#I know it hardly counts as character designs seeing as all I did for most of them was slap a pair of eyes on the Bonus Fruit...

[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (8)

—  Pairing: Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 6.4k

—  Warnings: Reluctant allies to lovers, Implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied non-con, physical abuse, spousal abuse, stalking, violence, Angst

—  Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! — 

(Yoongi, 113 days before)

When Yoongi first being taught the ropes of the family, the last beta, now dead- took him aside and taught him the ways of business.

She taught him how to think and how to breathe, how to manipulate and most importantly- how to lie. Her hand digging into his neck, her scent dulled by age but still stinky in his nose, something metallic, something like silver that he struggled not to pull away from. Her lips brush his ear. Yoongi never understood why she needed to get so close.

“Name the facts of the situation, and order them by level of importance, the solution should reveal itself to you without you having to do much more work.”

“What should I consider most important?” he’d ask, childlike eagerness, a willingness to be good- a weapon in her hands.

Her voice had gone low. “Whatever you want to consider important is important. Say what you want and the others will follow.”

Now, sitting on the bed in his hotel room, Yoongi thinks should count himself lucky. He’s the one person that your husband cannot refuse a request from. The one person from whom Geumjae cannot keep you.

Even Yoongi cannot deny that it sends a good message to the rest of the family. He can almost imagine the words that Geumjae might say. See the beta is checking in not only on me but on the people closest to me, she’ll vouch for my character because my wife knows best.

She’s a pretty thing your wife, your mate to be.

No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s all in good fun dude, don’t take it too seriously.

Yoongi insists over texts that the two of you go alone to look at jewelry. Yoongi wonders if you know that it’s just a simple ploy to learn more about you, to figure out the newcomer, and that he’s not really interested in anything beyond that. Geumjae need not waste his time with the affairs of an omega, he surely has more important things to do than go with you and help Yoongi pick out pretty things that sparkle.

He taps out the message on his phone, looking out over the city in the hotel room, bag packed on the bed a mess of torn through clothing that hardly smells like the pack at all. Not anymore.

New Number (11:32am): Thank fucking god, you know how boring all that frilly omega shit is to me.

New Number (11:32am): What’s mine is yours little bro

New Number (11:32am): Just not her.

Yoongi looks at the text for a long time, and then tosses his phone away.

The city is always rainy in the fall. The towering skyscrapers pierce the metallic clouds like a knife, and the rain hangs low. The rain is the only thing he can smell when he steps out of the taxi and into the street where you’ve agreed to meet. The scent of rain, cold and humid. You are already there on the sidewalk waiting. Peeking out from under the edge of your umbrella.

Yoongi did not bring one, he stands underneath the deluge of rainwater until you step close.

The heals you wear do little to provide you any real height, Yoongi still has to look down at you, but they do keep you out of the puddles, dark and reflective. You look every picture of a rich socialite. Designer bag, gaudy jewelry that clangs together when you reach to shake his hand. Your wedding band cold against his finger. Your introductions routine, formal. Your drop waist dress billows out from your hips gathering rain splotches.

It looks so out of character, so ill fitting, the dress several sizes bigger than would look flattering. You can’t be warm in it.

You’re still wearing the bracelets too; Yoongi wonders if you ever take them off- if Geumjae ever lets you. You smile at Yoongi when you see him, slow, it does not show your teeth.

Just not her.

“Did you have anywhere in particular you wanted to go, or is just the Cartier on 5th avenue fine for now Mr. Min?” You say, idly, your tone gentle, your words perfectly pronounced an enunciated. If you have any sort of accent, Geumjae has trained you out of it.

“Yoongi, you can call me Yoongi, I don’t mind.” Water drips onto the back of his neck. Yoongi feels like he’s under a microscope even though he’s only just next to you. You have your hair tied back again this time with a silk scarf- red with a dark blue boarder. Tiny cherry blossoms speckling it in an indistinct pattern. The only splotch of color on your entire outfit. The only thing that isn’t black.

Everything but your lips. There is a ridge across your bottom lip where you must have bitten them and bitten hard. Yoongi can see it through the lipstick, the family’s usual shade of crimson. Presented to all omega’s after presentation- or in your case- your marriage.  Yoongi wonders if it’s an anxiety tick or otherwise. But there is a tiny imperceptible gash there where it’s split, at the corner.

Your eyes widen, the perfect picture of coquettish surprise. Yoongi doesn’t believe it for a second. Yoongi knows you know better. He pauses on the sidewalk. He is not sure that he can trust you.

He offers his arm, and you are in no position to deny it. You wrap your arm around it gently, like you’re warry of putting too much of your body within reach. You fall into step beside him and Yoongi keeps his tone mild-mannered.

“Tell me, what’s it like being married to a psychopath?”

You pause, looking up at him, making eye contact without fear, Yoongi watches you breathe, watches you force yourself to make it slow.

“You’re the one who grew up with him. Why don’t you tell me?”

You step up to the front of the store and hold open the door for him, the front steps have red velvet on them, and a doorman holds open the interior for you. If you didn’t know what he’s like- you wouldn’t be asking me.

Yoongi steps past you.

“Don’t say it’s all bad.” He says, once a sales associate has been properly greeted and immediately dismissed. Your jewelry all but guarantees you entry and allowance here. Yoongi feels a little grubby by comparison in his ripped jeans and jacket. He gestures to the diamonds on your wrist, the one on your finger. The designer bag on your waist that costs more than what most people make per quarter.

You hold out your wedding ring to show him. You are not smiling. “I guess it’s not bad if you like expensive things.”

From anyone else, it would sound bratty, but you just sound tired. Yoongi takes it in, the ridge on your lips that must be from where you dig in your teeth, the bags under your eyes dotted with off color concealer, a similar discoloration he can see on the back of your hands and your throat when you look to some of the glass cases.

Yoongi moves with you, staying at your side. Gazing down at the things in the cases, the miniature serpents crafted into necklaces, bracelets, the flowers carved into earrings. All of it the finest that money can buy. All impressively ugly.

“Expensive is one way to put it.”

You breathe, and Yoongi watches it hitch. You look up at him, Yoongi sees the impulse to look away when you meet his eyes, sees you give into it.

“I don’t like it, not anymore. You don’t seem like you like fancy stuff either you’re not-” you cast an anxious glance at him, as if you realize who you’re talking too. Someone the family talks about with a hush under their breath. Both a myth and a man. But you do not have to look to far to see that Yoongi is not like his brother. “Like them.”

His fingers tap against the glass, the rhythm on it, a song in the back of his head, “Why would you say that?” He should be asking, if not out of curiosity than to make his mask better. You’ve barely been in his presence what? 3 hours? 4? And yet you’ve figured him out easily.

A little too easily.

You shrug and turn away, “call it a hunch.”

Yoongi has never been able to quite temper his gentleness, he might sneer and scowl like them, might curse like a sailor and walk like one too, but he’s never able to touch things with violence. Everything, everything since he’s stepped foot Infront of you- has been gentle. Yoongi should be more surprised that you’ve called him on his bluff, but he can’t feel anything other than impressed.

His hands move slow, dancing across the glass cases that hide things far rarer and more beautiful than you. You should know, your husband has told you it time and time again hat putting you in diamonds is like putting a tiara on a pig. Yoongi looks at you, his eyes asking you to explain.

“You don’t come home often; you don’t like it. You didn’t do-” You sniff hard, mimicking it instead of saying it, “-after dinner. And you don’t like my husband. Even though he’s your blood.”

Yoongi sucks a breath through his teeth and wonders why he feels a willingness to be honest with you.

