases his high.  Like herself, Harry has his eyes closed for much of his movements, but when he does open them, they’re pinned to her form and how she touches herself, like she’s his own personal show.  And, in a way, she is.  And she likes that.

It’s not long before Y/N needs more stimulation, and she thrusts her two fingers back inside herself as her other hand begins to rub over her clit.  The dual sensation sends a hoarse moan falling from her lips, her tummy contracting with the wave of ecstasy that she knows is getting closer, but it’s the feeling of Harry’s lips on her temple that has her breath stuttering. 

His slightly chapped lips move over her skin in slow and sensual movements, opening and closing as he speaks against her. “That’s it, darling.  You’re so close, I can tell.” He sucks in a long breath while bucking his hips into his fist, a whining moan echoing from his throat and into her ear. “Fuck, you’ve got me wrecked…”

Curling her fingers inside, Y/N prods against her G-spot with fervent desire, leaning her head closer and closer to Harry’s mouth as she does so. “I’m gonna cum, Harry, I—” Her words cut off with a broken whine as her spongy walls clench around her fingers. 

“Wish I could touch you.” Harry mutters the dirty confession in her ear, his lips still meeting every inch of skin they can find. “Wish I could make my pretty girl cum…” His brow furrows at the whimper that escapes Y/N at those words. “But at least I know you can—Christ—” He swipes his thumb over his tip again as his other hand moves to his balls, massaging over them with a gentle touch. “—can take care of yourself when I’m not here.”

When Harry’s lips find her neck, suckling at the sensitive spot where it meets her jaw, Y/N moans again, louder than before as she bucks her hips into her hand. “Fuck, Harry—” The way she sobs his name is music to his ears. “Can—can I cum?  Please?” The question rolls off her tongue without prompt, sounding as natural as breathing to the girl. Harry’s not even sure she registers that she’s asked, but the question for permission goes straight to his throbbing cock. 

“Yeah, baby. Cum for me.” He drags his teeth over her fragile skin, aching to bite down but restraining himself from giving in.  Instead, he redirects his reaction to his hand, speeding up his strokes until he feels his balls tighten. “Cum for Daddy.” The way he feels her heart stutter at his words feeds his ego like nothing else, and he brings one hand up from his abdomen to rest on her throat, stretching his fingers to grip her chin and direct her face towards his. “Show Daddy how good you’re making yourself feel.” He demands, his lips ghosting over her own as they both work themselves towards the edge.  His voice sounds less himself and more like a growl with every passing moment. “Cum.”

It’s the final harsh demand that pushes Y/N to thrust her fingers into herself faster, matching her motions over her clit to the new speed.  It only takes a few more moments for the tight ball of pleasure inside her belly to burst, the waves of her orgasm washing over her repeatedly as her walls pulse around her fingers. “Daddy—” The name falls from her mouth and into Harry’s freely.  Her only thoughts are of him as her climax consumes her; only his emerald eyes and cherry lips, only his brunette curls and inked skin, only his calloused hands and thick cock.  He’s all she can think about.  Has there ever been anyone else? “Please, Daddy…”

Harry watches with hungry eyes as the human’s body spasms through her release, the movements of her hands shuddering as the pleasure becomes too great to move. “That’s it, sweetheart.  Good girl.” He grunts the praise through clenched teeth as his own orgasm nears, his hand twisting around his cock more and more. “Prettiest little slut in the world, y’know that?”

Y/N releases a whine of acknowledgement, her chest heaving as she comes down from her high and withdraws her fingers from her core.  Resting her hands on her clenching belly, she turns her heavy lidded gaze towards Harry, watching him eagerly as he works himself. “Your turn.” She murmurs, her lips finding the edge of his sharp jaw and giving it a teasing bit. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?  All over your stomach?”

“If—fuck—if that’s where you want it, baby.” Harry groans loudly as his stomach clenches, the butterfly flexing beneath his strained movements. “You want to watch me cum?  Hm?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums the agreement against his skin, clasping her hands together to stop herself from reaching for Harry’s cock. “You’re usually inside me when you cum, so I’ve never seen it.  I want to see it.”

“God, I—” Harry reaches over with his free hand and grasps Y/N’s warm palm, dragging it up to his hair and tangling her fingers in his dark locks.  It’s a poor substitute for the craving he has to feel her touch over his cock, but the sensation of her tugging on his hair and scratching her nails against his scalp manages to provide the contact relief he desires. “Fuck, right there—” Harry’s abdomen contracts once more as he works himself over the edge and begins to shoot thick ropes of cum all over his tattooed tummy. 

Y/N continues to work her lips over his jaw, whispering anything and everything into his ear to continue to stimulate him through his orgasm. “Looks so pretty, H.” She utters once his cock has finally stopped spurting and he releases it from his grip. “You’re so pretty…”

A breathless laugh leaves Harry’s mouth as he shifts in the bed, wiping his damp hand against his indigo boxers before pulling them back over his shaking hips and exposed cock. “You’re one to talk.” He murmurs, twisting his head to the side to press a kiss to Y/N’s sweaty forehead. “You don’t happen to have a wash cloth handy, do you?”

“I have tissues in my bedside table.” Y/N points to the object in question, and Harry reaches over and tugs open the drawer to retrieve the box of Kleenex.  Pulling a few squares from the box, he makes quick work of the cleanup, doing just enough to save him from the trouble of a sticky stomach. 

“I could’ve done that, you know.  Cleaned you up.” Y/N watches as the vampire stands to dispose of the used tissues, and reaches for her discarded panties to tug them back over her still shaky legs. “You know I like it.”

“I know, but if you did, then I would’ve broken the no sex rule right then and there.” Harry chuckles lightly as he climbs back onto the bed, wanting to reclaim his close proximity to Y/N as soon as possible. “And we’d already come so far.” 

When he opens his arms, Y/N doesn’t hesitate to nuzzle into his cool chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder with a sigh. “I suppose that’s true.”

Harry lets his jeweled fingers trace down her back, drawing random shapes on the damp skin as her breathing begins to even out. “Did you like it?” He asks curiously, a seed of worry planted within the words. “Having someone watch you?”

“I liked having you watch me.” Y/N clarifies her answer as if it were the most natural and easily explainable thing in the world. “Did you like watching?”

Harry giggles again, almost incredulous as he nods his head at the damp spot on his boxers, a symptom of the copious amounts of precum that had leaked from him. “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious, Watson.  I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself has to ask.” 

“Asking questions is never a bad thing, Holmes.  I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself doesn’t know that.” The girl counters, delighting in the small laugh that shakes Harry’s shoulders.  A laugh falls from her lips as well, followed quickly by a yawn that she unsuccessfully tries to stifle. 

“Tired?” Harry murmurs, his fingers still keeping a steady pace against her back. “It’s only the late afternoon— not exactly late enough for bedtime, is it?”

Y/N sighs into his musky skin, relaxing completely against Harry’s body. “Not exactly, no.  But I think a little post-orgasm nap may be in order.” She raises her head from the crook of Harry’s neck, looking at him with soft eyes. “Will you stay?”

If Harry’s heart could beat, the tender question would make his rhythm irregular, and the knowledge of that fact dries out the venom that had been flowing freely through Harry’s mouth. “Wow.” He tries to disguise the reaction with a laugh. “Our first date, and you’re already asking me to sleep over?  What kind of man do you think I am?”

“Shut up.” The mortal nudges her forehead against his shoulder in a playful manner. “I’m serious.  Will you?  I sleep a lot better when you’re here.” 

The confession falls from her lips as easily as a sigh, but her words lock Harry’s chest in a tight chain, restricting his every breath.  And yet… the pressure is comforting, like a hug from someone you haven’t seen in years and you’ve sorely missed. 

“Alright, yeah.” He whispers gently, caressing Y/N’s mussed hair without tugging on any tangles. “I’ll stay.  We can order some dinner later, if you want.”

Y/N’s voice is already far away when she replies. “That sounds nice.” She whispers, her eyes fluttering closed as her full weight falls against Harry.  Within a few minutes, her breathing has leveled completely in time with her steady heart beat, which thunders against Harry’s own silent chest. 

The vampire sighs as he shifts on the bed, keeping Y/N locked in place against his body as he does so.  How did he end up here, in her bed, staring at that fucking tapestry again?  How did he end up agreeing to stay over, to grab dinner with her after she sleeps?  How does he know that, if she asks again, he’ll stay over tonight as well, even if it means lying still in bed and counting her heart beats until the sun rises through her curtains? 

And why does that sound so appealing?

Carefully, so as not to wake her, Harry shifts Y/N onto her own pillow, removing her from his chest with gentle movements.  Once he’s arranged her in a comfortable position and made sure that she’s still asleep, he cages himself over her, brushing her hair back from her face and inhaling deeply.  This is why, he thinks.  This is why he’s agreed to all of these dates, to holding her as she sleeps, to spending night after night in this tiny human apartment.  Her blood. 

Harry nudges his nose along the length of her throat, breathing in her fragrance as if it were the bouquet of a fine wine.  Her signature honey and lavender scent is as prominent as ever, only amplified by the orgasm-triggered endorphins that are still swimming through her veins.  Letting his lips drag over her fragile skin, Harry smudges kisses along the base of her throat with a light touch, searching for the most tender part that he’s come to adore.  When he reaches the mark just above her carotid artery, he presses a firmer kiss to the skin, admiring how the mortal’s breath floats from her lips in her sleep.  Still, he pauses for a moment to make sure that the sound is just that, a symptom of sleep, and once his suspicions are confirmed, Harry sinks his teeth into Y/N’s satin skin. 

As usual, the relief is instantaneous.  The warm blood that flows into his mouth quells the dry, burning ache in the back of his throat like nothing else, and Harry clutches the girl closer to him as he drinks more and more.  She’s just as sweet as she smells, and there’s that familiar depth of flavour to her that Harry can never quite place a finger on.  Perhaps he could if he spent more time analyzing it, but it’s never too long before he loses himself in her taste, and all rational thought goes out the window completely.  In the reflection of her mirror, Harry can see that his eyes are blood red and black-veined, and that he looks every bit the monster that he actually is.  If Y/N were to wake up right now and see him like this—pale skin, black veins, mouth stained red with her blood—she’d probably scream in horror, and do her best to shove the supernatural creature away.  She would be thoroughly repulsed, Harry is sure.  And, honestly, he couldn’t blame her.  He remembers the first time he saw the red of a vampire’s eyes, and the terror that had seized his entire body like an icy dip in the English Channel.  It would only be a natural response. 

Harry had come to terms with what he is a very long time ago, and though it took a lot of trial and error, a lot of sleepless nights doused with self-loathing and denial, and a plethora of blurry memories full of strangers’ veins bulging under soft skin and glassy eyes dulled by compulsion, he is in a place in his eternal life where his identity doesn’t phase his peace of mind anymore. He hadn’t become a monster willingly, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy having to do the unspeakable acts required for his survival— not consciously, anyways. 

From an instinct-driven perspective, he does enjoy the taste of blood, but it’s only because his supernatural carnal impulses demand it. Ethically, he isn’t proud of his affinity, but it’s not like he has any say in the matter. This isn’t his fault— he was forced to become what he is— and that moral claim is what has kept him tethered to his last few shreds of humanity for the past twenty decades. He’s not doing this to Y/N out of malicious intent, he’s doing it because he has no other choice. Therefore, he assures himself that the traces of guilt tightening his chest at the moment are completely misled and invalid. He hasn’t felt guilt much before— not for years— and he refuses to let it plague him once again. This is just the way things are. This is just the way things have to be. 

So why does he feel so fucking shitty right now?

Pushing the discomforting dwellings to the back of his mind, Harry continues to drink from Y/N, using his final remaining strains of functioning thought to monitor the human’s heart beat and breaths.  When his thirst is satiated enough, and before either one of those human traits begins to falter, Harry releases his bite on Y/N’s neck, licking over the wound with relish to temporarily seal it.  He turns to check his reflection in the mirror again, and finds that, yes, his suspicions are confirmed.  Although he’s managed to keep himself halfway presentable, there’s still a trickle of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, and his lips are stained a dark merlot colour from the sweet substance.  Harry swipes his tongue along his mouth, cleaning up any evidence of his late afternoon snack, before bringing his index finger to his mouth and pricking the tip on one of his fangs.  Then, while carefully holding the girl’s jaw open with his other hand, Harry slips his finger into her mouth. It’s practically a ritual by now. 

It takes only a few seconds for the bite mark on her neck to heal completely, leaving behind only a faint purple bruise in its place.  If Y/N were to see it tomorrow, she’d assume it was a half-healed hickey, and wouldn’t bat an eye at it.  She’d have no idea that the real cause of it was—

“Harry…” His name falls from her lips with a quiet stutter, her brow furrowing as if troubled by something the vampire can’t see. “Harry…”

“Y/N?” He whispers in reply, his limbs sealing over with ice as he freezes in place as if he were a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Everything alright, love?”

“Harry…” The human utters his name once more as a frown begins to tug at her pillowy lips, and it takes another moment of her shifting in the bed for Harry to realize that she’s still asleep, and the murmuring of his name is merely a symptom of her dreaming of him. 

Oh.  She’s dreaming of him. 

There’s a spark of something in his chest—happiness?  Excitement?— but it’s quickly extinguished by the realization that, if Y/N is dreaming of him, her body language is making it clear that the dream isn’t a pleasant one. 

Harry releases a frustrated sigh as he sinks back down into the sheets.  That’s to be expected, really.  After all, he did just feed from her; if she’s having a bad dream about him, it would only be logical. 

Still, the sight of her shifting in bed with a distressed look on her face pulls an equally distressed look from the immortal, and he only hesitates for a moment before carefully maneuvering the girl back onto his chest, positioning her so that he can easily rub her warm back with his cool hands.  

“You’re alright.” He murmurs softly into her ear, his voice low and melodic despite no one being around to hear it. “You’re fine, sweetheart. I’m here, hm? Go back to sleep.”

It takes a few more minutes of back rubbing, whispering, and a handful of strategically placed forehead kisses, but Y/N’s face finally relaxes as she falls back into a deep, untroubled slumber against Harry’s chest.  As her breathing evens out again, Harry breathes a gentle exhale of relief.  That was a close call.  The next time he feeds, he’ll have to make sure she’s truly unconscious, and has been so for a while.  Her bad dream, whatever it was, had probably been caused by him digging into her prematurely.  Next time, he’ll wait until the dead of night, when she’s deep in REM sleep.  She’ll be more comfortable then. 

Which reminds him— he has plans he has to cancel tonight, and the sleeping girl on his chest mixed with his phone being in his trouser pocket on the floor make a difficult combo to surpass. 

Despite the testing task, Harry manages to retrieve his phone from his discarded linen pants after a few minutes of awkward stretching, some light grunting, and a few curse words, but he manages to do it without waking Y/N up (she moves a couple of times, but a few soft words and tender hushing Harry’s behalf sends her right back into her dreams).  With one hand still wrapped around her back, Harry manages to type out a quick message to Niall. 

Won’t be able to make it tonight— something came up with Y/N.  Have fun at the bar. 

Harry references her by name, knowing that Mitch had probably already blabbed to their entire friend group about the date he’d had, and about how a human girl had recently become the target of his fascination. Juicy gossip is indisputably one of the aspects that keeps eternity from growing stale, and the vampire’s crew believe that to be so more than anyone. There’s not a single doubt in his mind they’d eaten every word up, and that he’d probably get drilled on it later.

He keeps his phone clutched in his hand, waiting for a (sure to be ridiculing) reply from Niall that comes a few minutes later. 

The girl from last time? Jesus, again?  Weren’t you meeting her for brunch?

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Harry’s lip. I did meet her for brunch.  And then I met her back at her apartment, and I’ll probably be meeting her again later after we get some dinner.  Don’t wait up.

After that text, Harry drops his phone on the bedside table, expecting Niall to just leave him on read in a fit of annoyance.  He’s surprised, however, to hear the quiet vibration of his phone a moment later, and picks it up to skim the message with pressing curiosity. 

You’re a fucking incubus, you know that?

The smirk on Harry’s swollen lips suddenly drops.  

While it’s not the first time he’s been called an incubus, it is the first time the label has ever bothered him. Why is that?  It’s not like it’s untrue; he frequently seduces various people, many of them being women, in order to sleep with them and drink their blood. That’s what an incubus does.  The label shouldn’t pester him.  In fact, it should boost his ego. 

But the title being applied to his relationship with Y/N… that gives him pause. It reminds him of a certain person— a certain disgrace, if he’s being pettily honest— who he had sworn never to think about again, out of respect for his sanity and emotional stability. It reminds him of how when he himself was mortal, he was under similar circumstances to what Y/N is under right now— he was a human blood bag to a vampire who took pleasure in his body. 

This is different, Harry tells himself.  I’m not going to ruin her life. She’s not going to end up like me. And we have an understanding, which I never got to have. This isn’t the same. I’m...I’m not the same.

In his steadfast opinion, the immortal isn’t an incubus when it comes to Y/N and it’s that simple, point blank. Saying he is… that sets the implication that he could be doing this with anyone, and that’s just not true.  Even though he’s keeping Y/N around as a convenient fuck with delicious blood, he wouldn’t go to this much trouble for anyone else; no one else is worth it.  No one else has her honey and lavender scent, or contagious laugh, or can match him so easily in banter without flinching or blinking an eye.  And though he’s too attached to his own pride— to the inherent coldness and indifference he’d worked so hard to build over the last two centuries— to let her know, he’ll admit that there’s no one else like her. There’s no one who’s company he enjoys quite the same. 

Harry doesn’t indulge Niall with a response, simply closing his phone and setting it back on the bedside table.  His friend can think what he wants, Harry decides, returning his attention to tracing figures on Y/N’s back.  Harry knows what this really is.  He knows, and it’s not some evil plan to permanently damage her. It’s just a simple loose relationship between two people who float an inch above the friendzone. That’s all. 

Friends, just slightly more. 