“No, I do not.” 

Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice that your jewels are quite so ill fitting, he does not polish his words sharp. Just like at the dinner the other night. He speaks slowly and gently, the sound of rippling waves or the feeling of warm water.

You like the way he speaks.

The door jingles, Yoongi looks over your shoulder. Your hang grips his wrist, hard and cold fingers. Making him turn back out of the very shock of it. You wrap your arm around his elbow and look up at him, your expression almost coquettish. But Yoongi can tell that you’re shaking.

“You have a pack? Across the city?” Yoongi does not comment on your change of topic.

The man in the doorway taps off his umbrella on the marble floor, getting water everywhere. You notice the bulge of something under his arm, the way his eyes slide over you and Yoongi, the leather shoes. Expensive. The way he speaks to the attendant, softly- so as to not draw attention to himself.

Yoongi sees your spine straighten.

“Not across the city, up north. Just outside of…” He knows better than to make eye contact with the man, his hat pulled low.

“Would you tell me about them?” Yoongi closes his eyes just briefly. The memories of them rush over him like a tidal wave.  

The feel of Jin’s hands on his abdomen, splayed wide. The sound of Hobi’s laugher, the tuck of Jimin’s chin when he falls asleep during movie night, the listless way his hand tangles in Tae's sleeve over and over again the same sensation until it goes slack with sleep. The spiky feeling of Namjoon’s hair- shaved short in summer and the sound of Jin’s voice as he counts the grey hairs. The clack of plates at dinner time and the smell of the apartment when they’re all happy. Sugary and sweet. 

But he opens his eyes, and it’s raining outside. No- it’s not the outside that smells like rain- that is your scent. Rainy, wet. Like petrichor only a tad bit sweeter. It’s a melancholy scent, one that doesn’t quite fit your soft practiced smile.

“I’ve got 6 packmates.” Yoongi swallows past the lump in his throat.

“Two alphas and four omegas’?” You guess, walking from glass case to glass case barely pausing from one to the next. The man follows, mirroring your and Yoongi’s position on the exterior of the store. You see him through the displays of cut glass. Yoong passes a chandelier that’s polished so perfectly that he sees a hundred reflections of you and him in it dancing as they twinkle.

“No, the other way around actually.”

“So many alpha’s,” you comment. Whistling low. “They must give your omega’s a run for their money.”

Yoongi snorts and you turn, not expecting humor, not expecting the honesty that Yoongi offers. “No actually they-” Yoongi should remember who he’s talking too but it’s surprisingly hard to resist the urge to talk about them, his pack. Missing them pulses dully in his chest, a deeper wound than any knife could carve. A deeper danger than being honest to you.

You’re hardly the most important person in the family, what harm could honesty really do?

“The idea of anyone giving Jin or Jungkook a run for their money is laughable. They’re-” Yoongi should be more careful, he shouldn’t even be telling you their names but-

You look up at him, eyes brighter than they were at the dinner or at the start of today. They reflect the rainbow of the chandelier. Your scent warms, sweetens, loosing it’s damp edge.

“Disobedient?” Your finger dances across a dangle of crystal.

“No, Jin’s our pack omega, he keeps us all in line, but he also likes to laugh. He takes good care of us and Jungkook,” Yoongi hums. “Jungkook was raised by alphas, practically acts like one himself. He’s the one who gives us a run for our money, sometimes literally.”

You huff, and Yoongi sees real confusion on your face. “So he’s disobedient but you like it?” He knows what it’s like- being in the family where ‘good’ and ‘obedient’ and ‘pretty’ are practically the only thing that matter when it comes to omega and the gold standard. The fact that Jungkook is only one of those things doesn’t make sense to you.

You turn, and the light catches your face, youthful cherub cheeks, not hollow, not yet. Yoongi is reminded of how young you are. How little you understand and how the family must have twisted your mind so to parrot these ideas and yet doubt them.

Geumjae is 35, you can hardly be older than 20. Something about the math, you being married two years ago, doesn’t add up.

“No- Jungkook’s sweet- he just likes to have fun.” Yoongi pauses, then can’t resist adding. “He smells like honey.”

You look up at him, drinking in his soft smile. How is it that he’s smiling. You wonder, who are the people who have charmed this brother’s heart? The better brother. Geumjae and Yoongi look so much alike, so alike that they could be identical where it not for the scar marring your husbands face. You know Yoongi is a few years younger than your husband. He doesn’t have the crinkles by his eyes yet.

Of course you chose the wrong one. That this man, an unseen Jungkook gets what you so desperately want but are denied, safety and a gentle man. Yoongi is surely gentle; you could smell it the second you met him. like blood to a hound, gentleness beacons to a heart as needy as yours.

But perhaps there are still choices to be made.

Your nose wrinkles, but then the man in the hat steps closer, behind the two of you. And Yoongi remembers that he’s being watched and followed. Remembers to be careful with his words.

“I think his style is a little different than this. Less gold. Less diamonds. Jungkook already sparkles enough.” You don’t look behind you, pointedly. He holds out his arm for you to take. Trying to be a gentleman.

“Should we try Tiffany’s?”

You and Yoongi keep your pace slow until you’re out the door. Yoongi grabs your elbow and tugs you along at a quicker pace. You immediately struggle to keep up with due to your height and your heels. The weather has gotten worse, it’s coming down so heavily now. The kind of rain that soaks you through in just a few seconds.

“We’re being followed.” You hiss low, Yoongi doesn’t say that’s obvious. He pulls his hood up but your coat doesn’t have one and you left your umbrella back at the store. The rain comes down hard, catching in your hair like a constellation of little diamonds, little stars. You turn one way than the other, deliberating, but Yoongi is still holding your elbow, tugging you, quickly now.

“Come on, before he spots us.”

Yoongi knows this area well- knows it by the back of his hand because the family has several fronts on this block, these are his alleyways and backstreets. He can pick out the business that the family owns from the sidewalk.

Rent is hard to make. And any real type of protection is even harder to come by. Yoongi’s family provides it for a reasonable fee that quickly becomes unreasonable once minor requests like money laundering or selling drugs out back door come due. But Yoongi does not concern himself with the petty squabbles of the underclass- not in this city, not right now.

His hand fists in the sleeve of your coat and he tugs you along.

Yoongi learned the ways of the family better than Geumjae or the omega tailing the two of you. Because Yoongi was offered an unaltered view of the scope of their operations. No family lines that needed to be maintained. No secrecy separates him from the truth.

He tugs you into the restaurant that he’s brokered many a back deal in, pulling you past bowing chefs, an angry man in a puffy hat that pulls a smaller looking woman down and says, “stay quiet,” voices hushed with the kind of deference offered to gods and not men.

You knock over a pot, and it sloshes, spilling dark bubbling liquid. Narrowly managing not to get it on your coat. “Sorry.” You say, but Yoongi Is already pulling you.

“It’s no problem Mrs. Min,” says the bright-eyed sous chef, all but trembling in her shoes.

You pop out into a back alleyway, tripping over your heals and the uneven step and old cobblestones but Yoongi’s hand goes from your elbow to your waist under your coat. You breathe, and your ribs push against his fingers, he lets go of your waist but not your arm, ignoring it as he pulls you. “Come on.” 

Yoongi doesn’t stop, aware of distant shouting. “I’m sorry sir but customers aren’t allowed back here.”

You sink out into the alleyway and slow your walking, only because it’s raining, and you’re quickly soaked. Yoongi watches as you catch your own eyes in a reflective pein of glass, watches as you tuck your hair back behind your ear, eyes flickering over your cheeks and down.

He scoffs, and you turn to him.

“What?”

He rolls his eyes, turning away to walk down the street, quicker. “Omega’s and their preening.” It’s scornful, and it’s out of character. But Yoongi has not had the easiest week.

You turn, a sharpness on your face that Yoongi hasn’t seen so far.

“If you haven’t figured out that beauty is currency by now, then there’s nothing I can do for you.” Your gaze is so intense that Yoongi has to look away, a tightness in his chest that he cannot name. Shame, or maybe embarrassment.

That’s because you weren’t just checking to see if your makeup was undisturbed, no- you were checking to make sure the bruises on your face weren’t visible. But they are now- wiped away by the rain. They’re a conflagration of purple and blue over your cheek. Pretty like spread ink. They’re going yellow on the side. They must be a few days old. Yoongi watches the rain melt away the makeup.

Yoongi hates them the second he realizes. Hates himself a little too for calling what you were doing ‘preening’. 

His hand comes up, fingers pressing into your cheekbone, it must be tender. It must hurt to put makeup on.

“Does he beat you?” You flinch. Moving your face away from his hand. For the first time you don’t say anything. You just keep fussing, turning back to the window and untucking your hair so that it hides the left side of your face.

“Yoongi” you say softly, almost chiding. It’s the first time he’ll ever hear you say his name. But he’s going to hear you say it thousands of times more in his lifetime. Countless times until the word feels less like his name and more like a promise (If only promises weren’t dreadfully easy to break.)

You look almost sad as you regard him. Pitying. Shoe scuffing on the cobblestone as you step up to him. “Don’t you know by now? There are worse things an alpha can do to an omega than just beat them.”

Yoongi hates the way that there’s pity in your face for him. He doesn’t know why it bothers him but he’ll stay awake thinking about it for hours after. Later tonight once he’s dragged you both across the city to the beta’s residence. Once he’s solidified it in his head the two facts he learned from today.

One, that you are not a bad person.

And two, you need help.

Yoongi stands there in the downpour, looking at you. The two of you spend a few breaths like that. Looking at each other. Sizing each other up. Yoongi watches the bruises become more and more visible; the cloudy water tainted with makeup dripping from your temple to your chin.

“We’re both soaking wet.” Just speaking makes the water move from his lips, like he’s spat it. At least the mascara you’re wearing is waterproof. “We need to get out of the rain.”

There is a yellow cab on the side of the street, and he pushes you into it, you slide across the seat to let him in after you. The cabbie in the front hardly looks up until you’re settles. Yoongi watches carefully. Looking for even a fleck of recognition in his face.

He can never be too careful.

Your wet hair drips onto the leather seat, and Yoongi reminds himself to leave a hefty tip. You lean forward and give the cabbie the address for your and Geumjae’s brownstone and finds his stare similarly blank. The timer on the meter says you’ve got 30 minutes until you reach your destination. Yoongi wonders if Geumjae had instructed you to bring him home to talk.

Yoongi’s long hair tickles his forehead wet, and he slides the partition between you and the driver shut with a shlick of plastic against plastic. Your eyes dart from him to the cabbie, and he keeps his voice hushed.

Your phone slides across the seat and hits him in the thigh, when he hands it back to you it’s faintly warm in his hands. Like the flashlight has been left on in your pocket.

Yoongi doesn’t let his suspicion show. The screen stays dark.

“There. Now we’re not being followed or listened in on we can talk about what matters.”

You eye the driver warily. “There are 1,305 people in our organization, not including law enforcement on payroll, give or take a few, you can’t possibly know them all by name.”

Yoongi blinks, “I do not,” he admits after a careful moment. He glances once again at the cabbie. He makes eye contact with Yoongi before quickly glancing away. “You know an absurdly large amount of information about my family.”

“Am I not supposed too?”

Yoongi chews his words before he says them. “Careful.” You don’t reach to buckle yourself in, hands tight in your lap. Wary again, in a car with this man, in a car with someone whom you do not know, if you can trust yet.

Yoongi reaches over and does the buckle for you, hand brushing your hip. It’s the softest touch- the tenderest touch that you’ve known in weeks, months maybe. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so gently.

Your hip burns from it. Yoongi clicks the buckle closed.

Instead of acknowledging it you ask. “Why did you help that omega the other night? The one at dinner? The server.”

“Was I not supposed too?” Yoongi raised his eyebrow, “if you haven’t figured out that kindness is currency by now then there’s nothing I can do for you.” You roll your eyes at him, at having your words thrown back at you. Yoongi sees the bravery it takes in you, the way you watch and wait for him to get violent.

Violence with words has always been easier for Yoongi so he changes the subject. “Did you leave the other night because you knew something would happen to Jongho?”

“No, I didn’t know for sure.” Yoongi reads beyond your words.

“Was it Geumjae?” 

“No, it wasn’t.”

“But you won’t tell me who?” Yoongi feels more and more like he’s bickering with a child, compared to him you probably are. You must be 10 years younger than him, maybe more?

“I have my suspicions, as I’m sure you do.” An enigmatic answer.

“There are 1,305 people in my organization, there’s enough suspicion to go around.”

“And yet, you agreed to meet me.”

“In public, we’re not in private yet.”  

He leans forward opening up the plastic partition, now dewy with condensed air. He opens it.

“Actually, I think we have to change our final destination.” When he flops back against the seat, he watches the way your mouth moves, the corners lifting up a little at the edges.

Trust or no trust, Yoongi can’t imagine that he’s making a bad decision.

~-~

Not much has changed at the Beta’s lodgings. It’s less of an apartment and more of a safehouse carved out from the city, a slice of suburbia among the concrete. It’s probably worth fucking millions because of its location- but Yoongi’s never been quite sure who owns it. It’s always belonged to the beta in charge, always. 

And now, that beta is Yoongi, so it’s his.

The small yellow cottage has been owned by the family for almost longer than the city has been a city. Shoved between two apartment buildings and a 7/11. Hidden in an alleyway that’s barely wide enough for a car; most people wouldn’t even know it was a driveway with all of the shrubbery and the high cinderblock wall. The decorative potted plants that line the driveway are cracked in places- no doubt from the late beta’s poor driving.

Yoongi makes the taxi pull all the way up, just so the two of you (and your bruises) won’t be spotted. Yoongi knows the beta’s residence is constantly watched, constantly minded, constantly protected. It doesn’t feel like protection. To Yoongi, having the eyes of the family close feels like a threat.

At night, the street has a large amount of foot traffic, perfect to disappear into if you needed it, It feels like the cottage barely exists on the same plane as the rest of the city. Set far enough back that the sounds of people and cars just seem to melt away.

It’s considered as good as hallowed ground in the gang world. No blood can be spilled there or else an instant hit will be ordered on the person who has. It’s law, people need a safe place to come and seek council. The beta’s safety needs to be preserved.

Most of the late betas belongings have been moved out already, put in storage for however long it takes for someone trusted to go through it and burn anything that might be telling. There isn’t anyone to inherit their things nor much value to them otherwise. Their beta wasn’t a fan of designer clothes or fanciful trinkets that were paid for with blood money. Anything of value and any secrets have died with her.

A small shred of crime scene tape gets pinned to the slate pathway from the water, soaked and strewn about within the dying garden. Once lovingly maintained, it has already started to show signs of neglect in the form of heaps of leaves strewn about. One of the shutters hangs off it’s hinges and Yoongi wishes someone would repaint the whole building. A darker color maybe.

The yellow always shows the mold.  