[goblinkingdomsblog]

Bts as mafia series ask

What will they do after kidnapping agent yn who is not willing to give info

What will they do after kidnapping agent y/n who is not willing to give information

Members: all BTS.

Genre: mafia!AU, reaction.

Premise: you are a police agent who was captured by one of the most influential members of the criminal organization you have been investigating for weeks. He's trying to get information out of you through interrogation, but you're not going to give in, no matter what. So he needs to think of a new plan.

TW: a little bit of (V) = Violence, but more of (S) = Safe for reading and (Sg) = Suggestive.

Mafia Series Masterlist

Mafia Series Plot

I don't know if this is exactly how you imagined your request, but I hope you enjoy it. ;)

"Precious information is always worth it."

Namjoon:

You were tied to the chair for a long time, until he came and released you. You immediately thought about the easiest escape route, but the abandoned, damp pavilion in which you were, behind huge boilers, seemed to have no end.

He smiled calmly, standing a few feet in front of you with his arms crossed.

- Agent Y/N. What an honor. - his voice was sympathetic, lulled by a hoarse and low tone - I've been looking for you for a long time. I heard you're trying to get me in trouble.

You laughed bitterly, spitting on the floor to get rid of the taste of the gag that had been in your mouth just minutes before.

- I feel really sorry that I didn't cause more problems, then.

Surprisingly, he laughed back, as if he were in the presence of a rebellious child who he needed to educate.

- You didn't answer the questions my subordinates asked you, did you?

- I will never reveal anything. You can send those dumbasses back and make them punch me more. - you touched your aching jaw with your free hands, without looking away from the one who you knew were the leader of the Organization - I can deal with them easily.

With his arms crossed, he rubbed his expensive shiny shoe on the floor, lifting his index finger.

- Oh, no, no. That was my mistake, caused by a wrong choice of members. Let's say they are not exactly the smartest members of our... company. I'm sorry about that. - he laughed quietly, adjusting his glasses over his nose with the casualness of someone who was shopping at the supermarket.

- So what are you going to do, you bastard? - you grunted, trying to distract him just to have time to think of a good way to get out of there.

He laughed again, a short, somewhat dangerous laugh.

- Courageous. - he murmured, with a sharp gleam in his dark eyes. He stared at you for a long moment before proceeding - Well, violence is almost never the best option. It is always better to treat the guests with whom you want to have a conversation with calm and courtesy. And, of course, without haste.

Feeling a cold shiver down your spine, you stayed still.

- I have all the time in the world, my dear. I can wait until you're ready to start. - with a singing smile that exposed two deep dimples, which now seemed sharply malignant, he turned to the darkness - Ah, and don't even think about running away. If this place already seems big to you, know that it is bigger than you think. And there are some rather interesting obstacles around here.

With one last look over his shoulder, the faint moonlight that came in through the windows reflecting off the lenses of his glasses and preventing you from seeing his eyes, he clicked his tongue.

- But, if you insist on trying to escape... - he pronounced, as if he considered the whole situation a great pleasure, and not a threat - I wish you good luck.

Seokjin:

You were in a small house, surrounded by at least 4 tables full of electronic equipment, computer parts, baubles and dust.

The man seated in front of you, with his chin in one hand, kept his eyebrows raised. By moving your hands tied behind your back, you tried to free yourself from the wheelchair in which you were trapped.

- Stay still. - he murmured, harshly. His expression was divided between apprehension and irritation.

- I am still. It is kind of difficult to make any movement while you are tied to a chair.

Without paying any attention to you, he rolled his eyes.

- I don't know why they thought of me as the right person to fulfill this mission. As if I had nothing more important to do. - his face, beautiful as a carved brilliant, was extremely expressive - And now, to make things worse, you still don't want to collaborate with the interrogation!

You smirked, shaking your head in the middle of the room with brown walls and orange lamps.

- I'm sorry for being a stone in your path. I bet if you let me go, you would be relieved. - your tone was acidic.

Bitting his lower lip, he snapped his fingers. With an impulse from the floor, he slid the wheelchair in which he was sitting to one of the tables, turning on one of the computers.

- Actually, I have a better idea. - he said, his plump lips curving into a smile as his fingers typed quickly, as if he were thinking of a joke that only he understood.

After a few quiet seconds, in which the only noises in the house came from the computer, he turned towards you and rotated the computer screen to your direction, so that you could view it entirely.

- I think you will be the one relieved when you collaborate with my questions. - he murmured, pointing the image on the monitor: the security cameras on the street in front of your family's house, recording everything in real time. It was even possible to spot your mother through the window - It's not that hard to find out certain things on social media, you know? I would recommend you to be more careful from now on.

Your smile died on your face, replaced by an expression of fear.

Yoongi:

The stone basement under the busy bar was a much darker place than it had seemed at first. The endless noise of parties was able to hide the most diverse noises.

The man standing at the door, talking to two others who remained in the shade, seemed completely calm. Which was the total opposite of how you felt.

Trying to shake your body to get rid of the rope wrapped around your entire torso, you groaned. You knew that dozens of bruises would form on your arms because of the effort, but you couldn't stop trying.

Dismissing the two henchmen, the man near the door turned in your direction. Approaching with his hands in his pockets, he stopped a few inches away, bending to reach the height where you were trapped.

- As you didn't want to answer when I asked patiently, I decided to change my approach. - with a slow, almost lazy, gummy smile, he took his hands out of his pockets, revealing a pile of pills.

Knowing what "industry" he was in, you were sure those pills were drugs. Although you were afraid of what might happen, you would never let it show.

- What are you going to do? Forcing me to swallow and kill myself from an overdose? - you almost spat, bending forward in an attempt to hit him with your head.

He laughed, and his laugh was a little choked. He smelled of cigarettes, both in his baggy clothes and on his breath.

- Don't be so hasty. I already said that I am very patient, so I would never force you to take one of them. - he shook the pills in his closed fist, letting them make a noise - I'll let you choose one of them.

Grunting, you turned your head.

- The choice is entirely yours. You may take a sweetie pill, which just makes you more relaxed to answer my questions... - his expression went from amusement to a somber seriousness, while he averted his eyes downwards - or you may take a poisoned one that will kill you. Sadly you don't have the option of not taking any pill.

Smiling again, exposing his gums in a way that made his expression frighteningly youthful, he shrugged.

- I hope you have a good eye for analyzing pills. Or at least a good tolerance.

Hoseok:

He was smiling in your direction for good 3 minutes now. Sitting upright, his knees 5 centimeters away from yours (that were tied to each other), he looked like an experienced dealer wanting to convince you to buy something.

You were already so tired that you felt almost ready to "buy it".

- If you tell me some very simple details of the investigation, I promise you will be released without any injuries. - his face was soft and friendly, and he spoke with such conviction that it was easy to accept.

You were sweaty due to the fact that you had been struggling in that chair for hours on end, trying to break free. That damn apartment seemed to be in the end of the world, because no one on the floors above or below made a sound.

It was time to try something different, to put pride aside. You had full faith in your ability to act.

- Do you... really promise? - you asked, in a weak voice and with an innocent expression, which made apparent the tiredness you were feeling (on purpose, of course).

He broke into a big smile, crowned by his shiny, aligned teeth. He looked cheerful as a child who had just won a candy.

- Of course, my dear. - he replied, lightly touching your hand tied on the arm of the chair. His fingers were warm and soft.

You smiled back "timidly". You would lie masterfully, until you convinced that man to let you go. You knew you were able to do that, because it was a necessity.

- Then... I will collaborate.

Caressing your hand briefly, just before letting go and looking you in the eye, his smile lessened a little.

- Just know that liars are not treated so politely. - he murmured, in a practically humming way - And I always know when someone is trying to deceive me, my sweet. Always.

Suddenly, the touch of his fingers no longer seemed as gentle as before.

Jimin:

The man's eyes seemed to burn in his face, just as the hate burned inside you. He was lying beside a round table, stripped, staring at you through half-closed lids.

- This is kind of kinky, don't you agree? - he asked, breaking the silence, his legs spread in a careless pose as he watched you.

You wanted to scream. You pulled your arms out, listening to the clink of the metal rings and then feeling the physical immobility. Being chained to a cement wall by your wrists and ankles, standing for hours, was far from any pleasurable idea. That was a fucking torment.

- Fuck you, you crazy bastard! - you grunted, your voice hoarse in your scratched throat - If I ever have the opportunity, I swear I'll kill you!

He didn't smile, but something in the curve of his eyes exposed the fact that he was enjoying the scene. In a leap, he rose from his chair, an evil idea igniting in his mind.

- What if that opportunity reveals itself now? Could you kill me? - he purred, approaching cautiously. You didn't know if he was teasing or threatening you, as his body movements were unreadable.

- Chained here? How fair is this clash? It is obvious that you will win. - you spoke through, your head hanging forward. You were an accomplished fighter in the police, but no one with their arms and legs trapped would be able to win a hand-to-hand fight.

- Of course I'm going unchain you. I'll even give you some time to warm up. I like fairness in this type of game. - the way he spoke, with pleasure, showed an insatiable desire for combat. You wanted to punch him.

- How can I be sure that you will not cheat? You are a fucking mafious.

This time, he laughed sharply, putting his hands on his stomach.

- I promise you that our fight will be fair, based only on the skills of each one. Especially because, if I win, my only prize will be to chain you back on this wall right here. - he got close enough to hold the sides of your waist with his hands, more firmly than expected. You forced yourself not to shudder - And while I really appreciate the sight, it is nothing that I haven't already seen.

You thought about attacking him right there, but it was better to wait a little more. Using his hands on your waist as a support, he started to unchain you.

Taehyung:

The boy was standing, his back against one of the only walls of the ruined building. The empty terrain you were on was extensive and the wind was blowing strong, turning all that vastness into a damn desert of grassy ice.

You were standing a few feet away, with nothing to hinder your movements. Still, you couldn't move, as you knew he had confiscated your loaded gun and was now keeping it in his pants pocket, ready in case any attempt was made to escape. You didn't want the same thing that happened to your two coworkers, now two bodies lying on the ground in the woods, to happen to you.

- Will you tell or not? - the man asked, boredom evident on his face. His voice was low, peaceful as a lullaby.

- I won't. - you said, shivering from the wind and nervousness. Nothing mattered now, not even your life: you had vowed to keep the investigation a secret, and that's what you would do. You would die with honor, just like the others.

Arching one of his thick eyebrows, he remained still. His mouth went up in one corner, in a angled smile.

- Ah, too bad.

- Shoot fast, can you? - you shouted back, extremely tired of it. You wanted it to end fast.

- I will not shoot you. You are useful, unlike your unintelligent colleagues who tried to attack me.

You clenched your teeth, the sound of the wind almost deafening your ears.

- What are you going to do then?

Wiping the hair off his forehead, which insisted on sliding in all directions, he waved a hand, turning the loaded revolver in one finger.

- Ah, I decided to let your teammates answer the call that the... deceased agents sent on the radio. They will get here behind this wall, as it is the easiest way to access the terrain. - observing the barrel of the gun and then opening the magazine to see how much ammunition was inside, he continued: - It is always good to practice my shooting from a long distance, just to not lose the practice.

Wide-eyed, the scenario in which your colleagues were killed one by one by shots from a hidden sniper crossed your mind. It was terrible.

- But, if you like your colleagues very much and decide that your willingness to offer information is greater than my intention to play target shooting, it may be that things happen in a much easier way. - he stated.

Jungkook:

He almost never looked up from the ground, and when he did, his eyes kept hidden under the brim of his hat. Not that it was easy to spot anything inside a dark and metallic bunker, in which you could barely move because you were handcuffed to the table fixed on the floor.

After hesitating for a long time, the man with tattoos on his fingers sitting in front of you finally spoke:

- You have to answer. I am here just following orders, and you are delaying my other appointments. - if there was something behind which he could hide, he would probably do it. But not out of fear... it was for another reason.

- I already said I won't tell you anything. You can kill me already, dumb child. - you almost roared, the rage accumulated in hours of silence revolting inside you.

Yes, even though he was partially hidden by the shadows, the fact that he was young was evident. More a shy boy than a silent man.

His eyes widening in shock, he stepped back a few inches. With an increasingly wheezing breath, he got up and walked to a door in the corner of the bunker.

- You're making things more difficult for both of us. - he said, with a dangerous tone.

Opening the hidden door with a single movement of his drawing-covered hand, he revealed a gagged figure, struggling and muttering in a useless way: your partner in the police and best friend, Denyel.

You gasped with fright when his figure became visible, his body covered in sweat. With a sudden tug, the tattooed man dragged your friend over to the chair where he himself had been sitting before, forcing him to settle down.

- With each denied answer, a little bit of his life is gone. - the boy's voice was now expressionless, and his hands moved quickly as he took dozens of knives from the belt under his coat and placed them on the table, with a clang - I can make it drag on for hours, believe me. I know exactly how much "life" to remove until there is no more of it left.

That's it for now! Did you like it? Tell me your opinion and your suggestions, my dear reader.

If you want to request anything, send me your ideas!

The images used on this post are not mine. Credits to the owners.

Kisses from the Goblin Kingdom! :)

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 3 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

The next Monday found you anxiously nursing a coffee, carefully looking over Bakugou’s latest results.

You’d let the model retrain overnight, just to get a more up-to-date picture of Bakugou’s work, and you’d barely slept a wink while it ran, fretting over your first meeting with him. After waking up earlier than ever, you’d found yourself restless all morning, so you’d made your way into Miruko’s agency well ahead of schedule and had spent your time since sucking down coffees and eyeing Bakugou’s assist and rescue scores warily. They still sat well beneath his kill and capture scorings, and you mentally braced yourself for the near impossibility of getting him to prioritize those aspects of his work.

With Mina’s help, you’d been able to con him into working with you. But just because he’d agreed to your bet, you were not stupid enough to think that meant he was going to make anything easy for you.

Bakugou, for his part, seemed the very antithesis of nervous when he met you in the surveillance room. He barged into your makeshift office mid-morning, looking well-rested if annoyed. The door banged loudly off the opposite wall and rebounded closed with a slam that rattled the AV equipment.

“Let’s get this over with,” Bakugou growled, throwing himself down in the seat opposite you. He was dressed in dark training clothes--simple athletic fabrics that suggested that he meant to book it to a training room the second he was done with you. His whole manner suggested you should keep things short.

You sat frozen, fingers paused over your laptop keys. “...Good morning to you too.”

He looked at you incredulously, blonde eyebrows raising. “I didn’t fucking come here for small talk. Get on with it, nerd.”

You suppressed a twitch of irritation, looking away from him where he sat in an agitated pile of strong lines and tense muscle. God you hoped this was all going to be worth it, at the end of things.

You sighed and clicked into the model results screen, knowing it was only going to work him into a lather if you pressed him on social niceties. “Okay, so I did some analysis--”

“Big fucking surprise.”

“--and,” you continued loudly, “as you well know, you need to adjust certain priorities on the field.”

A scoff issued from his direction. “I don’t need to adjust shit.”

It took everything in you not to roll your eyes. He was literally here to discuss adjusting shit. What was the point of him being so defensive?

You eyed him speculatively, taking in the oppositional slant to his broad shoulders, the thin slash of his mouth as he regarded you irritably. Your observations from last week floated to the forefront of your mind, that this was a man who would not easily do anything he didn’t want to do. And it was clear he did not actually want to do this--he had only been baited into it by the grace of his meddling, pink-haired friend.

You mentally resolved to play as nice as you possibly could, to minimize the amount of fussing from his side of things.

“As I think I explained last year,” you began carefully, “the model I train relies on a set of weights, and you’re ranked on that. Your work is divided up into categories: public perception, kills, captures, property damage, rescues, and now assists. Some of those categories are weighted more heavily than others, so if you do well in them, you’ll outperform your peers in the rankings who do just as well in other categories.”

Blood red eyes darted up to a monitor as you projected your laptop screen onto it, the model results translated into neatly organized and color-coded graphs.

“You are unmatched in kills, fairly unmatched in captures as well, and you’ve kept property damage to a surprising minimum in the last few years considering your quirk. You’re also wildly popular, particularly with young people, according to public polls.”

You glossed over the fact that his appearance probably had a lot to do with it, considering the tidal wave of interest from the female bracket of respondents. The fact especially did not bear thinking about when he was alone in a tiny office with you, bare arms and the hard planes of his chest displayed prominently in his training gear.

“Just fucking---out with it,” Bakugou demanded, turning to glare at you again. “I don’t have all damn day.”

The tiniest hint of smoke and sweetness hit your nose as he leaned closer, and you pushed away from him, baring your palms in the universal gesture for peace.

“Okay, okay. So you’re good at those things, but your rescue scores need work, and your assist score puts you in the top ten least cooperative heroes in the entire industry,” you explained, watching as a muscle in his jaw jumped in obvious irritation. “Rescues are the highest weighted category in the rankings model, and assists are the third highest. So no matter how good you are in other areas, you will not surpass anyone who performs well in these categories.”

Bakugou made an annoyed sound, his brows drawing together. “Quit fucking talking to me like I’m a baby. I fucking know--tell me exactly what your fucking nerd-ass model needs me to do and I’ll fucking do it.”

You breathed out of your nose very slowly, quelling the rising tide of annoyance within you. Everything out of his mouth was so abrupt and demanding.

Software engineers, picture the software engineers.

“Okay so I ran deeper analyses on those two categories and compared your movements with generalized results from the top ten heroes from each category,” you continued.

“The thing that stood out in terms of rescues, is that you were almost twice as fast as other heroes to leap into combat with a villain. This means you’re spending less time assessing the situation than other heroes, and therefore spending less time processing victims. So if I had to make a recommendation here, it’s that you should actively look for civilians before jumping into a fight. You might still find that the smarter thing to do is leap into the fight instead of evacuating them, but you at least need to slow down before you do.”

The crease between his brows erased itself and he leaned back in his chair, tension bleeding out of him somewhat, which was--unexpected. You’d have thought he’d get more defensive as you explained his shortcomings to him.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “What else?”

You pulled up two videos and projected them side by side, bright little clusters of dots collected over the location of each hero. “For assists, it looks like when you’re in range of other heroes, you actually do help, at least a little. I only found an issue when I generalized results from the top ten in this category and ran calculations about their movements in comparison to yours.”

You let the videos play, watching Bakugou’s eyes track the movements with unblinking precision. He said nothing as you let the loop repeat, the tense lines of his body inexplicably unravelling even further with each loop. He looked as close to relaxed as you had ever seen him.

After a few loops, he finally let out a scoff. “Those needy fucks stick closer to other heroes,” he concluded gruffly. “That’s what the dots are tracking.”

You nodded. “On average, you move three times farther away from other heroes on scene than the top ten heroes do. So you’re less likely to be in range to help.”

He rolled a powerful shoulder, unwittingly drawing your eyes straight to it. You gave your leg an annoyed pinch under the table, forcing your gaze back up to his face once you realized what you were doing.

“So I have to look for weaklings and stay closer to these b-list fucking clowns, that’s what you’re telling me?” he prompted, running a hand through his mess of blonde hair. It looked unexpectedly soft under his fingers.

You drew your eyes away from him again, focusing hard on the relief you were feeling that he seemed to be processing and internalizing your feedback. “Yeah, you need to assist civilians and stay in range of your team. Those are the only areas in which you really need help.”

There was a sharp crackle, and tense movement caught in the corner of your eye. You turned to find that all of Bakugou’s unease had suddenly returned, a snarl riding his mouth.

“Help?” he demanded. That scent of smoke and sugar suddenly pressed in on you again, sharp and dangerously hot.

You blinked at him in confusion. “...Uh, yeah?”

His gaze darkened and he leaned over the table between the two of you, a calloused hand catching the collar of your shirt to yank you towards him. The corner of the table dug into your ribs, and his fingers were hot where they brushed the skin under your collar.

“I don’t fucking need help,” he spat, crimson eyes boring into your face like a drill. Your hands came up to grab his, trying to untwist it from your shirt, but his fingers only tightened, unyielding.

“What--? Yes you do?” you garbled, fingers scrabbling over his. “What do you--?”

He pulled you further across the table, so that his face was scant inches from your own.

“Fuck you if you think I need anything from you,” he growled in a low tone, voice almost dangerously soft. Your blood iced over in your veins, limbs freezing. He stared at you for a long, heavy moment.

Then, in the next second, you were being shoved backwards into your chair, and then Bakugou was gone, door slamming behind him with a force that shook the walls.

You stared after him in shock, mouth gaping open. He had been fine up until a couple of seconds ago, even seeming to relax under your analysis. But then his temper had suddenly flared for no fucking reason.

What….what the fuck was wrong with him?

You spent the rest of the morning in a state of restless agitation.

What the literal fuck was wrong with Bakugou? Why had he just stormed out like that? What had flipped the switch for him in the space of mere seconds?

You replayed the conversation in your head nonstop all through your next few meetings and over your lunch break, where you furiously wolfed down a bento without tasting any of it. Your frustration carried you all the way into the afternoon, when a head of wild pink curls poked itself through your door.

You looked up into Pinky’s dark eyes and brilliant smile.

“Y/N!” she chirped happily, closing the door behind her and sprawling into the seat across from you.

You returned her friendly smile. “Ashido-san,” you greeted her politely.

She laughed and waved a rosy hand, leaning forward over the table. “I would never ask stats girl to be formal with me. Call me Mina!”

You huffed an embarrassed laugh. That was sweet, but the nickname stats girl needed to die a brisk and fiery death.

“Mina, then,” you amended, pulling up her model results on your laptop, trying to tamp down on your embarrassment. She was almost overwhelmingly friendly.

Her dark eyes flickered over you curiously and a cautious smile played about her mouth. “Heard it didn’t go well with Katsuki this morning.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “He told you?”

She laughed. “No, I just saw him annihilating a training room. I know him well enough to know when he’s throwing a tantrum.”

An awkward, hot sense of shame welled up within you at the thought that you’d pushed him to that, though you didn’t know how. You got the sense that you’d taken one step forward but two steps back. So much for your promotion.

“Uh yeah, he kind of...stormed out? He’d been listening, actually, and I thought things were going weirdly well. The bet was a good idea, so thank you,” you said. “I just…somehow I screwed it up, I think.”

Mina rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, splaying out flat in her seat. “God, you know what? I’m just so tired of my best friends being guys. They’re so dramatic and so fussy about their tough guy image. And take themselves so seriously, for no reason, even fucking Denki. I have sat every single one of them down and forced them into make up so it’s absolutely baffling to me that they still stomp around like they’re so serious and so tortured.”

Your mouth dropped open as what she’d just said caught up with you. Take themselves seriously...when she’d forced them into make up? “No. Even…?”

Mina smirked. “Oh yeah, even Katsuki. No idea why he thinks he’s such a tough guy when all it takes is a couple of tears and boom, he’s working a smokey eye and tiny little pigtails.”

You choked on a laugh, trying to dispel the horrifying image in your mind of Bakugou in mascara and lipstick. The idea of him in make up was somehow even more intimidating than his usual appearance. You did not want to know more.

It certainly did beg the question, however, why he was such a difficult jerk if it was that easy to get him to acquiesce to something that horrifying. Maybe the answer lay in Mina’s powers of manipulation. She’d known to make the bet with him, after all. And if she knew how to get him into eyeliner and lipstick, then she might know how to get him to agree to let you help him.

“Wow,” you murmured. “That’s...terrifying. How did you even convince him though? I can’t get him to spend more than two seconds around me without blowing his top like a volcano.”

Mina grinned conspiratorially, leaning over the table. “You just have to know how to work him. Trust me, you might have good numbers sense, but I have pretty good people sense. Katsuki is all smoke and fire until you dig underneath.”

You almost did not want to know what was underneath. “That’s--but he’s so volatile. I can’t predict any of it.”

Mina's grin widened. “Actually, it’s pretty straightforward. He’s actually super in control all of the time, even when it seems like he’s lost it. He’s only really sensitive about one thing.”

“For example,” she leaned forward, her smile morphing into something dark and leery. “I heard he burned through your dress at the Hero Awards.”

You put your face in your palm. “Yes. This is what I’m talking about--I thought he was gonna fry me to a crisp.”

Mina snorted, raking a hand through her mess of curls. “Maybe I only see it because my acid is similar--but it’s pretty hard to only burn through a tiny strip of fabric and not touch anything underneath, even if you’re not out of your mind with anger. It requires some precise control. Wouldn’t you say?”

You froze in your seat, staring at her. Implications began to creep over you like a dark shroud. “What?”

She grinned. “He didn’t touch you, right? Only the dress?”

You gaped at her. “Yeah--only the dress.”

She cut her dark eyes to you, looking like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “Very interesting that he managed to sear straight through your dress, then, without burning you. One might think he did it on purpose.”

You floundered. “But I--but he--! I told him to do better and he got all worked up and intense!”

Mina laughed out loud. “I bet he did. Katsuki’s a total control freak but he loves a challenge. That’s why he took your bet, and that’s why your meeting didn’t go as poorly as you thought it might at first, and that’s why he was so fixated on you after the Awards.”

Your face heated. “Don’t put it like that.”

She chuckled. “I don’t know how you feel about him, but I can guarantee he’s very interested in you. He loves girls who don’t take any of his shit. Why do you think he signed with Miruko? It’s actually kinda gross,” she made a face.

Your face was on fire. A hot wave of embarrassment washed through you and you resisted the urge to dive under the table and hide. This is not the turn you thought the conversation would be taking.

“Uh, so,” you managed, fingers fluttering. “So--um, why did he freak out earlier then? I did tell him everything he was doing wrong. But then he lost it, I think when I told him I would help.”

Mina’s grin settled back into place. “He’s so fucking predictable. He hates being looked down on, and the word help implies that you think he’s weak enough to need it. I’ll bet you anything that’s why he totally flipped.”

You considered this. “But I didn’t mean it like that--”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s got a very specific way of looking at things. He’s way better than he used to be but that’s the one thing he’s still sensitive about.”

You mulled that over. It did explain, then, why he’d reacted so poorly when he’d seemed to be fine with your critique. “Does he really need to be seen as strong that badly?”

Mina picked idly at the fluff on her costume’s jacket, thin fingers tangling in the white strands. “He has insane expectations for himself, and he’s only comfortable when everyone else has those too. It’s like if you think he can’t live up to those standards, that you don’t truly see him.”

So that was it. The mystery of Bakugou’s volatile nature explained--a weirdly deep-seated inferiority complex wrapped up in layers of crankiness and--you blushed--an interest in girls who gave him shit. You quickly buried any considerations on his romantic inclinations, and focused on the inferiority complex.

Whether you’d intended to or not, this morning you had managed to convey to him that you thought he was incapable, and not in a way that personally challenged him like the bet had, or your demand he do better at the Hero Awards. It was so ridiculous, you thought, but then so was he. And if you wanted to make any progress on your promotion, then you were gonna have to suck it up and work within those constraints.

You sighed. You owed him an explanation, maybe even an apology.

Mina regarded you approvingly from across the table. You also owed her a drink. Maybe several.

“Got it,” you acknowledged, clicking back into your model results and pulling up her ranking analyses. “And thank you--I owe you a ton. Now let’s get to what we came here to do which is to talk about how you can kick even more ass.”

Mina grinned, leaning forward in delight. “You’re welcome. And hell yeah, this conversation was so not passing the Bechdel test.”

You snorted, suppressing a wild smile. Oh, you really liked her.

You would apologize and get things back on track with Bakugou. And once Bakugou netted you your promotion, you were gonna turn back and rocket Mina up the rankings to give him a run for his money.

[buckyownsmylife]

Lucky - Logan Howlett smut

The one where Logan catches you touching yourself when you’re supposed to be his.

Warnings: masturbation (f), oral sex (f), slight voyeurism, playful possessiveness, reader is a dumbass, Logan is in love, p in v, dirty talk, unprotected sex, a single spank, kind of a cum kink?, creampie

A/N: If a man tries to control when you can orgasm without your consent, please ignore him and get yourself another one. Logan here is obviously jesting and even if he were to create such a rule, he’d only enforce it with his girlfriend’s acceptance, of course. Day 4 of kinktober and the prompts were masturbation + eating out.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

As soon as I hear my room’s door close behind me, the stress of the day started to leave my tense muscles. Just being surrounded by my stuff, that I’d been carefully collecting since my arrival in Charles’ academy four months before, was enough to send the message to my brain: you’re home, relax. No one is going to disturb you here.

It wasn’t necessarily true, of course, which was one of the cons of living in the same place that I worked, but the probability of one of my students coming all the way here to ask for help, advice, or any other sort of guidance was extremely low, thankfully. As 5pm approached, the youngsters too began to relax, opting to look for social activities or hobbies to occupy their time instead of training and studying. In all my time here, no one except teachers had come to bother me in my own bedroom, and even that was extremely rare. Everyone seemed to understand the need for some alone time after a day of responsibilities.

So that’s why this room that was designated to me had this ability to instantly make me feel better, I guess. Up until now, the only other place that managed to make me feel so safe wasn’t actually an environment, but a person.

Logan.

We’d been some sort of unspoken thing for a while now, only about a month. Despite his usual grumpiness that seemed to be directed to keep me away from him right after my arrival, the fact that I didn’t seem to care quickly made him curious, and this curiosity soon became a particular interest in seeing me underneath him, moaning pleasurably in his bed.

He made me feel safe, and the truth was that I didn’t care that after a month, we still hadn’t decided to give a name to what we had. All that mattered to me was that he wanted to spend time with me too and that he treated me right. 

But he’d been gone for the last four days on a special mission assigned by Professor X, so that meant that my current situation couldn’t really be blamed solely on my student’s behavior for the day. Oh, no. This particular tension came after my body had grown accustomed to being treated to multiple orgasms night after night, only to be abruptly denied those treats.

I missed him. I hadn’t had to touch myself in over a month and I’d spent the last few nights depriving myself of it because I knew I could never give myself the kind of pleasure that Logan could. Only he wasn’t here, and I was going crazy, especially since no one had any idea of when he would be back.

I needed him.

So I decided to grant me at least some sort of relief, as pathetic as it’d be, in the hopes of calming my longing body. The first thing I did was strip down to nothing. My favorite pampering activity was a nice warm bath after a stressful day of classes, and from Logan’s comments, I knew he liked it when I took the time to lather myself up in essential oils, too. On more than one occasion he commented that it made me smell “good enough to eat”.

It was only after said bath that I laid down on my still-made bed, spread out to appreciate the silkiness of my own skin after a good hydration session. The smell of coconuts from my favorite cream helped to ease me into the right state of mind, that I so desperately needed so I could start softly running my fingers over my thighs without that stupid inner voice that wanted to make me recoil in embarrassment.

I was a grown woman in the privacy of her own room. It was stupid to be timid about needing to touch myself, so I focused on the desire I could feel rising through me, and not on any other pop-up thought that insisted on making its way into my brain.

It became a lot easier when I thought about my lover.

Oh, how I wished Logan was here. He’d love to see me in this position, legs spread open for his eyes to take. Only the thought of his piercing eyes fixated in my naked body was enough to get me wet, and that elicited another memory of him. How he’d groan when the smell of my juices hit his nose, immediately prompting him to get on his knees in front of me and bury his head between my thighs. He’d lap me up eagerly, hungrily, like I was an entire feast dedicated to him after a life of restraint. As passionate a lover as Logan was, I don’t think there was anything he loved more than eating pussy.

If he was here, he’d say mine was the only one that provoked such an animalistic reaction from him. I’d laugh, refusing to believe anything that came out of his mouth when all he could think about was burying himself inside of me, but I’d blush nonetheless. A part of me wanted to believe I was special to him, despite his years and the number of women he’d most certainly laid with, mostly because he was special to me, too. 

But I couldn’t afford this sort of thought, so I opted to focus on the memory of how Logan’s tongue felt against my clit. I let a single finger touch it, trying to mirror the same pattern of movement he’d make. It was nowhere near the same sensation, but it was enough to prompt me to release a little moan of pleasure.

We were starting to get somewhere.

Logan’s P.O.V.

After four long days of fuckery, the only thing I could think about was going back home straight to my girl’s arms. So as soon as we were through the academy’s doors, I took the stairs two at a time to go directly into her room, having memorized her schedule long enough to know that she’d most likely be there. 

No one tried to get in my way. They knew better.

Much to my surprise, as I approached the now familiar doors to her room, a familiar scent engulfed me, prompting me to tune into the sweet sounds that I’d dreamed about these last nights. They were very discreet, but for someone with my enhanced abilities and extreme focus on her body and reactions, it was very obviously there.

Blindly, I reached for her door, slowly pushing it open and welcoming the warmth and overwhelming perfume that I’d come to associate with her presence, especially during the times she was releasing these delicious little moans. Immediately, my ears picked up on another, much dirtier tune: the squelching sounds her fingers elicited from her sweet pussy as she fucked herself.

I almost fell to my knees, as my legs suddenly lost the ability to keep me upright, but I was able to hold myself back just in time. Wouldn’t want to miss the show, especially when it was making me so fucking hard. 

Finally venturing further into the room, I came face to face with the beauty waiting for me. She hadn’t noticed my arrival yet, too preoccupied with her pleasurable activities, her eyes closed shut in concentration as her mouth fell open in that delicious silent scream I liked to swallow so much.

I watched as she touched herself a bit more, attentively looking for the telling signs that she was close to her release, and just when the muscles on her thigh began to clench, I leaned over her and wrapped my hand around her wrist, pulling her fingers from inside her cunt. The surprised gasp she let out made me smirk.

I sucked on her fingers, enjoying my first taste of her after what felt like forever. A deep groan erupted from my chest at her sweetness invading my mouth. “Missed me?” I teased when I finally reopened my eyes to find her staring back at me with a lustful expression.

“You have no idea just how much,” was her answer. I was enough of a man to feel proud of her response, but it also became clear just how much I had actually become soft for the woman under me - a stark contrast to the hardness I could feel restricting my jeans.  

When she first arrived at the academy, I hadn’t expected her to become as important to me as she had now, but just as I struggled to take off my clothes as quickly as possible before kneeling before the bed, pulling her by the ankles so she was spread out just in front of my face, I couldn’t really deny it. I’d do anything to keep her with me, just like this.

“I think I have some idea of it…” I teased her just as I softly ran my fingers over her pussy lips, simply collecting the wetness that had gathered there.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

He once more wrapped his lips over his wet fingers and moaned at my taste in his mouth. “How are you this fucking sweet?” Was all he asked before he delved right in, parting my thighs with his large hands and licking from my puckered hole to my clit. 

“Fuck!” I cursed, throwing one of my hands over my head, to find something to hold onto, while the other found its way into his hair, pulling on it just the way I knew he liked. I felt his groan reverberating through me before he chuckled, briefly stopping his ministrations to stare up at me with his lower face dripping from my wetness.

“I love when I can make you curse.” Biting my lip, I accepted that I couldn’t retaliate his teasing while he continued to eat me out. His tongue easily engulfed my whole pussy, so just that was enough to bring me to the edge of an orgasm in a way I could never grant it to myself. “Come on, sweet girl,” he admonished, slapping my thigh. “Ride my face. Give me what I came here for.”

I obeyed him without even thinking about it. This was just how it was when it came to us. He asked me to strip, my panties were on the floor before he finished his sentence. He ordered me to get on my knees, my mouth was instantly watering at the sight of him.

But God, did he deliver. My compliance came very easily when it came to a man like him, so eager to please beyond what his body could already offer. I’d been with many men before who, while obviously not as well-endowed as him, had been on the bigger side, and they always left me needing more, like they believed their dick’s length was enough to satisfy me without any real effort from their part.