If you have ever been inside the beta’s residence, you don’t show it on your face as Yoongi leads you inside. They’ve left most of the furniture at least. Yoongi would hate to have to furnish it himself. It’s only got one bedroom, but combined kitchen and Livingroom space has a bunch of windows. Yoongi tells you to sit and is unsurprised to find the bedroom clean with fresh sheets. A whole new bed and an open linen closet full of bright fluffy towels. Someone probably knew he was coming and set the place up for him. The heat’s even been turned on.

You were right not to trust the cabbie.

There are shadows on the wall where pictures hung, stripped of almost everything in the bedroom and bathroom. All of the clothes and trinkets collected in a lifetime stripped from the place. Yoongi wonders if the late beta would be disturbed or pleased. She was always picky with her evidence.

Yoongi’s going to have to get some shampoo from the hotel when he goes back to collect his things. And then maybe pilfer or borrow a bug sweeper from one of the families to double check that there’s nothing amiss here. From the bedroom, Yoongi can just see the neon lights from the street, the glowing seven just over the trees. It’s an interesting mix of quaint old world and blinding toxic neon. It has drafts under the windows and bad heating, the green velvet couch in the living room sags from the weight of years of use.

Yoongi retrieves two of the new towels from the bathroom ripping off the tag on the way through the house. He rubs the first one over his own head, mopping up some of the water and hands the other out to you. You’ve parked yourself on that green sofa, looking out the window at the rain. Your jacket discarded nearby on the back of a chair. Water dripping slowly out of it and seeping through the cracks in the uneven floorboards, warping with age.

Yoongi doesn’t sit down, even after you tentatively take the towel from him and start to dry your hair. Taking it out of its fastenings. Your silk scarf, once colorful. Sits on the nicked coffee table. Flaccid and soaked. The colors dull.

“What did Geumjae tell you?”

Your hair makes a gentle squish noise as you dry it. “About you? Or about the situation?”

About me, did he tell you to be afraid of me? I don’t want you to be afraid of me. Yoongi quiets his tongue around the words and focuses only on the necessities. The thing that will get him out of this city and back to the pack as soon as possible. That’s his priority.

“About the secession.”

Your eyes flicker up and down Yoongi’s body.

“He told me he’d do whatever he had to become Don. That the secession is up to you but that he can’t kill you because you’re on the no kill list now. And-” Your eyelashes are sticking together because of the rain, big globs of it. Yoongi looks at it instead of your eyes, intimidated by your beauty even though he’d sort of scorned you earlier. Your eyes are too open, too vulnerable, too pretty.

“-The next beta in line is like 4 years old and fucking hates his guts. You’re by far the better option.”

Yoongi huffs, as close to a laugh as he can get these days and sits back against the couch.

The kill list is an old and informal piece of information. There are only 3 names on it as far as Yoongi knows, his name, the past Beta, and the past Don. All current and past packmates of the ruling Beta and Don get put on it, to prevent extortion and retribution. The family doesn’t have many rules, but to kill someone on the kill list is as good as suicide.

The list is handed out to everyone connected to the family at the start of every year. Every assassin, even the low-level drug smugglers. Yoongi knows for a fact that Namjoon and Jin and the rest of them are not on it yet- because he hasn’t officially become the beta and he hasn’t announced them as packmates. After he names Don this will change. Yoongi slumps in the couch, sinking into the cushions.

He thinks of bringing them here, thinks of Jin and Jungkook in black with their lips painted red like you. Thinks of gentle Joonie and anxious Hobi. He thinks of Jimin stuck in a room with so many scents making his instincts go haywire. He thinks of Tae holding a gun and cannot stomach it.

Yoongi tamps down on it, cutting to the chase. There’s no real reason to beat around the bush. “Are you going to do whatever you have to do to see your husband on the throne?”

“No.” You reply with a snap, then sigh, tired, leaning your head back against the seat. So much about you is that- tired. Yoongi wonders what about that exhausted you so and why you replied as quick as you did. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to be manipulated without finesse.”

“And would you say finesse is something you lack?”

This is feeling more and more like a job interview. Your bracelets tinkle against each other as you reach up to tuck your hair behind your ear. And your wedding ring catches the light. It’s a true monster; three carats and glittering under the light, more stunning than half the pieces you saw back in that shop. Pretty due to its simplicity but ugly due to its size.

You look too young to look so sad but too old to look so scared.

“What I lack” you choose your words carefully because you don’t know how to not be careful- just like you don’t know how to not be afraid. “Is the motivation.”

Yoongi can’t help but laugh at that. A real laugh, deep and chuckling. And he misses the way you turn away. Hiding the smile on your face is harder and harder with every moment. If you’re not careful- your smile might be used against you.

You and Yoongi. You remind yourself. You’d hate for something bad to happen to him just because you can’t keep your expressions tamed.

“You might be the only person in this whole fucking city that doesn’t want to manipulate me.” If I believe you.

Now it’s your turn to laugh, and it makes Yoongi quiet, it’s high and clear- it’s a pretty sound, the kind of sound that makes the birds pause. The kind of tone that makes intro’s good and outro’s sentimental. Yoongi cannot stop the traitorous flutter of his heart.

You avoid his question and cock your head, and Yoongi thinks you’re angry until he sees your lower lip quiver.

“You act like I have a choice, like I’m like them- this isn’t-” you gesture between the two of you. “Even important. He told me about the succession and the only thing I thought was ‘If he’s got his throne maybe he’ll finally forget about me. Manipulation isn’t anything I’d do if it wasn’t necessary, I don’t like it.”

“Where would you go? If he did forget about you?”

You turn away, looking out the window at the rain, your face leaning on your hand. “I don’t know. Probably somewhere quiet.”

Yoongi’s answering hum is that- quiet. And he lets the silence still for a moment. The inside of the cottage is warm, and the two of you are no longer shivering.

“What do you like to do anyway, plan parties? Shop? Or is fancy jewelry and polite scheming your only hobby?”

“You don’t think I’d take these off if I could?” you hold out your wrists, the bracelets jangle against each other. So they actually are shackles then. Yoongi hadn’t been sure. You swallow, looking down at them. “If I had to choose one thing though, I like to-”

Before you can say anything else. Your phone dings, A different ringtone, a loud one. Yoongi doesn’t mean to look down at it but it’s hard not too since your phone sits between the two of you on the couch.

Yoongi doesn’t mean to catch a glimpse of the text on your phone, the contact at the top is devoid of any emoji’s or hearts. He finds his blood going cold at the sight of the message he sent through.

Husband (5:54): If you don’t come out here in the next 30 seconds, I’ll slit your fucking throat and use it as a new hole to fuck.

The silk scarf you used to tie your hair up still lies wet on the dinged coffee table, so your hair stays down as you bolt to your feet. And grab your jacket, heaving open the door without even putting it on. “Sorry I have to go- I have to-”

There is someone standing at the edge of the driveway underneath the bleed of the neon sign, the purple neon light bleeds onto the wet concrete. The light behind the man turns red. Silhouetting his figure. And Yoongi doesn’t have to look twice to know who it is.

You hurry out the door without offering him much of a goodbye. And Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, even less what to do.

Geumjae waits there at the end of the driveway. And Yoongi takes him in. His pursed lips, the umbrella he holds- the same one you left in the shop, and his hawkish eyes as you hasten in his direction. The black car is non-descript, but Geumjae still shoves you into it, uncaring of your comfort or who might see him do it.

You hit your head on the metal frame. And Yoongi see’s you gasp in pain from far away, clutching your forehead.

His fists tighten at his sides. Geumjae gives him one long look and then walks around to the driver’s side. Yoongi walks out onto the patio, the slate steps, not running but half jogging, bare feet smacking against the wet slate. Re-drenched in the downpour.

But by the time he’s gotten to the end of the driveway. The car has already pulled away.

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- Tbh, I don’t think Yoongi will ever realize that he was groomed. I’m trying my best to show that his worldview has been skewed a little, I think it’s very telling that when we first see him with Jin he calls omega’s docile and then when he comes home- it’s pretty evident that he doesn’t view omega’s quite that terribly anymore.

- Omega’s that are not in the family that is, the omega’s in the family still get his derision because they uphold the same values and reinforce the very structures that subjugate them- but as the m/c says in this chapter. Beauty is the only way for any of them to gain any safety and she especially is in the position where safety is more important than freedom. I feel the need to unpack this because I think at face value you could easily think that Yoongi’s just an asshole. But he’s not- he’s just hyper critical of the systems that his family imposes.

- Yoongi and the m/c’s dialogue in this chapter is some of my favorite additions to the story that I’ve made with this edit. To me it feels like we really get to see her character before she goes quiet. Like obviously this doesn’t change what happens to her or how traumatized she is when the pack sees her, but I think I did a good job of building up her character a little.

- I know it’s stereotypical, but the scarf that the m/c has in her hair is actually one that I own. I’ve had it forever and I love it a lot. I can’t remember where I got it but!! I have pictures if people really do want to see <3

-The first ever girl I had a crush on had that ridge on her lips, the same one that I describe the m/c having in this. I remember looking over at her during class and just being hopelessly crushed, hopelessly in love. I wish I’d been brave enough to understand it. Jenny, if you ever read this, Ni hao!! 你好 and I hope you’re still making 3 pointers! I am still very bad at Chinese but thank you for letting me practice <3

- In my mind, the m/c and Yoongi Walk through the restaurant in the bear! that’s just what my brain does! Tbh, I think the ‘bright eyed sous chef’ could be Sydney!

- I do think it’s up to interpretation if the mc is manipulating Yoongi or not BUT If we’re getting into the nitty gritty of it, I think that the m/c purposefully wore non-waterproof makeup so that Yoongi would see that she has bruises. Her intent is to make herself a sympathetic character and every so subtly try to manipulate Yoongi to see Geumjae in a poor light. A subtle way for her to make sure Yoongi knows, that someone knows what he’s doing to her.

- Is the m/c’s phone recording them or is it being tracked? What do you think? Why is it warm? I personally think it’s being tracked by Geumjae- but Yoongi in the moment is unsure what’s going on. Like even he’s confused if he should trust or if he should suspect the m/c.

- (tw) When she talks about the ‘worst’ thing an alpha can do to an omega, that is rape. She’s talking about rape.

- (SPOILER) When Yoongi says “he thinks of Tae holding a gun and cannot stomach it.” Yeah, that’s a direct reference to how the story ends and the fact that Tae kills the assassin.

- The bracelets she wears are the cartier love bracelets, if that wasn’t clear! They run about 7k a pop. I do think Geumjae has used them to tie her down before. They are small enough that she can’t pull them over her knuckles and can’t take them off or remove them. They were some of the first gifts Geumjae ever got her.

[stardestroyer81]

I've been entertaining the idea of creating a Pizza Tower 'AU' wherein I star as the main character and all references to pizza are instead lovingly replaced by games of old, and while I initially wanted to make a set of Toppins based off of my go-to pizza toppings, I had another idea... what if I made a set of Toppins based off of the Bonus Fruit from the Pac-Man franchise?

Enter The Fruitins, a cross between choice selections of Pac-Man's greatest Bonus Fruit and the Toppins! 🍒🍊🍈🥨🍌🔑

[wannaeatramyeon]

Haven't seen the trash boi Goo for a while! How bout a different girl for him, a hard-working and honest girl who works in a small convince store as her part-time job. She doesn't really like expensive gifts or stuff like that, to her spending time with her boyfriend is way more important than any sort of materialistic brand.

Thanks for the ask anon! I've missed this stupid lil idiot!

Goo Kim x Reader: Money

Goo-fy wonders why you're with him

Goo is more than aware of your silly little part-time job.

On multiple occasions, he has offered to pay you himself so you didn't have to work the night shifts on your own. You thanked him, sweetly as usual, but said no anyway.

Well isn't that a pain.

How could he possibly just sit at home when he knows his darling girlfriend is working her butt off for pocket change. And think of the weird characters just like him that lurk around at night!

Goo shudders.

He makes up his mind to join you any opportunity he can.

.

.

The first time Goo shows up, you are practically buzzing with excitement. Holy crap, you're adorable.

Then you react the same the second and third and fourth time too. Come to think of it, it's every single time.

He starts to wonder if there is something wrong with you.

Yes, he is extraordinarily handsome. Yes, he is perfect. Yes, he is God's gift.

Still. No-one could be that excited to see him, right?

.

.

And what's even weirder, is the way you're looking at him and chattering away right now.

Do you even realise what Goo has offered?

He has given you complete, 100%, free rein in a shopping mall. The most high-end shopping mall in the country. It's all on him. He's got it, babe. Go shop your little heart out!

Yet... You're not sprinting towards the designer brands, you're not buying one in every colour. In fact, you're not buying anything at all.

(Goo did get you a juice when you said you were thirsty, but that hardly counts.)

You wander around with a ridiculous smile on your face, your hand in his, listening to him talk about anything and everything.

You steal glances at Goo when you think he's not looking, but he catches you every time.

No! Don't look at me! Look at this! This coat, this bag, these shoes!

It's the foodhall of all places that you two end up, seated at a little uneven table that tips on one side. Far, far below Goo's usual standard but he couldn't find it in himself to care with you next to him.

At the end of the day, you go home empty-handed, thanking him graciously for your juice, and Goo is left scratching his head.

.

.

If there are two things that Goo knows, it's how to fight and how to make money.

And you never particularly cared for his fighting skills. Sure, you're impressed. Everyone is.

Though if you don't care about that and you don't care about cash. Then... why are you with him?

Goo confronts you at work one evening.

He interrogates you about your feelings for him, about him, and you take it all with a straight face.

(You're not stupid. You don't date someone like Goo Kim unprepared for his unhinged moments.)

"-But it's good I'm rich, right?"

Of course you know what money means to him. It's not the same for you, and you try to be diplomatic about it. "Well... it's good that you can buy yourself nice things with it, I guess? But I don't need it."

Goo tilts his head, clearly confused with your response. "What? So you'll be with me even if I was broke?"

"Yup."

"If I had to wear ugly clothes?"

"Yup."

"If I couldn't take you out?"

"Yup."

"If I couldn't buy you things?"

"Yup."

"Not even," Goo looks around the store for inspiration, "this ramen?"

"Yup."

The cogs in Goo's brain stutters and stops. So then...?

You decide to put your moron out of his misery. You cup his face in your hands as he continues to look absolutely baffled.

"Goo. I don't need any of that. I just like being with you. You could make watching paint dry fun," you speak slowly and clearly, hoping that your words sink in. "You know you're also with me, right? And I don't really have any money."

As if your financial status would in any way shape or form affect his feelings towards you! Goo is appalled.

"My sweet lil honeybun, that's completely different!"

Honestly. You roll your eyes fondly and ruffle his hair.

Maybe, just maybe. He gets it. A little bit. Maybe money isn't everything-

Scratch that, money's pretty fucking important. Goo loves money. But, if he really thought about it, he loves you more.

[animehouse-moe]

Jujutsu Kaisen X Souta Yamazaki

This man, hardly what you could call an industry veteran, is carrying my favorite JJK S2 cuts on his back. So I though I'd talk about him a little.