Not Logan, though. Oh, no. Logan thrived on making me cum, over and over again. He liked to say he’d live on my pussy alone if possible, and by the way he very hungrily ate me out for hours on end at times, I knew he was being honest.

I sometimes liked to entertain the idea that I was the one who brought out that side of him, but I knew better. Someone like Logan had a lot of experience, I was dumb to think that I might be somewhat special to him, somehow. So I didn’t.

Instead, I allowed the filthy sounds of my wetness being gurgled down by him to bring me back to this moment, choosing to focus instead on how delicious his tongue felt against my clit, how he happily accepted my movements as I buckled up, in search of my orgasm.

I was right over the edge, in need of just a little something else to push me over it when Logan suddenly decided to open his eyes and focus them on me. The sight of his darkened eyes and dilated pupils was enough to make me throw my head back against the soft pillows of my bed as I reached bliss.

When the stars of light disappeared from my vision and I came to my senses, Logan was still in the same spot in front of me, his thumbs softly caressing the inside of my thighs. “You’re back with me, darlin’?” He asked in that deliciously gruff voice of his, and I shivered, nodding breathlessly as I wetted my lips. “So now, let’s have a talk. Who said you could touch yourself while I’m away, huh?”

I blinked once, then twice. My mouth was slightly agape as I looked down at Logan, still sprawled out for his viewing pleasure while my mind raced to make sense of his words. “I-I don’t understand,” I finally confessed, my eyes following his movement as he climbed up on the bed until we were face to face for the first time since his return.

Logan’s P.O.V.

I tsked teasingly, leaning down to deposit a quick kiss on the corner of her lips. “I asked you…” I breathed out on her ear, watching as goosebumps raised over her skin. “... who said you could touch yourself, darlin'. Because last I checked…” I cupped her cunt with one of my hands, chuckling lightly at how I was able to cover it with my palm. “... this pussy was mine and only mine.”

“I-it was?” Now, hold my heart (and my cock) but she just looked too fucking cute with that confused look on her face, her eyebrows frowned as she stared at me like I had grown two fucking heads.

“Of course, sweetheart. Now, I know we hadn’t talked about this before, so I’ll let your pretty little ass spank free this time, but be warned…” I leaned over her again, my nose touching hers as I felt her little breaths against my own lips. “... next time you’re feeling horny, you ask your boyfriend to help you deal with it. And if he’s not around, you wait.”

Now, I was expecting some kind of reaction from my little rule, and I was 100% ready to negotiate, but what I wasn’t expecting was for her eyes to grow twice their size as she suddenly sat up on the bed, forcing me to lean back and take a seat, too.

“Boyfriend?” She definitely looked confused, her eyes searching mine for something I didn’t know since I was just as puzzled. Opting to stay silent, I simply stared back at her, both of my eyebrows raised high as I waited for her explanation. “You mean… you?”

The familiar fire of anger rose up quickly inside my chest, and I had to curl my hands into fists to control myself. “Of course it’s me, who the fuck would it be? Are you sleeping with anyone else?”

Rationally, I knew my problem was less anger and more disappointment. I’d let my guard down for her - way too quickly, faster than I’d done for anyone else throughout my life. And I’d done it because she touched my heart in a way no one else had. I was falling for her, and I thought she felt the same way too.

“NO! Of course not!” She all but jumped, her hands reaching out to cradle my face and I found myself actually relaxing against her touch, as my heartbeat started to slow down at the knowledge that she really was all mine. “I just… I didn’t know… I didn’t think we were dating. I thought you saw me as…”

She didn’t seem to have the courage to finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to. I understood what she meant, and as realization fell upon me, I found myself throwing my head back and full-on laughing, much to her displeasure. When I managed to calm down, she was pouting at me, which only made the arousal that had dissipated by the fear reappear that much stronger.

“Oh, darlin’...” I started, pulling on her ankles to force her on her back again as I hovered over her, watching, analyzing. “I’ve fucked you every single night for the last month. Now, I know I’m not the kind to talk about my feelings, but I figured that made it pretty obvious…”

Leaning down, I took possession of her mouth to give her a breathtaking kiss, forcing her to accept my eager tongue, to taste herself on my lips. Then I went further, kissing her jaw, her neck, until I reached her collarbones, where I sucked a bruise, all the while rubbing my aching cock against her clit before pushing it inside of her in one forceful thrust. 

“... You’re mine. Only mine. Mine to fuck, mine to bruise and mark, mine to cum into.” Her mouth immediately fell open at the feeling of my hardness stretching her open, and I couldn’t help the smirk that took over my lips. “You okay with that, sweetheart?” I asked, waiting for her to adjust to the feeling of being invaded as I nibbled on her earlobe.

Finally, after a few minutes of her struggling to breathe as I felt her squeezing my biceps, she nodded. “Y-yeah.” Grinning, I took that as an okay to start moving and immediately started to pound her against the mattress, just like I loved and had come to learn that she did, too. Her nails bit on my flesh, but it only added to my own arousal, making me growl against the skin of her chest.

“This fucking pussy… You really thought I’d just treat you like a fuckbuddy?” Abruptly pulling out of her, I manhandled her onto her hands and knees before pushing her face down against the mattress, all the while laughing at the little scream of surprise she let out. “I’m never gonna stop fucking you, pretty thing. You better watch out.”

She was moaning desperately now, just how I’d dreamt of hearing while I was away from her, and it made my sack even heavier as it slapped against her clit with each thrust I gave. “Fuck… ‘m gonna cum, sweetheart. Do you want it? Say you want my cum in your pretty little pussy, come on.”

After a gasp that followed my slap on her ass, she flipped her head back, looking at me with those fucking sultry eyes that I loved so damn much. “Please, Logan, cum inside of me. Wanna feel it dripping from me, please, I need it so bad.” And this is why I was convinced she was some sort of siren or whatever. The second that our eyes connected, I was fulfilling her wishes, releasing all of my milky cum inside of her throbbing pussy, as she came at the same time as me.

Once I was able to breathe again, after having thrown myself by her side on the bed, I pulled her so she’d rest her face on my chest, chuckling to myself over how much of a cuddle lover I’d become ever since we’d started sleeping together.

“Hey, Logan,” she called out my attention, making me hum in response as I looked down to find her staring up expectantly at me. “I hope you know that this goes both ways.” I blinked twice as I waited for her words to make sense to me, but before they did, she was giggling, already clarifying her meaning. “You’re mine too.”

To say that those words filled me with the happiest kind of warmth would be an understatement. I didn’t know what to say, I’d never been good at this lovey-dovey shit, so I settled for pulling her back to me again and giving her forehead a kiss.

“Believe me, darlin’... I know.”

[the-brohood-of-hotties]

Forget me not

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman REBORN! Pairing: Hibari x Reader   Wordcount:  2,210

Summary: Hibari is a weird man, famous for his rather aggressive aura. After he moves into your neighborhood, an oasis inside a big neon town, Hibari Kyouya brings with him the weirdest situations into your life, as he makes a startling entrance with an accident with his "co-worker", Yamamoto Takeshi.

This is an entry for #khrevents April Angst 2021/ Day 8/ Yearning, Longing/ Reincarnation AU/ "I don't want to forget you."

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30658199

The glass door from your coffee shop and gardening club swings open, you don’t really care to see who’s there because it’s almost the end of your shift and you’re really entertained with social media, though you did greet the person entering. “ Good evening. Welcome to the Daily Lily.”

“Good evening, I’m afraid we’ll have to check out your storage.”

“Are you the police?”

“...No.”  The voice seemed hesitant, you notice.

“Then I can’t help with that, we have a promotion on cheesecake today though.”  You smile and finally look up, afraid it might be a man trying to mess up with you. Well, it was two men, in fact. You’ve heard the rumors around the neighborhood, that Hibari Kyouya was a man with a weird aura that just moved in alone with some exotic pets, while he seemed delicate and handsome, he just had this introverted, aggressive aura and you’d never expect him to show up in your small business as the companion of another guy. Tall, tan skin, dark hair, buff, a scar on his chin in contrast with a bright gentle smile. He seemed to carry a baseball bat in his back, which made the combination of sports and their suits really off, they both seem to be either Japanese or Korean.

While Hibari, the  grumpy one, seemed to not be so happy about being with the other guy. Like a puppy and an old cat. "We don’t wanna bother you, but-..." The baseball guy was cut off by a loud noise coming from the back of the store. Normally you would be worried that your co-worker got hurt or something, but today? You’ve been alone for the second half of your shift. It’s not supposed to be noisy there, you’re frozen in the spot.

Hibari immediately bursts into the staff-only area of your shop, and before you can protest, the other guy gently grabs your shoulder. “Everything will be fine, we’ll take care of this situation. I just need you to hide in the restroom.’’

“Excuse me?!” No time for excuses, you heard someone grunting and the loud noises start getting too repetitive. Your phone was given in your hands and you basically got pushed into the room by the taller guy. “Sorry, huuh I really need to go there… ” He said as the door slammed on your face. The restroom was cozy enough, you had it decorated as you wanted, and you were firmly holding your phone in case you needed to call someone...But then, who would you be calling? The police would probably make things worse, especially because they seemed to be armed, or worse, maybe these guys are the police in disguise. You fidget your fingers along the cold black surface as a way to calm down a little, it seemed pointless. The noise was too loud to just put on earbuds and ignore them, but you realize: And if this is all a scheme? Rushing to peek at the door, as your eyes meet the pastel walls of the store, you realize it seems like no one’s here at all. Until you hear the cranky storage door opening, and as soon as you see the Baseball guy again, you close the door. Don’t want him thinking you’ve been spying on whatever happened in the storage, with your heart racing, you hear a gentle knock on the wooden door, accompanied by his voice. “Everything is fine! You can come out. I’m sorry I didn’t say my name before, I’m Yamamoto Takeshi and my company here is Hibari Kyouya.”

Decide to close the shop soon as you could for the day,  you come out of the restroom, greeted by the two men.

“I am not your partner, Yamamoto Takeshi.”  He mutters, Hibari looks completely clean, you could still mistake him with a businessman. While Takeshi seems to have bruised his hand a little. You offer him your first-aid kit which he accepts, then you close the curtains so there’s no curiosity about that’s going on inside. “So, what happened in my storage?”  You cross your arms, with a cotton stained with blood between your fingers, slightly annoyed by the whole situation. Making mental notes of what to tell your therapist later, then going back to cleaning the dry blood on Yamamoto's calloused hand.

“Two burglars, they were armed but easy to deal with.” Hibari finally says something directed to you, maybe it’s the first time he bothered to look in your eyes. Not that you’re annoyed by that, perhaps he’s just introverted. But at the same time, now that he looked at your face, it's like something inside him got frozen, awkward. It's such a weird feeling, especially since he doesn't really show it off, you just can tell. “Are you guys police officers?”  You change the subject, brushing it off your mind, Hibari looks away, you can’t tell if he’s offended by being compared to a cop or something else. “Not at all! We just know how to handle them. We’ll send you a check to compensate for the damage and the working time you spent in the restroom as well.” Yamamoto finished his bandage and happily hands you paper and pen. “Just write down your shop’s address and info and the check will arrive in 3 to 5 days.”

You couldn’t really believe in such kindness, or at least knowing how to deal with the consequences of their vigilante work but since they already know the shop you write it down anyway. “ Are you all putting me in some pyramid scheme? You two seem like stage actors.”  They do look like handsome actors, you think.

“We aren’t.” Hibari actually pulls out an unused bullet from his pocket to show  they’re not lying, effective but scary. He just turns away and keeps browsing the plants you got for sale, examining the quality of an English Ivy’s vine. “Don’t scare them, c’mon. Isn’t this shop your neighbor now?”  Yamamoto jokes around, Hibari sends him a deadly look and you decide you won’t touch the neighbor subject ever again.

“If you two excuse me, I have to close the shop and go home. It’s getting late and I don't plan to work more today.” You operate the register and turn off your computer for the day, swinging the keys in your index finger. Anxious to get home to your cat and a nice hot bath to relax. “Thank you again for your kindness, next time you visit the shop anything from the coffee and plants is on me. But don't do crazy stuff again.” You smile as everyone leaves the inside area with you. “By the way, who’s going to take these two burglars out? Did you guys called the police?”

“Kusakabe already took them, before you got out of the restroom.” Hibari says in a beat, interrupting Yamamoto before he could say something else. “Who’s that?”  You raise an eyebrow, the Baseball guy blurts out, dismissing any curiosity you might have. “He’s a friend of ours who’s actually a cop!” That’s weird, you didn’t even see a vehicle, and usually, when cops stopped around they were always noisy and had the blue and red lights on. Off-duty cops, detectives, spies, what are these people doing around? Your curiosity around these two can only grow. It’s not like your hometown has anything important in the first place. Anyway, you say your goodbyes and already invited them to come once more. Perhaps it will be good to have these two around, at least against burglars.

Hibari turns to Yamamoto as soon as you disappeared in a street corner, with earbuds on, bursting your playlist for a nice walk and everything “That’s why we shouldn’t operate with any civilians nearby, we might be compromised now.”.

“It wasn’t that bad, I think they got to sympathize with us, it’ll be just a weird day on their life.”  Takeshi stretches his arms, it’s quite complicated to deal with you and Hibari all at once. “But, still if we didn’t interfere these guys might take them hostage, steal the shop, or whatever their intentions were. We’re lucky you saw they had guns when passing by the street.”

“I am sure Kusakabe will find out their true intentions, but meanwhile we cannot afford to bring attention to us. No more.” Hibari walked down the street, ready to get to his new apartment. “And, Yamamoto.”

“What?”

“If you get back here in the shop, don’t do anything weak and stupid.” A threat, how much that suits him, it must be a serious matter, no wonder the Foundation decided to settle in that small town for a while. Once Hibari got home, greeted by Hibird’s singing, he lets out a long sigh. What happened today? Two Mafia men going out for a civilian’s small business as if it’s a serious matter for them. But especially, the Cloud Guardian feels like he just knows you from somewhere. Your voice and eyes seem oddly familiar, but if he was to put this feeling into words it’ would simply smell like bullshit. Herbivore bullshit. He takes a long shower, and gets to bed to read something before sleeping, but can’t concentrate on his book. It can’t be, he even loses sleep and feels exhausted, only falling asleep when his body couldn’t take it anymore.

He wakes up in a bad mood, feeds Hibird and Roll, and opens his fridge: nothing, just a bottle of water. Well, he has to remind Kusakabe to do his groceries, but for now, he’ll be ok with going to your shop for breakfast. He gets changed from his kimono to casual clothing, it’s 07:00 AM when he walks down the block and notices no one’s inside the shop beside you, as he opened the door a ring is heard, you turn your head to see who’s there, the shop seems clean and decorated with paper and fairy lights hanging on the wall, plus with the plants of all sorts, making the place lively, with soft lo-fi music in the background. “Hey, good morning Sir.” He murmurs a response and orders blueberry pancakes with a black coffee on the balcony. “Thanks for coming after yesterday, I came here earlier to clean but your partner Kusakabe was waiting at the door to help me out.”

“Good.”  As you manage the register, he notices you have cupcakes with colorful glaze and cutesy decor right beside you, and a poster that he can’t read from that distance. You see he’s staring at something and offers him one of the cupcakes. “Today I’m throwing a small event here, the shop will celebrate 2 years of business, come by if you want to.”

“I’m not letting you give me everything in the shop for free.”  He rejects and suits himself a table nearby the window. “I don’t like parties, or crowded places so I’ll stop by tomorrow.” This hurts your ego a little bit, but it would probably be embarrasing to have a stranger around, he’s quiet most of the time. You wonder if Yamamoto is more of a party person, then, your thoughts drift to the question: Is Yamamoto Takeshi single? He doesn’t have a wedding ring, and neither does Hibari. 

 You shake your head before you could turn red in front of him. “Well, I’ll save you a piece of cake my parents made then.”  You say, as you get  prepared to do everything for today’s menu ready.

“You don’t have to.”  Ouch. You decide to not offer him more things, but this behaviour makes you wonder if he has a jealous partner.

Usually you let everything sort-of-ready so you just need to heat them in the oven on the back of the balcony. Cooking is time-consuming, but at least it’s pretty lucrative. “I think I’ll take around 30 minutes since you’re an early bird. You can use a laptop to work or shop for flowers if you like stuff like gardening.”  You turn your head to talk to him, but to your surprise, he’s already looking at some pots and examining some other gardening products you have around, you didn't expect him to be this kind of person, gardening takes nurturing, care, and a lot of attention towards a living being who doesn't even communicate like animals. He does like gardening apparently, you expected him to pull off a MacBook and have an online meeting over his meal or something, maybe doing finances of whatever organization he's probably the leader at, at least that's what his expensive suit tells. When you get to serve his plate, the spare chair has a basket full of gardening materials, seeds for fruits and veggies, some pots, a small rake, and a trowel.

As the clients come in and you get busier, he didn’t want to be a burden, so he just sat there and tried to enjoy his breakfast, even though the place was a little more crowded than he would like to. But still, Hibari can manage that for a bit, and then he realizes how the situation just got weirder to him, how come he’s doing that for you? And why did you felt so familiar? Spending most of his life there, just occasionally traveling he never noticed a person that matched that specific scene in his head. Is this some Herbivore bullshit? Maybe. Hibari is still pondering over this subject but as long as no one from the Foundation or Vongola finds out, he just found out a place with good pancakes, open from Monday to Saturday, how convenient. The whole saved your business and life thing or the fact that you’re attractive is just a small detail.  When he’s done, Hibari gets up from his table and your co-worker comes to clean his spot. He takes his basket to the balcony for payment, but not before adding a purple flower to his shop list. When he gets to pass all the products, which usually the clients would take one or two plants, but he got around seven, letting the purple flower for last.

A small vase blooming with forget-me-nots, as you pass it on the register, you read the silly little tag you put in some pots as decoration, each has a quirky phrase or pun with the names, that one reads:

“Don’t forget about me”.