So, what'd Yamazaki do in this episode? Oh, just all the incredibly cool looking Nanami shots.

Yes, I do know and acknowledge the fact that these drawings are pretty far away from Nanami character's design, and that they sorta basterdize his whole sequence. But man, they're so cool? I'm alright with uber angry Nanami rather than cold and deadly Nanami considering what we got from Yamazaki, but I do really wish the other pieces of the fight could have been somewhat better animated.

Anyways, Yamazaki isn't a one hit wonder, he actually did a really great cut on episode 9 as well: Gojo ripping Jogo's arm off. Between those two you can really see the style that Yamazaki has been carving out for themselves as of late, and while with their older work they didn't have quite the same style, the most certainly had the same quality.

Yamazaki would get their start on anime with doing inbetweens on movies, namely Ride Your Wave and Weathering With You. From there they quickly migrated to Cloverworks to do some second key animation on Fate/Grand Order Absolute Demonic Front: Babylonia.

It was then that the first of their two home studios was found, followed up by the first season of Jujutsu Kaisen not long after. Since then, Yamazaki has been putting out some really crazy cuts.

Just look at the work they did for Wonder Egg Priority.

Or what they've done with My Dress Up Darling.

It's crazy, but Souta Yamazaki is only 4 years into the industry at this point. But they're delivering cuts like it's been 20, such an insane talent. I can count the number of series they've worked on with my own hands. This is 100% an animator people should be looking for on future projects. Maybe not for their ability to provide incredible adaptations, but to provide insane style and detail in their cuts.

[intothetlkverse]

Decided to challenge myself by drawing every single TLK character out there, up until this point in time, and post it here. You can see the finished project on my main account, though I figured to post it on my tumblr just show I could proudly show off my work and a few of my head canons.

Here's part two of all the non-raptor birds across TLG/K:

Starting strong with the egrets we have Ono/Maono(vision). The last of the Guard members to be featured here, though hardly due to lack of interest. I do like Ono, for how know-it-all and blunt he can be, I do see the appeal in his respectful and pragmatic nature, plus seeing him in his arc in the third season. He eventually becomes the Night Pride's majordomo/scout for the Day Guard, filling in for the time of day when Rani and her group are asleep and Kion and his team are awake. Ono, like myself, if also ace-aro, so while he doesn't get into a relationship or fathers any children, one day, who should come to the Tree of Life but a pair of hamerkops, none other than Ona/Kuona(sight) and mother Kulinda(protect), and he does take on a fatherly-uncle type role with Ona, as well as another egret.

Next up is what I like to call the secondary TLG characters category, composed of Tamaa(appetite) the drongo, Mwenzi(partner) the red-billed tickbird, and the yellow wagtail, featured in "Beshte and the Hippo Lanes", Nyuni(the bee). For all my gripes with TLG's design and story choices, I will say that their bird designs are pretty consistently decent across the board, even if Tamaa's design resembles the Asian-native greater racket-tailed drongo instead of a more geographically appropriate fork-tailed drongo, as I've portrayed here. I did also notice that there was a female yellow wagtail, so I made her Nyuni mate and her name is Mbila(millet). Also Bupu and Kifaru make very small cameos here.

I was really surprised to find out TLK doesn't have a lot of flamingo characters. Sure they appear in quite a few comics and stories, though counting named characters and ones we see in TLG, mentioned in the TLK wiki no less, that gives us about three actual characters. So I added on two more to the ones we got. Also Africa is home to two species of flamingos, the greater and lesser species, which in my research is more just size rather then quality, though the really bright flamingos you think of when seem to be more an American/Caribbean species. Still, considering that flamingos get their pink feather coloring from crustaceans, and the more they eat the more pink they are, I'm just gonna say that the seafood/algae in TLK/G for the most part is extremely rich in carotenoid. You can pry my Barbie pink African flamingo designs from my cold dead hands.

First off are TLG's Flamingo girl 1/Fuari(happy) and Flamingo girl 2/Juisi(juice), named after two of my favorite songs. They're greater flamingos and both of them live in their flamboyance next to Azaad's territory, often becoming his meal. I imagine flamingos, while native to most of Africa where there's water, are an uncommon sight for many, though are very adored for their perky pink plumage and fabulous, flamboyant festivities. For the other flamingo character before we get to the unnamed ones we have Yeye(she). She is leader of the greater flamingos in the Pridelands, specifically at Lake Kidogo. She is also considered a bit overdramatic, as she and her fellow flamingos once nearly declared war on Kiboko and the hippopotamuses for their less kempt nature/appearances, though in fairness Kiboko was being an extra big jerk, though he alone would've made pink morsels out them realistically. I based her design off the ones glaring at Kovu before his exile in TLK2.

The last two flamingos didn't have names, but considering I'm a big fan of flamingos and we definitely needed more, here you go. First off is the one we see from "A Kinglike Hair-do" I've named Sabuni(soap), yet another song I like. While walking down with his vain monkey friend Isimo, Simba and him come across a flock of flamingos, which Isimo argues about how pretty can they really be compared to him and decides to spook them by running through them. Simba then noticed Sabuni, injured and realizes her flock was trying to protect her. Simba calls the rest of the flock back, promising not to harm any of them, and they are able to go back to their injured friend, who eventually recovers. This event would make the flamingos have a more positive outlook towards Simba later on when he set about restoring the Pridelands back after Scar's reign, making them easy support. Later in the comic the flock plus a lemur Simba helped earlier save him from a snake-infested river.

Fataki(fireworks) is the last of the flamingos, and last one named after songs I like. From "Pretty in Pink", he is the only male on this list, and is the leader of a flamboyance of lesser flamingos who take over a small pond in the Oasis during a dry spell, peeving off our Hakuna Matata trio and anyone else hoping to use the pond for cooling off. The trio decide to infiltrate the pond by painting themselves pink with berry juice and gathering fallen flamingo feathers to try and trick the flamingos into allowing them to enter, though the plan fails when they topple into the water and wash away their disguise. However before they can get pecked for their trickery, Pumbaa emerges from the mud the sight of him is so frightening that the flock flees, allowing the trio to cool off in peace. Since then the flock has avoided that specific pond in fear of the 'mud monster' that appeared before them, though still are pretty selfish and vain still.

So at this point you already know my penchant for making these lists increasingly harder for myself. TLG has a long list of bird species that they've shown or used for a line or two, but are never given proper names, just barely a wiki page if they're lucky. The next five characters do have a TLG wiki page yet no specific names. After that, I decided that the other bird designs in TLG were too good to waste, so they will be given a brief mention and name.

Starting off with the unnamed characters which mostly come from "Friends to the End", we have the peacock leader of his flock, now a congo peafowl, Shabiki(fan). Congo peafowl are technically peacocks in Africa, but are much more subdued and don't nearly have as much pizzaz with their tail feathers as your typical Indian variant, and neither are nearly as stunning as the green peafowl... fight me. They've got eyespots all over, not just their tail feathers.

Next we get some waterfowl, starting with the former barnacle geese Mother goose/Ndege(fowl), now an African goose, and her son Jirgi(flight-Hausa) and daughter Gurbi(nest-Hausa) from "Friends to the End". So with barnacle geese, apparently they create nests on high cliffs to avoid predation, however within a few days of hatching goslings must jump off these cliff faces in order to meet their parents who are foraging on the grass below, which is what we learn in TLG, however I have no knowledge of African geese doing the same. However given how rude she was, in my 'verse the chicks did fall off a cliff where their mother had decided to build their nest on top of, and was too prideful to admit she was in the wrong. She later becomes food for Makucha's Army, though her chicks thankfully make it to adulthood relatively unscathed.