[myrulia]

An Oiran's Sacrifice - Kokushibou x Oiran!Reader

Oiran

Oiran (花魁) was a specific category of high ranking courtesan in Japanese history. Divided into a number of ranks within this category, oiran were considered – both in social terms and in the entertainment they provided – to be above common prostitutes, known as yūjo (遊女, lit. 'woman of pleasure')

Warnings: Strong language, prostitution

Word count: 3758

Next chapter

`` Why must you do this to yourself? ``

`` For my family. ``

`` Family means nothing if you are working as a self degrading prostitute. ``

`` It is what I must do if I wish to live. ``

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It was yet another late evening, alone in your compact minka, yet it never was a bother, for this was how you usually spent your nights. Due to your poor living style, your father was driven to thievery. It was the only way to keep the two of you somewhat fed, clothes on your back, and a roof over your heads. Your living style has helped you become more grateful of any small blessing that came along your way. Even the smallest fortune would put a smile on your face because it ended the little sorrow in your heart at the realization of your poverty.

``[Y/N],`` You heard a voice beckon to you. The voice you knew all too well at this time of night that originated from the only person who would even dare leave do commit such crimes. `` Coming father. ``

Getting up slowly from your dimly candle lit chabudai, you scurried your way to the wooden door of your minka, letting inside the only other family member you had, your father. Watching how he takes slow strides inside the bleak, wooden-paneled small space of your home, you mentally cursed yourself for ever allowing yourself to come to terms with your reality. Deep down you hated how the man in front of you risked his life nearly every night just to make sure the two of you were fed, yet, it is not like you could do much to change your misfortune, for it is your depressing reality.

`` Miracles do happen [Y/N]. I promise you, with this, we can finally turn our life around, and leave this dreadful place. `` Being intrigued by your father's words, you eyed the gleaming object in his hands that you unfortunately recognized. `` Father, why? From the Suzuki family no less? They will have our heads if we are to be caught..! ``

Your worry was bothersome to your father. He knew just as much as you what the consequences are if he was ever to be caught. It wasn't easy for the male to successfully loot the expensive statue in hand, so you didn't doubt he'd do his best to hide any evidence of his caper. You couldn't help but worry of your future, because the Suzuki family was the most wealthiest family in your little mountain-side village. Known for being ruthless to anyone that disrupts their peace and fortune, the Suzukis will not tolerate such thievery inflicted upon them, which is why your worry only increased even more because you did love your father of course, and to see his head served on a silver platter was gut wrenching.

`` [Y/N], rest assured that we will not be caught. We will use this to escape this little village and live somewhere safer, maybe in the forest like your mother always wanted. We can live a peaceful life without relying on thievery. Please, my beautiful blessing of a daughter, place your trust into me. `` You merely sighed at your father's declaration. You knew he'd pull the mother card on you just to persuade your emotions even more to agree with his actions. Obviously you do not, because at the end of the day stealing is bad and punishable by death, so the constant worry always lingered in your heart.

`` I do not care if we are the lesser fortunate of our village, I just want to you to stop stealing. I already have a job- ``

`` That barely pays you enough. This is why I do what I must to keep us alive. I am ending this conversation here, I do not want to hear another word from you [Y/N]. Now, please get your much needed rest, you are developing eye bags. `` With those somewhat encouraging words to actually get some rest, you trudge your way to your comfortable futon, which wasn't too much of a distance because everything was set in the same confinded room of your one room house.

Your father blew out the warm colored candle before getting comfortable in the similar futon next to you, letting out a small groan as his muscles seemed to relax. Letting a small sigh escape your lips, you turned over so that you were laying on your side. Whilst closing your eyes, you finally allowed yourself to escape into a somewhat peaceful slumber, since you strongly believed you were in the clear from being beheaded in public since your father managed to get away unscathed.

Just as quickly as you fell asleep, you found yourself waking up to the bright light of the sunrise that glistened through the only window of your home. Yawning, you covered your mouth while slipping out of the warm fabrics of your futon, peeling open your eyes slowly. From how quickly you woke up, you felt as though it was going to be a rather long day. Truth be told you wish you had the urge to sleep longer, for you did not wish to face the day with a guilty conscience lingering over your head as a constant reminder of what your father does in the wake of the night.

`` Father, we have lots to do today, please wake up. `` Expecting to hear a soft groan in return, you turn your head to the now empty futon before you. Shock was all that was found on your face, because your usual routine was to wake up your father and start the day by finding any food to buy from the market place, but that is not the case today. Your father was gone.

`` Father? FATHER?! ``

Worry took over your emotions just as fast as your shock did. The man who was usually still in bed was no longer there so obviously you'd do your best to look all over for him. Getting out of your futon just as speedily as you woke up, you slipped on your geta shoes and bolted out of your living space and onto the busy street of your village. It was all too sickening when you tried to make sense of the situation, but only one solution came to mind. That solution only seemed to make more sense as you ran through the people-covered streets, pulling up your kimono just a bit so it'd be easier to run around until a loud boisterous voice was heard from the townsquare that confirmed every suspicion you had.

`` This pitiful man chose to steal from me! How sad that his life must end like this. It is only fair that death is his punishment for taking a precious family artifact right? `` The cheers of those in the audience caused a ringing in your ears. That was your father they were wishing death upon, and yet nobody seemed to care. As long as their own heads were on their shoulders, they were fine.

Pushing past the multiple men and women in front of you, you managed to escape from the crowd, yet to your disapproval, you were now directly in front of the cause of all the commotion, Suzuki Kenta. Your act of boldness triggered all eyes to be on you, but you could care less. You did not want to lose yet another family member in the arms of selfish people. So, bowing down quickly, you mustered up the confidence to beckon out to the head of the Suzuki family. `` Suzuki-san, as this pitiful mans daughter, I beseech of you to please, spare his life. He knew it was wrong yet it was only to save us both from the misfortune inflicted upon us!! Please, I beg of you..! ``

In your desperate plea, your eyes became bloodshot since tears were welling up on your bottom eyelid. Now looking up from your bowing stance, Suzuki Kenta had prominent veins on his face that showed his distasteful attitude towards your cry of desperation. It was obvious the angered male did not want an interruption, especially from a poor female no less, so obvious agitation was expected.

`` This woman.. really believes she can save this scum of a man... how cute. `` Kenta took slow strides to your smaller, still beneath him, form. You could practically feel him looming over you in utter disgust for ever believing you could persuade such a powerful man himself. Deep down you had a feeling that both your heads would be severed off, or hanged and humiliated publicly for your foolish actions. Who would believe this is how you unfortunately came to your end. Desperately trying to save your thieving father, knowing what he did was wrong? Bitter. The Bitter truth always hurts.

`` Look at me. ``

And as just as quick as he said his order, you gave in and risen your head from the ground, your cheeks being stained by hot tears rolling down your face, looking even more pathetic than what you had wished. Although if it was going to save your father's life, then so be it. If you were going to look like the dirt that everybody walked on, then that is what you will do. Sacrifices like these were common you, especially saving your own fathers life multiple times before this so this was nothing new.

`` You are just as pitiful as your father. You wish to save this low life man who had the audacity to steal from me? `` Kenta snarled in distaste. You had no choice but to stay silent, for there was a blade in the male's hand that he could use any second to take your life, and if you wanted to live, you needed to be careful and word your sentences just as carefully. `` I apologize on his behalf, I wish to make it up to you Sakimi-san. ``

`` Clever girl.. I have taken rather a liking to you. You are smart and you know your place, I will respect that. `` Letting out a relieved sigh, you eye the weapon in his hand before averting your gaze back to his twisted and still somewhat agrivated face. Kenta looked as if he was contemplating something in his head, all the while his bodyguards made your bloodied father watch everything unfold before him without a say in anything.

`` You do have quite the beautiful face, and a body that compliments you oh so well. I will give you two options Miss Fujisaki, you either return the stolen item and watch your father die here and now, or, you become an oiran for my lovely son. Pick wisely, and immediately. I expect an answer now. ``

Murmers were heard from the crowd who also stayed to watch the commotion unravel before them. Of course everyone knew all too well what the life of a low ranking oiran is, and knowing that the options given were supposed to be a punishment, you were going to be no more than a yujo, working as a sex slave for Sakimi's sex hungry son. But, if it meant saving your father's life, then so be it. `` I will accept the life as an oiran.. Sakimi-san.. ``

`` Perfect! I didn't want to get this perfectly good suit dirty so gentlemen, let the scum go. `` Just as quickly as Kenta snapped his fingers, the bodyguards let your father go. Seeing his bloodied and beaten to a pulp body ignited a fire in your heart as he tried his best to make his way over to you. `` Father please save your energy, we'll get you some help.. `` you addressed as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

`` Oh do not worry! My men will get him the help he needs in due time, for now please allow yourself to be escorted to my estate for further details of your new living space. ``

`` I thought I was an oiran, do I not have the decision of going back home. ``

`` My lotus, please do not talk ba- ``

`` You will be nothing more than a yujo. Your face is sweet but your tongue is bitter, and so as a punishment you will be completely submissive for my son. ``

Your eyes practically doubled in size. The fact that Kenta believes you are so willing to not at least have a shred of your dignity left is beyond anything you ever thought of. After being publicly humiliated, you'd at least expect for him to understand how you felt, but at the end of the day, selfish rich people know no boundaries. Sighing once more with your father in your arms, you slowly stand on both your dusty legs, all the while helping your father keep his balance. ''Fine then..'' was all you said.

You found yourself now following the Sakimi bodyguards, for they were escorting you to the one and only Sakimi estate. It was rather large and sat on an even larger hill, so the trail up the grand staircase was a bit of a hike for the beaten man that you loved so dearly. During the entire walk it truly allowed you to comprehend your reality for the rest of your life. You were going to be a oiran, the lowest ranking form of oiran no less. It had your blood boiling with how easily you are so willing to save your father from death time and time again.

Since the small little hike would end soon, you took the chance to take in your surroundings. It wasn't like your previous way of living in the village, but a more extravagant way of living. There were statues with small-scale ponds in front of them that had different colored koi fish inside. The afternoon brightness of the sun reflected upon the water, but that was not the only thing because you could catch a glimpse of your dirtier form from your bow of respect from earlier. Looking back you realize the man who you will be working for deserved now ounce of respect, for your body was yours, even if you were to be a yujo you'd still keep your dignity.

Other than that, in your barely noticeable reflection, even under all the small specs of dirt and filth, your face resembled your mother. You pretty much looked like a copy and paste version of the woman so it was no surprise that you had her beautiful features. Above all that it still saddened you that from above, she'd be watching her daughter become a self degrading prostitute if it meant saving her dear father from execution. A reality, that was so tart to even look at in the eyes of others.

`` Ahem.. Fujisaki, ``you heard a feminine voice call out to you. It was shocking so your head whipped to the side to whoever called out to you. To your misfortune, it was the head oiran of the Sakimi estate. Lowering your head out of respect, you partially gripped your father's shirt out of nervousness because it would be the start of a new chapter in your life that you never wanted to reach. `` Now that I have your attention, let me look at you. ``

Before you knew it your father was ripped from your arms by the same bodyguards who held him at knife point. Your face of worry was noticed by those around you, so to direct your attention the head oiran, who you had yet to introduce herself to you, held your face in her amazingly soft hands. `` Ignore them, they're going to patch him up and send him home. You, my beautiful underling, will be coming with me and my ladies. ``

Her boldness wasn't shocking, so following her didn't make you as uncomfortable as you perceived it would be. The beautiful woman who held your wrist as you finally entered the large minka, had started speaking so quickly that your mind took a bit to process. `` I am the head oiran known as the tayu and you are my precious little yujo. I'm Sakura, over there is Jade, that's Blossom, and there is Waterlily. You will address us by our oiran names only and the same goes for you. You will no longer be "Fujisaki," but rather a lovely name, Lotus. ``

The irony in that moment made you want to cringe. You only permitted your father to call you such a thing, but now that it is what others shall be addressing you, it caused an obvious look of discomfort to be plastered on your face. Just as suddenly as Sakura stopped talking, she just as suddenly dragged you to another, more secluded, area of the minka. Inside the room she pulled you in looked like an oversized closet, easily bigger than your one room home.

`` In here is where you shall prepare yourself to look proper, right now you look like actual filth, so please, make yourself look presentable for Master. ``

Before you could utter out a single word, Sakura left you, alone in a pretty large room without any guidance. During the time your mother was with you, the both of you would pass men with many different beautiful women surrounding him. Despite being too young to fully understand their jobs, your mother simply said, `` They are called oirans my dear, beautiful women for service. ``

With that in mind, you remembered how the others look and tried your best to copy their image. Grabbing a nearby hakuhodo, you dipped the end into the white power and began gently stroking your face, turning your fair skin milky white. It was a longer process than anticipated so once you were done you had to message your muscles because making sure the powerdy substance stayed on your face took the longest. You felt embarrassed to call for help, so you being you decided to do everything yourself. Grabbing what you perceived to be an eyeliner pencil, you tried to keep your hand steady as you basically used yourself as a canvas of art.

Unfortunately it was another long process because a few strokes were a bit wobbly, but finally perfecting the look made you feel a sense of pride that you could do such things yourself. Grabbing one more brush, you dabbed the end into a red power and brushed lightly where the end of your eye starts and stopped just about before your hair line. Moving onto the multiple shades of lipsticks, you grabbed a bright red and began applying the shade onto your lips. `` I look ridiculous, don't I mother? ``

Your tilted your head up to imagine her soft laughter at how content you are with your actions. You still felt pride in the fact that you were able to successfully look like a professional oiran without help from the tayu. Smiling gently to yourself, you got up from the plush chair to look for your new kimono that'd you'd be working in starting from that point on. When you came to no prevail, you sighed once more while scampering your way to the wooden sliding door. `` Sakura-san? ``

`` Yes my underling? `` Was all the beautiful woman said from a little ways away. Telling by the gentleness of her voice, she wasn't too busy at the moment so you scurried over to her as quickly as you could.

`` If you are not busy at the moment Sakura-san.. may you help me with my kimono?``

`` Of course not my little lotus, come with me. ``

Following behind her yet again, she leads the both of you into the dressing rooms where you originated from. Her movements were fluid and as gracefully as she could, pulled out each layer of kimono you'd be wearing for the one they called "master." Placing each layer onto a nearby chair, she faces you with a softer expression while holding your face in her hands once more, like earlier. `` For a fresh underling, your make-up is more professional than most. I must admit that I am proud of you my Lotus, so please hurry and get dressed so I can give you a proper tour of the Sakimi estate. ``

And with that, Sakura left, leaving you to your disposal of getting dressed. Unfortunately she hadn't told you the order of each layer, so it was more like a ball game to see if you actually got it correct. From your eyes, it seemed like everything was a test to see just how much you knew about an oirans job. In contrast, you were a clever one, so it wasn't too tough to memorize the oirans you passed as a child, remembering each layer and how they dress accordingly.

Yet again, another long process which you figured out all on your own.

Looking in the mirror, you no longer recognized your mothers features on your own face. In your eyes, you saw another person entirely, that was no longer you. To everyone else you'd be known as Lotus, not [Y/N] Fujisaki. It was the future you brought upon yourself, so keeping your chin raised high, you took slow strides out of the dressing room and looked for Sakura who was supposed to give you a proper tour, but to no avail, you did not see the woman from earlier.

And so, you took it upon yourself to look around until you found yourself on the engawa that wrapped around the entire minka. The evening breeze hitting your face as you looked down at the small forest beside, taking in the sunset cascading down upon you. You hadn't expected for the entire day to simply rush by. It felt like just yesterday you were waiting for your father to return from his capers almost every night, but no longer shall he steal, owing to the fact that you'd make money as a yujo.

This was your life, and you had no say in how it was to go for the rest of your days.

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`` Ohhh..~ She is a pretty one Kokushibou-dono~ I want her as my next meal. ``

Kokushibou, who wasn't listening to the Upper Moon Two, eyed a woman who had changed entirely since the last time he had seen her. His confusion didn't go unnoticed due to the Upper Moon One usually having a stoic expression. `` You seem to have taken a liking to her? How pitiful she is nothing but a prostitute n- ``

Before the demon could finish his sentence, one swift movement of Kokushibou's blade had his head off in seconds.

`` Silence, Douma. ``

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[moonloredraws]

House of Blood

A story about an overworked and stressed out individual who goes to a vampire brothel for some consensual hypnosis to start off her holiday off work.

M Vampire x F Human (NSFW, tw hypnosis , tw vampire biting ) 4277 words

---  Life had been a cycle of stress and problems, and things had been spiralling for you recently. Your job had become too much to handle, your co-workers had once again proven to be unreliable and your boss had been more unreasonable than usual. Things had been hectic.

Your holiday had come up, fortunately. A couple of weeks away from the incessant stream of issues was a welcome reprieve. You had planned on enjoying yourself, treating yourself to some new clothes and other goodies. 

You had even decided to go to the local smut bookshop. The Moonlore Bookstore had always piqued your interest, but you'd never really had any reason to go in. The interior was surprising, the inside seemed much older than the modern facade of the building led you to believe, but the atmosphere was cozy and welcoming. The front was a cafe, with the back half of the space hiding the books behind some discreet dividers. It had an unusual vibe for a place to buy erotic books.

The thing that most had stood out was an extensive board of flyers, business cards and other advertisements of all kinds.

This was clearly a busy place that many supernatural beings frequented, but that made sense, given how the owner seemed of elven descent and her husband was a werewolf. Much of the ads were specific services for the variety of creatures that shared the human world, though much of the ads were for different places that you hadn't even heard of. Why would there be adverts for services in Amsterdam, Chicago, London and some other notable cities all in one place? It boggled your mind.

However, as you scanned the board with curiosity, you noticed a stack of discreet ash grey cards with a bright red embellished pair of lips. They stood out, and you looked a bit closer.

“Are you stressed? Want to have your worried sucked away?Come to the House of Blood for a fresh reset.”