Last of the waterfowl is the African black duck from "The Search for Utamu" that Fuli saves her nest from some fighting oryxes. Her name is Bata(duck) and given that her species can have 4–8 eggs at a time, I like to think she named one after Fuli. Their design was pretty nice, though I changed the orange bill/beak to the original's black, though I imagine the reason why they originally had it orange was to help with figuring which part to animate.

Now for the unnamed, background species from TLG. These guys were already enough work to figure out how to make that they'll just get a brief excerpt.

White-throated laughing thrushes: Safisha(tidy). Their colors in the show just seemed to be extremely saturated, so I mellowed them somewhere between their real-life and cartoon counterparts.

Common Kingfishers: Choraji(painting). They're only found in a TLG "Look and Find" book, though still included because... well just look how pretty they are.

Great blue turaco: Mkweli(truthful) and white-crested turaco?: Mchele(rice). Such beautiful blue feathers for the former, absolutely stunning. For the white-crested turacos, for some weird reason in the show they made them... so weird. Like they took a blue-crested turaco and used pastel colors, baby blues and creams.... so I used the real-life design here. Perfectly colorful and serviceable design, I don't know what TLG was planning, though in my book these two are happily married to one another.

Grey-Headed Tanagers: Eji(dew-Yoruba). Another really-saturated cartoon design, though I honestly was doubting whether or not it was a tanager and not a sunbird or superb starling, or even if it was meant to be a variant of the grey-headed bushstrike they've already made. However it did get to a point where looking up species was starting to not be fun, so I conceded in the end, but did mute the colors more.

Grey-Headed Bushshrikes: Pazia(veil). Not much to say, but a really good design overall, for both real-life and TLG.

Southern red bishop: Kivara(clothing). Technically put under the finches wiki page, though the Southern red bishop is actually part of the weaver family, though stunningly beautiful nonetheless.

Peach-faced lovebird: Koro(heart). A cutie patootie, him and Kivara are mates too.

Green bee-eaters: Limu(lemon) and blue-throated bee-eater: Dubaku(look). The blue-throated bee-eater is an Asian species, so it's swapped with a blue-headed/mustached bee-eater here. I also had to work with the green bee-eater design a bit, since it seems TLG based it more off the Asian green bee-eater and not off the African one, which is slightly less flashy then the former.

White-necked ravens: Mlio(crow). It seems a bit weird to put a raven here, though like the peregrine falcon, apparently they too are found all across the world minus Antarctica and weirdly South America too. Hmm, well anyways I think they are very beautiful.

Lastly is Binti the hornbill, a yellow-billed oxpecker here and you can read more about her story here, as well as why this deleted love interest for Zazu is apparently a tickbird and not a hornbill. I did give her a slight redesign and that will apply to all the unnamed chicks which I did not bother to redo here, but I feel like she has a good design for the last character on this sheet.

[aldi-spice]

Ngl I don't know how to feel about winds of anthos. I have so many thoughts about the game after finishing the main story line (dont have the kid yet but it's incubating).

Long post after the break.

I've seen a lot of praise for the game and I get it, I really liked the game in the beginning too, could hardly put it down, but after finishing the main story it's kinda lacking (which makes sense, I mean I finished the game, it's gonna be out of content at some point). But after a few days of reflection on the game I've decided it's just not that great? Am I missing something?

Like, I get it, I like the open world exploration, I felt so claustrophobic in pioneers of olive town and even the wonderful life remake, but once you've seen it all that's it, the land is barren too which makes it feels so boring and it's not interesting to look at either. One thing that pissed me off a lot was the fucking mountains that are so hard to navigate, but I think that's really just a me problem.

Then there are the characters and honestly o can't even tell them apart at this point, they are all (most of them) default nice with no personality, especially the bachelorettes, I always feel like fictional women lack personality in general. The only character (apart from doc) who stood out was Nickolai and only because he's autistic (blunt and not very nice). And don't get me started on the design, Arnold with the "one two buckle my shoe" and Ella looking like a pokemon trainer when she's supposed to be an artist from a swiss inspired town from what I can tell. She just doesn't look like she belongs in the town and I don't know if it's further explain through her flower events but she doesn't seem to hate living here or hate the town so I don't understand why she has to stand out so much.

Speaking of flower events, those were boring as well. I can hardly remember what even happened in them, all I remember was being a little disappointed when I realized all the 6 music notes events (the one after you start dating) are all the same, you go to a secluded location, look over the town and chat. That's it, for all of the 3 guys I started dating (again, I don't know if it's different with the other marriage candidates but I doubt it).

I felt like the pace was off too, I don't know when you're supposed to finish the main story line, I finished in winter of the first year I think, it was very early on and I only played for 30ish hours and finished the game. I found the tasks so tedious I wanted to get them over with asap, I was so done with the characters being like "thanks for getting us this ore, now onto your next mission, get this other ore, kay, thanks, byeee" maybe because the main quest was under the request tab with all the other requests but it didn't feel special enough. I also hated having to sift through this long list of requests that never seemed to get shorter since every morning, there would be mail of some villager needing something. It was just so annoying, I just wanted to clear my requests once and start anew but the game really didnt want me to I guess.

As I was saying earlier, I finished the game in winter of year one (or spring year two I don't remember). Great, now what? I'm still not married because I couldn't advance my relationship with Westley until I fixed the harvest goddess spring, so I worked on that (and Nickolai and Arnold). I saw what I needed for the house upgrade and did that, yay bigger house. Checked the guide (God bless FOGU) to see why I didn't have a double bed/two beds and I need another upgrade??? That's 250,000 gold not counting the pain of getting high quality lumber boards and square, having to resort to buying them with added another (approximately) 60,000. I grinded by fishing and finally got married in summer. I have to wait a season to realize I'm pregnant. I have to wait another season to give birth. Then, another season for the bitch to crawl and then, a season later, it's able to walk and even talk. Right now, I have to wait for another year for the baby to start being useful to me (by which I mean it can talk and explore the farm). I'm already bored by having to maintain the farm, I wake up and water the cows or whatever, I usually go to bed at 8 or 9 am because I wanna get this over with at this point.

(I just realized you can't use your camera indoors, how will I take cute baby pics of the fucker? I wanted my whole camera roll full of blurry baby pics.)

Am I playing the game wrong? Why am I not enjoying the game the way others seem to enjoy it? It's tedious for me now, maybe I just need a break from farming.

I feel like you need to be a very specific person to fully enjoy this game, and it ain't me. I miss animal parade.

[rttnpnkpmpkn]

Do your friends ever disappointed you?

What make you interested in YB fandom?

What is your current mood?

Can I know which ship you like the most?

It's a long doozy xD

It happens. Can't truly blame them as they have their own things going on behind-the-scenes and I do have my moments where I'm like that to them. Same with family members, but that's a different story! xD

Thinking about it now that I'm in a calmer state, I really do want them to live well. Some aren't really bad people, even if I no longer see us getting along. I don't have the energy to hold grudges, nor do I to think about different scenarios of what could have been if things were different. It'd make me miserable and it impacts my productivity, including the ones that are necessary for my livelihood lol. With my asocial personality, it's already expected that I won't have long-term friends, so I really appreciate those who stuck by when they do.