It was in your area, too. 

  You had never heard of such a place before. You unpinned one of the cards, and took a closer look. It seemed like some kind of establishment run by vampires. Brothels run by the supernatural community was nothing new, but you had never frequented something like it before. Your gut twisted with excitement. You had never really cared for such things, but something about having your stress relieved fast and possibly having fun on the side tickled your fancy.

With your new treats and purchases, you went home, and did some more digging on the House of Blood. It had a discreet website, and it was definitely a brothel of some kind, as you had suspected. It seemed legit, had a small gallery of some incredibly well dressed vampires, some information on the workers and the owner, and you gave a sigh of relief at it being legit.

It did have a appointment form, but encouraged people to go there in person to have a chat about the different options they offered and what would be most appropriate for the client. 

  So you got yourself hyped up. This was all new and exciting, and you waited until an hour after night-fall. Following your phone's GPS, you made your way to the place. It was in an alley off a very busy street, which may have rung some alarms bells if it weren't for the beautiful state of the alley. It was clean, no dumpsters, bright neon signs lighting everything up and with a clear big sign next to the door. You let out a breath you didn't know you had been keeping, and slouched your shoulders as you walked to the door nervously. The beautiful ashen door had the same red lips on it as the card, and you nervously turned the handle, and entered into a small hallway that had some stairs leading upstairs.

Climbing the red carpet covered stairs, you looked around at the rich reds and ashen colours of the interior. Clearly the same person had designed this place and the vampire run nightclub in the area. Or maybe the owner was the same. Perhaps, though, they simply kept up the same “vampire aesthetic” for the other people around. You weren't sure. However, as you got to the top, you came to a brightly lit waiting room. There was a desk of bright cherry red plastic, and behind it was a woman, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, with lipstick to match the desk and a slouchy cream coloured sweater. 

  “Welcome to the House of Blood! I don't believe I've seen you here before?” said the woman, her cheeks lifting as she smiled. You nodded as you walked closer, still a bit nervous.

“It's my first time here, yes,” your voice wavered, as you came up to the desk. “ Well, welcome! I'm Amandine, but you can just call me Mandy. Since you're new, I need you to fill out a simple questionnaire, and a little form. I'll help you through everything, so don't worry about it if something is unfamiliar!”

Her cheerful and helpful disposition helped put you at ease, and you swiftly filled in some details, the medical history part took you by surprise, but it made sense. Vampires drink blood, after all. 

  The 'little form' ended up being a pretty big list, actually. Most of it was kinks and things that you would be alright with in a sexual situation. What intrigued you was the box marked “hypnosis”. 

  “What does that involve?” you looked curiously over to Amandine. “Is that something like becoming puppeted...?”

Amandine shook her head, giving a slight chuckle. “No, when we 'hypnotise' people, it's more like we induce a state of intense tunnel vision. You'll feel things more intensely, and I haven't found an easier way to say this, but it just makes you very horny. We haven't found a better term, so we just use 'hypnotise'.” “Huh,” you hummed at it.

“Since you're looking at some stress relief, I do suggest that. It's very difficult to have your mind wandering while under the effects.” Amandine added helpfully. That sealed the deal. All in all you weren't really looking for a very extreme interaction, you just wanted to have some fun, but the added benefit of not having to worry about much seemed too good to pass up.

Amandine settled the paperwork, clipped it all together, and then pointed at one of the doors. 

  “You'll want to go to room 4. There are no locks, for client and worker safety, but rest assured, nobody except the right person will walk into your room,” she gave a playful wink as she stood up and walked to a different door in the lobby, directly behind the desk. 

  “There's a box for your clothes, and there's a fluffy robe, if you'd like to get into something more comfortable, waiting for you in the room.”

You nodded, butterflies tickling your stomach as you walked through the door, into a well decorated hallway, to a door with the number 4 on it. Cautiously, you opened it, and entered.

The interior was plush. There was a soft looking bed, and a couch, and a door to bathroom. Everything was some sort of red or dark grey tone. You found a small night stand, and a fluffy maroon robe. 

  You did as Amandine suggested, and stripped completely, shoving your clothes unceremoniously into the empty nightstand's drawer. The rest were filled with a pile of sex toys and condoms. Your cheeks flushed as you quickly put the robe on and went to sit down. 

  Your current situation began to dawn on you, and you restlessly played with your hands. Before you could get overwhelmed with doubt and stand up to put your clothes back on, you heard a knock on the door.

“Come in!” You squeaked. It was happening. No turning back now.

The door opened and a tall, pale skinned man slid in, a tray in his hands with two cups and a teapot. Your heart skipped a little as he flashed a fanged smile at you, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

“I'm Xavier, please to meet you!” He quickly set the tray down, and went to shut the door behind him. You nervously introduced yourself, noting how much your voice was shaking. 

  Xavier had a fluffy mop of wavy brown hair, and a slight 5 o'clock shadow painting his jaw. His eyes were a friendly brown, and if it hadn't been for his fangs, you could have sworn he was just some guy who didn't get outside much.

 He wore a lightly cream coloured shirt, an intricately patterned green and gold vest, and some brown dress pants. He seemed much too overdressed to be part of a brothel, he'd be a much more fitting sight in a themed host club. 

  “No need to be so nervous. You're here to have a good time, right?” Xavier said as he sat down on the couch, placing the tray between the two of you. “Mandy said you preferred chamomile, so that's what we have.”

“Can vampires even drink tea?” The question had left your lips involuntarily, and Xavier let out a chuckle.

“Eating and drinking depends on what kind of vampire you are. Most turned vampires have a hard time processing food and some drinks, but I'm a born vampire, I can deal with this all just fine.”

You let out a 'huh' at that, and then picked up one of the cups which Xavier had filled with tea.

“So, a little bird told me that you've been dealt a bad hand by life at the moment.” Xavier took a sip of his tea. 

  You nodded, and began to tentatively recount some of the more frustrating events. Soon, you let yourself get more relaxed, and your gestures become more intense as you vented your worries, and Xavier ended up being a very good listener. 

  The conversation eventually started to lose steam, so Xavier picked up. He started to talk about himself. He had an interest in very fine embroidering, and occasionally would make some clothes for himself. He showed off his vest at that point, beaming at his creation. 

  “So... how come you've ended up working here?” You asked. Someone so skilled at sewing ending up in a brothel instead of working as a designer seemed odd.

“I enjoy helping people like this, and I'm a bit of a social butterfly. I tried being a host once, but that didn't end up working so well. I have... a slightly voracious appetite.” He smiled apologetically. You inhaled sharply at that, and you felt your cheeks warming up, and you felt a jolt in the pit of your stomach.

“I'll follow your lead, whenever you want to move onto something else, we can do that.” Xavier chuckled. 

  You nodded, blushing, and your shoulders tensed up. Xavier regarded you with a warm gaze, and slowly moved the tray to the side and shuffled closer to you, gingerly putting a hand on your shoulder.

“You're a bit tense again. Would you want me to give your shoulders a little massage?” He purred.

The vibrations of his voice went straight to your loins, and you stiffly nodded, turning your back to him. He gently tugged at the collar of your robe.

“Loosen your robe a bit, I can reach a little better that way.” He pulled the robes a little looser around your neck, and then gently pressed his fingers into your shoulders. As it turned out, his skills also extended to massaging, and you slowly found yourself sinking towards him. 

  You sighed, and soon he removed his hands. 

  “Feeling any better?” Xavier smiled at you.

“That was amazing,” you said, and then sighed.

He leaned slightly closer, leaning his head on his hand and sitting in a more casual pose. “I can keep going... or we can move onto something different?”

You debated on it for a moment, before the ache in the pit of your stomach started to become a little more incessant. 

  “I think... something a little different might be nice...” you said, slowly, and something lit up in Xavier's eyes. 

  “Then... may I touch you, pet?” His voice had changed, something almost predatory came alive in him. You nodded, almost afraid, but something about being in the presence of this creature excited you.

He gently placed his hand on your knee, and then slowly slid up your thigh, giving it a little squeeze halfway up. His hand started to skirt along the edge of the fabric of the robe. 

  “I won't touch anywhere that is covered... so you lead.” He purred, keeping his hand on your thigh, rubbing languid circles with his thumb. You let out a little huff, and then bashfully began to untie the belt on the robe. As you slowly let the belt fall away, your robe opened slightly, and Xavier let out an approving sound, slowly trailing his finger higher up your thigh.Soon, his hand dragged up your partially exposed stomach, between the groove of your breasts, then lightly touching the line of your collarbone. 

  “Mmh... you already smell so good and we've barely even started. You must really want this, that, or you're just naturally a treat.” Xavier licked his lips. “If you want me to make you feel better just say the word.”

The slow drag of his fingertips across your skin and the mood of the room made you a little bit braver all of a sudden.

“What do you have in mind?”

Xavier let out a chuckle, and you let his hand travel around to tip your chin upwards. “I can make you feel a way you've never felt before.” 

  “Is that right?” you tested him, before shakily breathing out, “show me what you've got then.”

He grinned, and something changed.

In the split second that you had challenged him, your body suddenly got hot, your vision blurred and your brain suddenly felt trapped in a bubble.

“Look at me, pet,” Xavier whispered, holding the back of your head with one of his hands. “It's alright. Nothing bad will happen.”

Your head was spinning, the sensation was odd and uncomfortable, but soon enough you focused on the way that his other hand was petting your thigh. You focused on the way his eyes were staring at you, the way his lips moved, and before you had a chance to get used to this strange sensation of being partially stuck in your own head, your entire being became a ball of nerves.

You started to breathe heavily as the fabric of the robe began to feel constricting around you, and you started struggling out of the fabric. Your body didn't want to listen very well, and you couldn't managed to make the fabric slip off you.

Xavier hummed, looking at you.

“What's the matter, pet? Having some trouble taking your clothes off?” He was clearly enjoying this, but you found that you didn't mind his teasing. “Do you need me to help you?”

You tried to reply, but all that came out was a moan, so you weakly nodded your head.

In a swift motion, you found yourself pulled onto Xavier's lap, your front exposed to him, your legs spread obscenely. The new sensation of the fabric of his pants made you let out another soft moan, and he quickly pulled the robe from your shoulders. The way his hands felt on you was mind blowing, and you didn't hold back the pleased rumbling that came from your throat.

“You look comfortable.” His eyes scanned you up and down, and his hands began to move up your sides. Everything was so sensitive, his fingers were like fire licking at you. In the haze of this dark, dimly lit room, there was only Xavier. You couldn't think of anything else but his hands, his face, his beautiful full lips. Your stares didn't go unnoticed, and he smirked. 

  “It seems that someone wants something more, hmm?” his voice was a purr, quiet, meant only for your ears. Weakly, you managed another nod, and he pulled your hips a bit closer and pulled on your shoulders to make you lean over. His lips connected with yours, and you let out a lewd mewl, breathing out hard. His kisses started out softly, massaging your lips, clearly ignoring your needy attempts at making out with him. Kissing him, and feeling his hands running up and down your thighs, hips, ass, it made you feel on cloud nine. So much of his touch made you feel turned on, you'd honestly never felt anything like this.

You were momentarily pulled from your frustrations when Xavier ran his tongue over your lips. It sent a jolt down your spine, and you involuntarily shivered. You vaguely heard a chuckle through the murky horniness of your mind, and you let out a deep moan.

You weren't allowed to recover from this assault on your senses when Xavier put one of his hands behind your head and he deepened the kiss, darting his tongue through your lips and exploring your mouth. You had to close your eyes, and grabbed tightly on his shirt to avoid floating away, your brain being bombarded with too many sensations.

You lost track of time, you lost track of yourself, you couldn't tell where you ended, and where Xavier started. Everything that you felt in that moment was so unfocused, but the pleasure was beyond what you believed was possible.

Xavier pulled away, and you were ripped from your intense pleasure. You managed to make a frustrated noise, and Xavier gently stroked your jaw.

  “Come on, surely kissing isn't the reason you came here?” He gave you a curious look and you had a moment of clarity through the haze. He noticed the momentary sobriety, before letting one of his fingers gently rub against one of your nipples.

The sensation shot through your body and another moan ripped through you. “Thought so.”

You were quickly bundled into strong arms, and were laid out onto a soft surface. Xavier joined you on the bed, and moved to trap you between himself and the bed.

“Time for the main event, pet.” he breathed out, his eyes having grown even more intense than before. 

  Something about this well dressed, hungry vampire looming over you made you feel so desired, you wanted him to drink from you, to have a taste of you, to fuck you senseless.

It wasn't long before he dipped down and took your nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue over the sensitive bud. You writhed under him, and he had to grab your shoulders to keep you still. It was torturous, each flick of the tongue made you feel so good, but it wasn't enough.

That is, until he moved one of his hands to gently stroke at your folds.

You came instantly, and almost screamed, the feeling of that sudden action tipping you over the edge. 

  You felt Xavier chuckling against you, still licking at your nipple as he hovered his hand over your pussy.

“That was fast. Do it again,” he went right back to sucking on your breast, and you felt his hand come down on you again.

You didn't come instantly this time, but you weren't far off as the haziness of your mind and the overload of sensitivity had you hurtling towards your next orgasm. Xavier didn't let up though, and your body didn't put up any resistance as his fingers played around with your folds and clit, the little bundle of nerves almost on fire under the thorough touch of his fingers.

You were vaguely aware of him moving upwards, kissing a trail on your skin, before nuzzling your neck.

Xavier hummed in approval, and gave a quick lick over your neck. “You smell so good.... I want a taste.” His voice was quiet, skirting over your skin. “Can I?”

A noise came out from you, approving. You could barely concentrate on anything, and when Xavier's soft lips touched the base of your neck, his fingers still in you, your mind suddenly went blank.

For a while, your mind and consciousness was almost separated from your body, the only thing you were aware of was immense pleasure.

It lasted for so long. You couldn't tell how long you were in this state of pure bliss.

Slowly, you felt like you were coming back to yourself. 

  With a sigh, you blinked your eyes open, finding yourself cradled next to Xavier, wrapped in a blanket.

“Hey,” he said, sheepishly. “How are you feeling?”

You couldn't help the blush that crept on your face at the sight of his warm smile. Were his cheeks a bit red too? Something had changed in him. You couldn't pinpoint it, but he seemed more lively.

“I-I'm ok,” You mumbled into the blanket. “That was... amazing.”

“It's pretty cool, huh?” Xavier laughed, before smoothing back his hair and sitting up, his clothes still impeccable despite what had transpired. “Would you like me to get you some tea and cakes?”

You had requested for a caring service, but you hadn't quite expected to be tucked into bed and to get served tea and sweets after getting fucked thoroughly. You hadn't even fucked, really, but it certainly felt like you had been. Xavier left the room, giving you a warm smile as he exited the room. You were left in this cozy, luxurious room, alone. You tentatively sat up, feeling a bit wobbly, and you reached for the robe that had been set neatly on the bed. 

  You quickly robed yourself, and it wasn't long before Xavier returned with a new tray and sauntered over to the bed. “Here, we have tea, chamomile again, and some cakes. I wasn't sure which one you'd like, take your pick.” He set down the tray after sitting down, and gestured over to a selection of little slices. “You should definitely eat. I didn't drink much, but you need to make sure that you eat something to get your strength back.”

You reached for what looked like lemon drizzle cake, and took a bite from the slice. It was delicious.

You let out a throaty moan at the taste, and reached for the cup of tea. Xavier lifted up his own cup of tea, and took a sip.

“So, happy with the service?” He turned his head to look at you, smiling. 

  You smiled back at him, feeling your cheeks burn again, and nodded.

“That was... definitely unlike anything else I had ever experience.” You took a sip of your tea. “I'm more than happy.”

You shared that little moment together, silent save for the sound of tea being sipped and cake being eaten. You didn't mind, it was comfortable, and you had a chance to collect yourself. 

  “Would you like me to stay for a bit or are you ready to head home?” Xavier broke the silence, putting his cup down onto the tray with a clink. You sighed, and eventually put down your own cup.

“I think... that I'm ready to head home. Your company was lovely tonight and, well,” you avoided looking at him momentarily as an unprecedented wave of shyness overcame you. “I think... I would definitely like to visit again.”

Xavier smiled, and you felt your heart flutter for a moment as he leaned over and gave your hand a kiss.

“I do hope you come by again, you're delectable, pet.” He winked, before picking up the tray again and heading towards the door. “I'll be going now, I hope you have a safe trip back home and I hope to see you again, but remember, there's a mandatory 2 week wait between visits so you can recover.”

“Yes, I remember,” You nodded, and waved as he disappeared behind the door, shutting it with him.

You got up, cleaned yourself up, and dressed yourself. You left the room behind, and exited the hallway. 

  “Heyo, is that you done for tonight?” Amandine asked, smiling as you came out to the lobby.

“Yes... it was certainly an experience.” You said. You dug through your handbag for your wallet to pay up the fee, and soon you noticed how soft your body felt. “Relaxed? Xavier's a pro at what he does. If you want to make sure you get an appointment with him again, then please do phone up beforehand.” Amandine quickly shuffled some things behind the desk and brought up a small gift parcel, placing it on the counter.

“What's this?” you asked, quizically.

“All visitors get a little gift parcel. It's not much bit it's a few goodies and snacks to make sure you recover.” Amandine smiled, nudging the parcel over. “After all, there's a bit of a symbiotic relationship between us and our clients.”

You have an understanding nod and picked up the parcel, and bid your farewells.

On the way home, you felt calm, but there was a bit of a pep in your step, as you walked with confidence. That visit had definitely left a mark on you, and you made sure to write up a note on your calendar for exactly two weeks from then to set up a second visit to that handsome vampire.

[ransprang]

Hi! May i have a romantic matchup request from JJBA and Code Geass? (sfw & nsfw) (im officially 18)

I'm a female (she/her), im interest on boys or males, My MBTI is INFP, my zodiac sign is Aries.

My style is kinda boyish clothes,like im wearing large shirts/hoodie, but i also like masculine clothes, i wear sometimes girls clothes.(if i wanted to)

i have a short black hair, light- skinned, my eyes is brown, i wore glasses but sometimes. my height is like 5'9(?)

My personality..I'm very shy and quiet when it comes to socialized people or talk to someone , the way i talk i just stuttered and i also just shyly looked away, cuz im i don't want them see me very akward (i also have a trust issues), But if im comfortable with someone i will get along with them or get used to it.

i have a anger/temper issues, i might snapped when people annoyed me or noisy, that's i wanted avoid it, cuz i might end up hurt their feelings for being a harsh

But im a soft person inside that i didnt want admit to them, even i have anger/temper issues.

I can playful or goofy if i wanted to or it depends on my moods.

My hobbies which is Drawing, Playing a Piano, Listening Music and Playing Video Games and Baking.

My Main Passion which is (Marine) Biologist and Arts.

My Love Language is Physical touch, i like giving my s/o some hugs/cuddles and kisses, Acts of service i liked to served my s/o if i wanted to, Words of affirmation, i can cheer or tell my s/o how much i loved them and doesnt care what they looked like and lastly Quality time, i can let my s/o decide where they wanted to go, as long is peace and quiet place without being interrupt.

My Dislikes or what i hate (and also feared) is Loud/noisy people, being stared (cuz its kinda uncomfortable) , being lonely, being betrayed/abandoned and being judged.

Hope i didn't missed or made a mistake cuz im not so sure since i read your rules carefully.

Thank you and have a nice day/night! <3

Hey thanks for the request! You're one of the only people who've read through our rules so thoroughly thank you so much!! We hope you like your match ups <3

Your biology guinea pigs,

Admins sav & san

(The jojos and code geass match ups are under the cut)

Your jojos match up is...Muhammad Avdol

SFW

Avdol is a very mature man, he knows how to interact with shy people in fact he is reserved himself. He will know how to initiate conversations and make you feel comfortable through out.

Looking at how this man can hang out with the rest of the stardust crusaders. He knows how to handle loud, noisy, wild and short tempered people. When you snap he will know exactly how to calm you down. He will hold you and assure you he knows how to handle the situation instead. Also gives you enough space to calm down and relax.

He can see right through you. He is a tarot reader so he can tell that your a soft-hearted nice person despite your angry exterior at times.

Avdol will love being around you since you can be playful and goofy at times. As evidently seen with his company with Joseph, he doesn't mind a bit of fun even if hes only a witness.

Avdol loves your hobbies he would try learning all of them with you especially drawing since it will help with his tarot cards too, who knows maybe he can start selling his own brand of them.

Avdol is so adorable, he would just melt under affectionate touch. He would hug back so tight, squeezing you breathless. He always has to be the adult of the group so when he hears words of affirmation from you he will feel different and motivated, that for once there is someone looking out for him too.

You can trace the scars on his face and make them deeper by adding shadows with paint.

N/SFW

Avdol wears a lot of jewelry its clear hes gonna use chains and many different accessories in bed too. Get ready to get tied down.

He does not like getting his dreadlocks pulled. that shit is expensive to get done and he is just gonna stop midway through sex if you mess worth them. So steer clear of that.

Y'all can roleplay according to tarot cards, letting it decide the theme of the night. So you can always expect something new and sex never gets boring.

He prefers being on top, hes got daddy energy so get ready to be his baby girl.

Avdol would look after you so well after sex, he'll get you water and help you clean yourself.

Your code geass match up is...Kaname Ohgi

SFW

Ohgi is very accepting of all types of people. He used to be the leader of the resistance group after all! Hence, he wouldn't really mind if your style is boyish or girlish. Since you mostly wear masculine clothes he'd let you borrow his clothes.

He is a very sweet and social person, he nursed Villetta back to health patiently. So he would let you warm up to him over time and wouldn't force you.

He would like listening to you play the piano and if you're ok with it he'll invite other members of the resistance group to listen to you play.

LOOOOVES gaming and baking with you

He thinks your passion biology and the arts is super cool. You would know which fish to eat and which to not eat, the resistance thank you for that.

Ohgi loves hugging and kisses. He is super affectionate. He also tells you that you're pretty everyday and how much he loves you.

He would take you out on walks to the park for when you want to be outside in a quiet place.

Ohgi is a chill fella, he realises you run away from him when his friends are being loud. He tries to tone them down when you're around.

N/SFW

He puts the ass in geass. You are allowed to smack it anytime any day. He'll let you eat his ass on special occasions.

Mostly he is vanilla, sweet, loving and caring. But as you know the quiet ones are the kinkiest.

You guys have great angry sex when you're pissed off.

He has a degrading kink. Call him your filthy eleven when you're angry with him. He'll love it.

You should totally pull his afro and be rough with him.

Ohgi likes your piano hands as they are deft and nimble, which is great for hand jobs (and fingering).

[couchpotatoaniki]

One Year ❣︎ Three: The Execution

Chapter Summary: Trying to cool off, you decided to spend the day by yourself. This couldn’t have gone any better for San’s plan.

Pairing: Mafia!San x Fem!Reader Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, angst, eventual smut, lotta crack and stupid shit ngl Chapter warnings: swearing, stalking, kidnapping Word count: 2.5k+ A 365 Days parody

Previous: Chapter Two For the rest of the series, click here

Speech in bold means they’re talking in Korean

Speech in italics is whatever the reader wants their native langue to be that’s not Korean or English

Speech without either means they’re talking in English

Buzzing came from your pocket, initially thinking your phone got a notification until it continuously vibrated. Yunho was calling you.

“Yo, where are you? Mingi told us what happened between you and Dom--and before you say anything, he’ll be having hell to pay, regardless of whether you approve or not.”

Chuckling, you sighed as you looked at your surroundings. “Fine by me. Do what you like to him.” Slowing down in front of a cute-looking coffee shop, you answered his first question...partially. “Just taking a stroll in the town.”

“Wanna be left alone?” You hummed as you entered the establishment, being hit with wafts of bakes goods. “Very well then. But we’re gonna hunt you down if you’re not back by midnight.”

“M’kay, Pops,” mumbling absent-mindedly while overlooking the menu on the screens above the counter.

You couldn’t see the gentle bitter smile on his face, knowing very well that you weren’t as stone-cold as the façade you masked yourself in. Had an idea that you just needed space. “Alright then. Look after yourself.”

“You too.”

Beeping over the line indicated to you that he had hung up. Shoving your phone back into your coat pocket, you let your feet carry you to the till, where a young teenager dressed in a pale blue polo shirt and evergreen apron on top greeted you with a nervous smile.

Must have been new, or had some sort of social anxiety, from the way they avoided your eyes and fidgeted with their hands. “U-Um, hello. Welcome... What would you like?” the taller kid practically whispered, but you caught on to their words.

Sending a soft, warming smile, you answered, “can I have a buttered croissant with a mango and passionfruit iced tea, please? Actually, would you mind adding a chocolate muffin to that too?”

Nodding, they tapped the till, pressing various buttons before saying, “that’ll be 6,500 won, please.”

Pulled out your wallet and paid the employee. As you sat down, waiting on your order, you began to reminisce from when you used to be that age too--then again, it was not hard at all since it wasn’t too long ago.

Seven years ago, you were only 16, enjoying life just before things took a turn you never expected and you were never the same air-headed, happy-go-lucky kid you once were.

All you needed at the time was someone who was kind, who gave you a breath from the onslaught you faced all around you. Mingi was probably the only reason you’re still alive.

Thinking about the old days did more damage to you than you’d like to believe, but almost seemed impossible with the Dominic situation.

Being betrayed again hurt like hell, and although he wasn’t as bad as what you had experienced, he still broke your trust. Trust you tried to rebuild after all you went through the last time.

Thoughts you spent so long trying to get rid of grew back like weeds of the concrete walls you put up five years ago.

And despite what you tried to convince yourself and Mingi, you actually really liked the guy.

“Here you go, miss,” the young employee mumbled as he placed a tray with your order on it. Almost everything was right, except that there was a vanilla and chocolate chip muffin instead of a complete chocolate one.

Oh well, a muffin’s a muffin.

“Thank you,” you grinned, handing the teenager a tip of 10,000 won.

Their eyes widened at your strange generosity before hesitantly taking the money you held out between your index and middle fingers.

Your lips wrapped around the straw as you took a sip of your ice-cold drink. Strong tones of mango, with a hint of passionfruit, slight sweetness from honey and faint tang of fresh lemon.

Iced tea was something you had grown to love over the past five years, first time being too bitter and flavourful for you. Then again, the events prior left a bad taste in your mouth. Seonghwa was the one who helped you, always getting you an iced tea every time he went to a nearby coffee shop.

Learned quite quickly that your tongue was sensitive to heat after being so concerned how you refused piping-hot meals he cooked for you often. Waited until it cooled a lot before digging in.

No doubt the four boys would do anything for you--Mingi the most out of the rest since you wouldn’t be where you are without him--but sometimes you needed to breathe by yourself. Enjoying the little things you like croissants and muffins rather than focussing on your soon-to-be ex boyfriend cheating on you for a reason that eludes you.

That’s how the rest of the day goes.

Aimlessly walking, window-shopping, sight-seeing. Nothing registered in your mind but it was better than something negative.

Your phone was on silent, growing cold in your pocket from the lack of heat being transferred from your hand. Even then, you doubt anyone (except Dominic) would be texting you since you told them you wanted peace.

Before you realised it, the sun crawled above your head and began to set in the horizon, a clash of beautiful blues, oranges, pinks, and purples hovering in the sky. Lampposts along the streets lit up and the sky grew dark, yet that didn’t stop the hustle and bustle.

Irritated by the noises of people, you turned to an alleyway which had significantly less lighting but also significantly less humans.

As you walked, you were deep in thought, not thinking much of your surroundings. Then the hairs on the back of your neck stood up and a chill ran down your spine.

Someone was following you.

You were about to turn around and defend yourself--and you had no worries that you would lose. But then bright LED headlights of a hidden black SUV had highlighted the hair of a rather short person who stood in front of it.

Shocking electric blue stands brushed against his porcelain-smooth skin from light wisps of wind passing by. The same colour hair you realised had been barely peeking in your peripheral since the airport.

Next to a man you had very briefly met on you birthday dinner while searching for the bathroom.

Exactly how long have they been following you?

Though you chided yourself for not noticing it sooner--despite all the excuses of being ‘on a holiday’--you found yourself pondering. You had never met those two funky-haired people before in your life, and you sure as hell made sure any dangerous people couldn’t find you (not without going through one of the other boys first) so who exactly were these people?

Perhaps you were like a bee, drunk on the honey in your tea, or maybe you wanted to get your mind off the situation, needing a thrill at the moment.

You felt the need to destroy something--or at least toy with it for a bit--and these cocky assholes seemed perfect.

Either way, you relaxed your muscles (only a little, as to not raise suspicion of the young man before you).

One foot stepped behind you as you kept your eyes trained on his coco ones, only to rip them away a moment when you turned to ‘run’. As expected, something else tried to stop you. Another black SUV with blinding lights swerved into the other end of the alleyway as you tried to leave.

You’d prided yourself on good acting, and it always seemed to pay off. Right now, to sell the part of a scared girl, you stumbled backwards--planning to fall of the cobblestone path, but only to be saved by something hard.

The mysterious man’s chest, his hands holding your arms as support.

“Sorry about this,” he whispered in your ear, covering your mouth with a chloroformed cloth. You didn’t really put up much of a fight (to your standards, anyway) and succumbed to the strong chemical.

At first you were floating in a sea of black, unable to connect with your senses. Slowly, after moments of nothingness, you could feel the world materialise around you.

Soft fabric was cushioned beneath you, cradling your body with warmth. Light began to seep through your closed eyelids as the gentle, sweet smell of sugared almonds filled your nose with every deep inhale. And finally, a headache that began to pound harder with every pulse.

Grunting, you pried your eyes open, immediately noticing what appeared to be a shower room in front of you. There were two shower heads on each side, with only pillars of soft light embedded into the tiled wall rather than a proper partition. To add to the lack of privacy, the only material separating the shower room and the eyes of the bed was simply a thin pane of sliding glass which hid absolutely nothing.

“What kinda perv decided to design this monstrosity?”

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you looked down on the bed you were lying in, thankfully still in the same cotton dress, phone no longer in its pockets. The mattress was significantly softer than the one at the hotel--yet another indicator that your kidnappers were rich.

On the tables dotted around the space were lilac candles. Most likely the culprit of the amazing scent in the room.

Your eyes then caught the daylight peeking through the curtains, enlightening the room in a soft apricot glow. “Fuck,” you muttered, remembering Yunho’s words in the previous call she had, “they’re gonna kill me for staying out.”

Pushing yourself off the illegally comfortable bed, you inched towards the only door you saw. Fingers wrapped around the cold metal handle and pushed down, finding it much to your surprise that it was actually unlocked. Pulled it open without hesitation, though making sure you peered out to see if there was anyone.

There wasn’t.

“Great security, guys,” you sighed, actually feeling disappointed in the lack of effort you had to put in while walking openly around. After all, it was the reason you let yourself be taken.

Then again, this could all be a trap.

Now that was exciting.

You let yourself become familiar with the surroundings upon one glance, noticing the obvious luxurious colour scheme of gold and cream that had your eyes rolling at the basic rich vibes it gave you.

Then you found your breath catching in your throat as you continued to explore, eyes frozen on a portrait hung up on a wall.

Though the fact that it was a portrait of you had initially shocked you, it wasn’t the defining feature that had your heart palpitating at a dangerous speed. Your hair was short again, a pixie cut, while you were sat on a beach that looked a lot like the one you visited in Santorini.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

In fact, the painting was an exact replica of you from five years ago, down to the clothing of ripped jeans and loose top you wore. You, from one of your darkest and lowest moments.

“Are you lost, babygirl?”

The same voice rang in your ears, repeating the only sentence you heard spill from his lips. When you turned around to confirm who it was, it was indeed the same man you saw.

The damn muscular guy, with pitch-black hair and a lock of platinum blonde brushing just above an eye.

The blood was rushing too fast, fear in your eyes no longer an act. Just who the fuck was this guy?

You took one step back, knees buckling instantly but before your brain could process it, the man had wrapped his arms around you, catching your body before hit the ground.

San could smell the delicate citrusy aroma wafting from your skin and he tried so hard to not bury his head in the crook of your neck, to kiss the area and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

Taking advantage of your frozen state, he lifted you up and place you on a nearby armchair, one beside a fireplace since he felt you were too cold for comfort.

Only until he had a ice cube pressed against your lips, did you snap out of it. “You should have it. Maybe you had a bad reaction to the chloroform. Sorry about that, by the way.”

Head turning the other way, your guarded eyes stayed locked on him rather than your painting behind his form. “English.”

“Why? You spoke perfectly good Korean at the dinner two days ago,” he said, pressing the ice cube onto your mouth once more.

“Simply because I feel more comfortable with English,” you remarked, swatting away his hand. “And stop putting that on my mouth.”

Sighing, he dropped the cold, melting cube back in the glass of whiskey before putting a bit of distance between the two of you. He could feel himself getting angry, that you won’t trust him, that you won’t listen to him.

But could he blame you?

“I feel like explanations are in order,” you said, narrowing your eyes down on his figure, flickering firelight resting on him to make him seem even more good-looking, shadows casted to make each feature appear sharper. But that wasn’t what you were focused on.

You wanted to deduce this stranger by his body language.

Stood tall, maintaining good eye contact, showed that he was confident. Classic black suits--expensive by the look of the fabric--showed that he as rich. Tattoos littering the skin of his hand showed a bit of a bad-boy nature. And the aura he emitted was that of a leader.

Corner of your lips twitching, you realised who--or what--he might be. The boss of a fairly powerful crime syndicate.

San, on the other hand, couldn’t see what you were thinking as you looked at him. Did you think he was as hot as he did you? Fuck, he hoped so--clearly not understanding how a normal person would react in such a situation.

“Hello? Earth to whoever the hell you are?”

“If you want answers, you certainly won’t be getting them if you act like a brat.”

Scoffing, you tilted you head, eyes boring into him with a cold glaze coving them. Like a lifeless doll. “Then how do you suggest I act then? Hmm? After seeing that you’ve been stalking me for the last five years,” you nodded towards coloured canvas, growing more unsettled every time you looked at it.

“Fair point,” he said, taking a seat on the chair opposite you. “But you should know that I haven’t been doing that. Stalking you, I mean.”

“The fuck do you call that creepy-ass portrait, then?”

“I call it a precious memory.” San shifted his focus from your gaze to the flames lazily dancing on charred wooden embers. Tongue swiped over his lips before chuckling, almost bitterly. “Doubt you’ll believe me, but I’ll tell you anyway.”

Lips pursed, you sat quietly as you listened to his story.

☕︎ Tag list: @little-precious-baby​ , @sparklychangbin​​ ,

[personasintro]

blue side | jhs drabble

⏤𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴; you see your ex at your friend's wedding, awakening some feelings at the simple sight of him

⏤𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨; hoseok x reader

⏤𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff, little bit of angst, exes to lovers au

⏤𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 4.3k

⏤𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: strong language, mentions of sex

𝘢/𝘯: requested, I came to the conclusion that I can't write short drabbles they always get longer than I want them to be

It’s unfair how effortlessly beautiful and charismatic he looks.

Two years is a long time since you’ve personally seen him, even though you got a brief glimpse into his life through stalking his social media. In your defense, it’s only occasional whenever you feel weak and curious about his life. Fair to say, it’s not something you’re proud of.

Fortunately, your ex-boyfriend keeps his Instagram account public, which makes it easier for you to look through his profile every now and then. He keeps most of his life private, even though his account is public, but he still shares a fair amount of pictures which describes his personality. Most of them are pictures of food, him in the distance where you can barely make out his face and a few snaps of the sky. Personally, the picture of his hand holding a cup of coffee with his name written on it, is your favorite. The silver watch and veins disappearing underneath, what seems like an elegant shirt, has something to do with it.

From what you remember, he doesn’t post often, sometimes goes even three months without posting anything. It sounds creepy, but you’re sure most exes do shit like this.

And you haven’t stalked his Instagram, or any social media, ever since you found out he’s going to your friend’s wedding. It’s understandable. It’s your mutual friend who invited you both, little did you know Hoseok would bring his ass from Japan back to South Korea. You’re just being bitter, of course he’d come to Namjoon’s wedding. But considering Japan and the work offer that broke your relationship was so important to him, the thought of him actually coming here never crossed your mind.

It kind of hurts that he came to Namjoon’s wedding, left his precious Japan, but couldn’t do the same thing for your relationship. No matter how many times you’ve told yourself not to think about it, you just couldn’t but feel anger boiling inside of you. Or maybe it’s the sight of him, noticing how freaking good he looks in suits. His hair seems to be darker than the light brown he was sporting when he broke your heart. He’s glowing, his eyes crinkling exactly the way you remember, showing a full set of teeth as he quickly covers his mouth before his loud voice erupts in the ballroom. His face seems to be chubbier, not in a bad way though. He looks healthy, another thing that irritates you, even though your brain screams at you.

It’s been two years.

Of course he moved on and lives his life.

What have you expected? Him looking miserable?

Yet, you don’t feel any hatred towards him. Yes, he’s someone who’s painful to watch, especially when it brings all the months of trying to put yourself together right back. However, you haven’t been living badly. It’s not like your whole world revolved around him, even though he was the only man you truly ever loved. Deep down, you know he’s not a bad person. It’s just the pain of knowing he chose a carrier life instead of you. That’s what hurts to this day.

And when somehow, your group of friends pushes you to the circle of his, there’s no escape other than to be met with him face to face. During the actual ceremony, you sat far away to even notice him, even though you tried extremely hard to stare at the bride and groom. But now, when your eyes glance at his own, you find him already staring at you. A very cautious greeting leaves his mouth first, as the true gentlemen he always presented himself as, and a very dry greeting comes out of you before you can even try to fake a certain kind of politeness.

Before the atmosphere could become any more awkward, one of your friends starts to chat, gaining everyone else’s attention. They all catch up, as you silently pray for them not to ask you a question about your life. The last thing you want to do is to share it with Hoseok. It’s not like you’re ashamed of your life, or care too much about what he thinks and if he knows about it, but it feels uncomfortable.

Silently sipping on the pink champagne is a better idea, while you politely listen to anyone that’s talking, giggling when it’s needed but your mind drifts elsewhere. With each sound Hoseok’s mouth makes, is like a wave of nostalgia and nausea hitting you at the same time. He affects you and your heart, despite of those two years of not having him in your life, like it never happened.

“How’s work, Hoseok-ah? I’ve heard you got promoted. Congrats man!” Taehyung, one of Hoseok’s friends, speaks up sipping from his own champagne as he gently slaps his shoulder in a praise.

Hoseok’s lips stretch into a wide smile, looking down into his almost full glass, something you recognize as a hidden shyness. He has always felt shy as soon as someone complimented him for his hard work. Despite of his reaction, he has felt a huge appreciation to whoever gave him a few words of praise or encouragement. He’s just too hard on himself, well, he used to be. It’s not like you know him. A lot can change in two years. Even peoole can.

“Thanks,” he scrunches his nose, before he grins at Taehyung. “I got promoted just last week.”

He gets a round of happy gasps, another set of praise words which you just ignore by gulping all of your champagne. Maybe you should be less obvious, but you don’t really care. You can’t look at him, not when the topic of discussion reminds you of everything the two of you experienced together. You’re not a bitch. You don’t wish him to be sad and fail all of his dreams and achievements he has set for himself. But you’re also a living person, a human who’s not perfect with real emotions, and you do feel a sour emotion in your chest when you hear them talking.

For all you know, he might be over the moon that he got rid of you. In a way, you were just an obstacle that stood right between his dreams. You just thought three years of dating would’ve been more valuable to him. Maybe that’s what hurts the most.

“Wow,” you speak up, not even regretting it as you feel all the eyes on you, including his. “Congrats, Japan must be treating you right.”

It’s the damn champagne, the third glass you had and should’ve declined when that goddamn waiter offered it, that’s making you so blunt and outspoken. By the way Hoseok eyes you, he probably knows that by now. He’s watching you, and this time you don’t budge your eyes from his, stubbornly staring right back at him.

“What city was it?” The city you left me for. “Noho?” you ask with a fake interest, tilting your head to express it even more.

If not all of them, most of your and his friends, aren’t stupid and caught onto your tone and jabbing at your ex-boyfriend. The fact it’s in front of them all causes Hoseok’s smile to freeze as he clenches his jaw, still staring at you.

“Naha,” he drawls out, “It’s Naha.” he corrects you, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Same thing,” you mutter, waving him off in disinterest but you still catch onto the way Taehyung’s eyes widen.

You notice him whispering something to the man next to him, before all of them just excuse themselves and walk away from the two of you. Your own friends betrayed you like that, not even glancing at you as you stare in disbelief at their backs.

“Why would they leave?” you mutter, trying to hide your shock and panic that rises inside of you.

What you don’t expect is, to Hoseok actually hear you and have the actual interest to answer.

“I think we all know why.”

Your head snaps his direction, eyebrows furrowed as he stares with the same intensity back. It brings you back to all your little arguments during the period when the two of you were dating — both of you are stubborn. The arguments were never too drastic or serious, you and Hoseok were just too stubborn to apologize or talk about it first.

Hoseok was acting like nothing happened, but he’d always snap back if you managed to get out a sarcastic remark. It would go back and forth, until he’d come to you just to cuddle you and whisper a soft apology in your ears. You did the same thing, making sure he knows you hate when the two of you fight about pointless stuff. Your relationship was far more important than Hoseok forgetting to buy groceries or not picking up his dirty clothes off the floor.

He’d kiss you all over your face, covering every inch of your skin with his soft lips to prove his apology, until he’d make love to you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear for the whole time. You knew how serious and sorry he is about the whole situation, especially when he buckled his length into you with gentle and swift movements, making sure you feel every inch of him as he slowly rubs your walls. Even thinking about it makes your cheeks flush, it’s like you can’t still feel his pillow like lips on your own, yet it seems distant and foreign.

Looking back at him, his tense expression relaxes as if he just changed his mind to say something else, and asks a simple question instead. So simple, that it leaves you breathless.

“How have you been?”

You want to be angry at him so bad, but when you’re met with those brown eyes that look nothing but friendly and warm, you can’t bring yourself to be mad or annoyed. Still, you hold your head high with a sour tone behind your words.

“Great,” you inform him, too intensely for your opinion, but it doesn’t matter. “I’ve been great.”

Maybe the huge effort of trying him to believe you is what makes your stomach clench in a discomfort, or maybe it’s the way he looks at you. Like he sees right through your little white lie, but then you’re remembered. This is Hoseok, Jung Hoseok, who knows you like the back of his hand. Or used to know you. You haven’t changed much, you’re still the same person, just with a broken heart.

“That’s good,” he drawls out, and you mentally curse at yourself for trying to sound too happy. He clearly doesn’t believe you. “Are you still with that guy?”

And just like that, Hoseok leaves you breathless and knocking all the air out of your lungs again.

It took you some time to dive into the dating life again. It’s not something you were looking for, it’d be stupid while another guy was constantly on your mind. It’d be unfair to your potential future boyfriend, or just a guy you went on a casual date with. So you waited, it took you a year before you were introduced to a guy by one of your closest friends.

Tim is her colleague, a very charming and polite man, that you were dating for four months. Four months full of amazing dates until you broke it off. As much as those dates where adventurous and amazing, enough for your mind to shut Hoseok out off it, it felt like your relationship wasn’t going anywhere. Yes, maybe four months were a short period of time to do such a drastic decision, but you just weren’t feeling it. It was better to break it off with him before he caught serious feelings, not that you don’t think he wasn’t serious about you. He was, he just deserves a better woman who’s going to love him much more than you ever did.

But you kept your relationship private on social media, not that you were trying to hide him. Not at all. You didn’t post any pictures with him on your Instagram account, it wasn’t nothing intentional. You just never took that many of them.

And still, Hoseok knows about Tim, or at least that you were dating someone. And he calls him ‘that guy’.

“How do you even know that?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at him.

He’s the least person to talk about something. The beautiful brunette on one of his photos is the exact proof of it.

“Just because I lived in Japan, it doesn’t mean I’m completely clueless. We’ve got a mutual friends, Y/N.”

By the usage of your name, your breath hitches in your throat as you stare at him with doe eyes before an annoyed expression crosses your features.

“Mutual friends,” you scoff, “You mean Namjoon.”

It’s evident Namjoon is the one who spilled beans about your only relationship after you and Hoseok broke up. And for a moment, Hoseok’s eyes widen by the realization that you figured it out, even though it wasn’t anything hard to realize.

“We’ve got more mutual friends.” he reminds you dryly, trying to save the situation but you only chuckle in response.

“Namjoon is the only one who keeps talking with the both of us on a daily basis,” you remind him back, causing him to just sigh in defeat knowing there’s no point denying it. “And no. I’m not with that guy. And his name is Tim.”

He visibly widens his eyes at that, before he nods. “Good,” His eyes widens one more time, coughing before he speaks again. “I mean--not good, I thought--“

You raise your brow, trying not to snort at his blubbering and nervous state. You don’t ask him about his love life, the possible answer might not be what you were looking for.

“I get it, you don’t have to, y’know, be a stuttering mess.” you point out, the tip of his ears reddening as he nods awkwardly in response.

There’s a silence for a moment, your hands sprawled against the silk silver material of your dress on your thighs. You look away from him, not having the heart to look at him for any longer, and as you open your mouth to excuse yourself, he opens his own.

“Can we talk?”

You hide the shock, shoulders tensing as you look up at him. “We’re talking.” you tell him slowly, noticing the different glint in his eyes.

Oh, shit. He wants to talk. Not just a casual awkward talk between exes.

“You know what I mean,” he says, the slightest cringe making its appearance on his face, almost as if he's hurting. “I miss you.” he confesses, completely surprising you as he looks alarmed.

“You what?” you ask slowly, not believing you just heard him saying that he misses you.

“I miss you.”

He doesn’t miss a chance to say it again, this time with more confidence and if there was one of the waiters passing by, he’d ask for the whole bottle of wine to chug it down. He’s been embracing himself to talk to you ever since he decided to go to Namjoon’s wedding, knowing you’re invited and going.

“Why are you telling me this?” you breathe out, unsure of what to say.

But your heart says it all when it beats faster, appreciating how those three words sounded from his mouth with that silky and raspy voice. Is he drunk? Why is he telling you such a thing after two years of not communicating with you? On the other hand, he looks completely sober and serious as you see the determination behind his eyes that used to shine with gentleness and joy.

“Because it’s true.” he murmurs, his eyes solely set upon you.

“No, I mean-- why are you telling me this after two years?”

“Because I’m an idiot and it took me two years to realize that my life isn’t what I wanted it to be, if you’re not in it.”

You finally understand the term when someone says ‘it hit me like a bucket of cold water’ — that’s how you feel right now.

“What are you saying? You just can’t come here after such a long time and tell me all those stuff! What do you expect me to do? Welcome you with open arms?”

If he’s embarrassed by the sudden raise of your voice that would catch other’s attention sooner or later, he doesn’t show it and looks at you like a kicked puppy on the street instead. He expected your reaction be like this, he knows you and it doesn’t matter how much time has passed. You haven’t changed and if he could, he’d be the one embracing you with open arms even through your sudden outburst.

“No, I wasn’t expecting any of that,” he tells you, outstretching his hands in peace, or to calm you down, you’re not sure which one it is. “I came here because of you.”

At that, you snort and scoff right after as you stare at him with a raised brow. “Oh please, this is Namjoon’s wedding. Of course, you’d come if the time and your job would allow you to.”

“I wasn’t about to come. Yes, Namjoon invited me and I told him that I won’t probably make it. I don’t know what came over me but I asked him if you’re coming,”

“You asked him if I was coming?” you chuckle, Hoseok’s face cringing by the bitterness behind your tone.

“I was asking him about you all the time.” he admits quietly, eyes scanning your face as you let his words to sink in.

You know Hoseok barely lies, his ears get all red and you can see the frustration on his face right away if he does. But there’s none of it, straight honesty thick in his voice and determination mixed with sadness on his handsome glowy face.

“Why?”

It’s a simple question, yet you see how his Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps before he opens his mouth.

“Because I couldn’t stand the fact that I don’t get to see you or hear your voice. I messed up. I fucked up so bad by leaving to Japan, by leaving you. I thought I was doing the best thing for me but I was wrong. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I can’t believe I was fucking stupid enough to let you go.”

All the emotions that were buried inside of you makes your hands tremble as you try to clutch them in your hold. The tears are brimming in your eyes but you blink them away, staring at Hoseok who looks just as painful.

“Stop, you can’t say things like--“

“Why can’t I? I know this may not be a good time or place, but I had to get it off my chest. Seeing you right now--I just couldn’t wait.” he cuts you off, but still offers a weak smile in apology when he sees your deep frown.

You’ve always hated whenever he interrupted you, it makes your heart jump over the fact he remembers.

“What do you want me to do? You’ve hurt me, Hobi.” you murmur, happy your voice didn’t crack.

He stutters over his words, eyes widening before he looks down in a shame. “I’m sorry.”

You can’t blame him for choosing his career life, you’ve always known how important it is for him to prove himself to his parents. And you’ve always wanted what’s best for him. Although, it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt when he told you he’s got a new job opportunity in Japan. He expected you to move there with him, but you couldn’t. And when you’ve told him that, he ended things with you. It was mutual, and the most hurtful thing you’ve ever experienced.

The memories of you crying yourself to sleep, pillow damped with your tears are so fresh, that it almost hurts just thinking about it.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. If you want me to leave, I will. If you don’t want to see me ever again, you won’t have to.”

Something about how he talks about you not having to see him ever again makes your heart crack. “I don’t hate you, Hobi.” you tell him quietly, watching a hope crossing over his features.

“You don’t?”

“Of course not,” you try to muster a smile, “I could never hate you, no matter how hurt I was. I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to do. This is so all of a sudden. Aren’t you living in Japan?”

“Not anymore,” he answers, smiling when he sees your confusion. “I’ve quit.” he shrugs, causing your eyes to almost buldge out.

“Quit? But you just told Taehyung that you got promoted.”

“I did, but I declined the offer. I just didn’t know what to say, I didn’t think he’d bring it right in front of you,” he explains, causing you to chuckle when he scratches the back of his head in a mere embarrassment. “I’m moving back to Korea and I’ve got a few job offers already.”

You nod, confused how joyful your heart feels at the new information.

“What’s your plan then?” you cough.

“To win my girl back,” He doesn’t waste a minute, answering your question right away while you almost choke yourself on your spit. “I mean... if you let me to.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stutter, shaking tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You caught me off guard.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I understand we can’t go back to what we used to have, nor I expect that from you. I just want you to know that I’m sorry.” he smiles sadly at you, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“I’m not angry at you,” you tell him, causing him to smile and nod. “I’ve missed you too.” you admit, noticing how big his eyes look.

“You have?”

With a slow nod, you’re shocked when your body is enveloped in a strong arms, your face pressed into his suit as the scent of his fragrance hits your nose. You recognize it immediately, it’s the one you complimented him so many times, causing him to use it all the time. His arms are strong, yet gentle around your frame as you smile into his chest when you feel a soft peck into your hair. He apologizes under his breath, whether it was for the innocent kiss into your hair or just in general, you just shake your head and hug him back. It feels nice to feel him again, not be in his arms.

And even though, you’ve no intention of going back to dating him right away, you know what your heart pleads for. It’s him. It’s always been him, and being so close to him right now just proves it. It proves that even after those two years, you still love him.

He softly pulls away, hand itching to caress your cheek but he stops himself in midway which makes you blush.

“Are you free tomorrow?” he asks, tone cautious and insecure about your possible answer.

It makes you smile, wanting to squeeze his cheeks and kiss those pouty lips. When he sighs, ready to apologize and tell you to forget about it, it feels like you know exactly what’s on his mind. So you interrupt him before he can utter a single word.

“Yeah, I am.” you answer, grinning at him which causes him to open his mouth in shock.

“Y-you are? Yeah, okay. Is coffee okay?”

He clearly thought your answer would be the opposite, and it makes you giggle at his distressed face.

One thing he probably doesn’t know, is that no matter what he’d propose would be the perfect idea for you.

“Coffee’s perfect.” you answer, causing him to visibly sigh in relief as he touches his chest, exactly where his heart is.

Giggling, you lick your lips as he smiles down at you with adoring lips.

“Can I have the dance?” he stretches out his arm for you, causing you to groan which he laughs at.

He knows you hate dancing, especially when he’s so good at it. It makes you look like a total fool. But still, you don’t miss the opportunity to be close to him again, as soft classic music fills the whole room. You place your hand into his and nod in response, causing him to hesitate before he kisses the back of it, your heart screaming at you as you smile at him.

He leads you to the dance floor, one hand placed in yours while the other one holds your waist in a soft and gentleman manner. As you both start to dance, letting your bodies move into a slow and sensual music, both of you don’t look away. You stare at each other, with Hoseok licking his lips and you biting your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to taste them. But as the gentlemen that Hoseok is, he doesn’t make a move even when you press yourself closer to him.

And when he chuckles at your attempt to get closer to him, he holds you even tighter as he stares lovingly down at you.

It takes you a few minute of dancing, before both of your mouths are pressed together, kissing like there’s no tomorrow.

In the distance you hear all of your and Hoseok’s friends cheering for the two of you, both of you are too busy making up for those two years. However, you still have a long way to go, and you’re getting that coffee tomorrow.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.