It's very stupid lol. My last fandom before this one was Genshin Impact, and I was on that hoe for at least a year and counting, especially when coping during quarantine was not fun. I don't even get a long hiatus from work as I was "an essential worker". Compared to the YB fandom, I spent a king's ransom to get primogems and the merchandise. I used to play it every waking morning, and late at night. Then one day, I started to feel burnt out from all the grinding and the rewards no longer seem to match the difficulty. The twitter outrage and toxicity over the 1st year anniversary was the breaking point out of my obsession.

I was then on a lookout for new interest, watching ManlyBadassery videos when his gameplay of YB was recommended on my YT thumbnail feed. I gave it a watch, and thought it was an interesting concept, as I think it's the first time to that I got interested into stickman designs. What dragged me into the pit was the fan videos of the gray stickman. I thought it was very ridiculous to see peeps simping over a gray stickman like he was so sexyy, ... until I rejoined Twitter on my hardly-used nsfw account to see the fan art. They really sold me on him xD.

I started drawing him because I couldn't be on that inside jokes and memes others had made when I couldn't play the game at the time. Even if the fandom was no longer the same as it was in the beginning and I did play the game , but didn't match with my expectations (this version had its voice acting taken out), and its other issues, I really couldn't help but still find inspiration to draw for the characters as it did have its positives. It helped me in my toughest times and I want to repay that as I mentioned every now and then. Though don't get it twisted, I'm very much drawing for myself too so I can get the content I want, and life is short. It's been getting harder to get over each one, and since anything can happen, I'm preparing myself either way! People can block me if they don't like me or what I draw! I'm encouraging it, actually-- firm believer of getting along in separate rooms!

Current mood: Achieving a sense of peace within myself. It can't be helped for the way the world works, so I wanna learn to handle the challenges and the people ahead.

For YB? Y/N with any of the characters, Polyship of YNxLucyxVio, and Roy x Lucy ♥️ For Past ships. to name a few : Aether x Xiao (GI), Zero x Yuki (vampire knight), Gajeel x Levi (FairyTail), Saya x Solomon (Blood +)...

Thanks for asking and have a good one ^^ <33

[blizziedoodles]

Uno reverse card at u......all of them for my favorite meowmeow Laizr!!!

Did you just call Laizr a “meowmeow”? LMFAO Also, after going through and answering all of these questions, I realize sending this entire ask meme was a curse, and I apologize for subjecting you to it!!! lol

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

            I wanted his name to be something demon-y, but I wanted to come up with it myself. I have no idea why I thought Laizr was a good idea, but basically it went laser -> lazer .> laizr. Because. Original. Don’t judge me lol

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

            He’s physically and mentally in his early 20s at most, but his calendar age is over 3,000. He’s considered a baby demon. lol

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

            Sort of? Laizr is aro/ace. He had a relationship before but it didn’t work out, and he does have a future relationship with Ebony.

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

            He doesn’t eat often, so I don’t think he has a favorite MEAL, but he does love cherry cheesecake, thanks to Sonar convincing him to try it.

💼 - What do they do for a living?

            He’s done enough in his life already so in the present he’s basically just a hermit. Lol A rich, asshole hermit with a palace full of orphans.

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

            He has a garden he maintains in his backyard with flowers, bushes, and trees he picked out and planted himself. He also dabbles in ink drawing and calligraphy, music, science, etc. He’s had a lot of time to pick up and get tired of many hobbies.

🎯 -What do they do best?

            Magic. He spent most of his life studying, practicing, and stealing abilities from other people. (Not in that order)

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

            He doesn’t want you to know that he loves anything. There’s a lot of things he hates doing, but at this point I think cleaning up after babies is the thing he hates the most. He has taken care of many babies against his will, and I think he genuinely despises it, which is a mood.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

            Any time one of his kids, adopted or otherwise, accomplishes something they’re proud of.

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

            The collapse of his first castle and subsequent death of most of the people housed in it, along with the slog of the days after where he and Zanzabar worked alone together to try and pull survivors from the rubble.

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

            Oh definitely not.

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

            “Want big bad for story. Biggest bad I can think of is a DEMON.” In all seriousness, I don’t have a single clue what inspired his design aside from that. I was just obsessed with making the coolest, most original bad guy I could at the time.  

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

            Fantasy/Sci-Fi, I guess.

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

He/They Agender, Asexual, Aromantic

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

            TECHNICALLY none. Also technically 1. On paper he has 11 siblings. It’s complicated.

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

            Non-existent

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

            *gestures to all of him*

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

            Uh. This is not a fair question because I hardly have time to breathe so… I DO tend to draw him more than the others though, if that counts at all.

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

            I have done this, yes. But I also like rebirth/revive plots so.

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

            He is afraid of death, bright lights, and (thanks to his son) a particular type of bug.

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

            Teraza. It’s been established since I first made both characters that they HATE each other. The funny thing is that, if he considers Teraza a rival it also means that in a backwards was he does have some level of respect for him.

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

            Since…2006? I can never remember the specifics, but I know it was in 2006.

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

            14, so you’re not allowed to judge his name LOL

[phantomfitzroy]

I got caught and tagged like a wild animal by @cromerholt AND @noellevanious :-) quastions time

Are you named after anyone? Technically yes. When I listened to TAZ:Graduation I was really caught on Fitzroy Maplecourt, Knight in Absentia to the realm of Goodcastle 's name for some reason. Don't get me wrong, Griffin made a very fun character but I really don't associate my attachment to the name to him at all. It was more like inspiration, you know? Also my middle name, Aleksandr, is from an old ass youtuber I used to watch religiously in high school. If you know you know. I still use it as a first name, though, Fitz and Aleks are both good names I will respond to. Fun fact, my best friend called me Aleks through our junior/high school before I knew I was trans. I guess it just stuck.

When was the last time you cried? Yesterday. I watched a vid of an older woman with Alzheimer's talking with her daughter. She repeatedly asked her daughter to stop calling her mom, which did get to me, but what got to me most was her gradually remembering her daughter as the video went on while she looked at old photos and trinkets from her past. It really got to me.

Do you have kids? Nope :-) I fluctuate between not wanting kids and maybe wanting kids. I'm sure I'll have a better idea when I'm older and actually can take care of myself first.

What sports do you play/have you played? I used to play basketball in junior high. Also if you count marching band? Our director had us doing laps around the football field before practice and shit.

Do you use sarcasm? A very hesitant yes. I hardly use it, the closest I could say I get to sarcasm most of the time is just telling silly lies to people, but there's never any ill will behind it ever. I just like seeing what I can get people to believe, but I always let people know I lied after.

What's the first thing you notice about someone? In a physical sense their smile. I'm drawn to people's mouths for some reason. But in a broader sense the first thing I notice is usually the way they interact with other people.

Eye color? Hazel. I've got this cool ring of orangeish gold around my pupils.

Scary movies or happy endings? Depends on the day. I usually like scary movies though. As long as the ending is satisfying, it doesn't have to be happy for me to have enjoyed the experience.

Any talents? I don't like talking myself up but I am pretty good at acting and singing. Admittedly, I think I'm a better singer now than before my voice dropped from HRT.

Where were you born? Midwest. Minnesota. You're not getting anything closer than that, I shant dox myself.

Hobbies? Art. I draw and have been trying to get back into painting. I also technically do theatre as a hobby currently, since I don't get paid for the performances I'm in. And viddy games :-)

Any pets? I do not legally have pets, at least not in my own home, but I consider my dad's dogs my dogs since I take care of them as much (if not more) than they do lmao. Also one of my mom's dogs is technically mine, since I did pay for him when we got him, but I haven't been able to have pets anywhere I've lived since I moved out so he stays with my momma.

Height? 5'4"... I thought I was 5'5" until I was 18 years old.

Favorite school subject? I liked most science classes in school. The graphic design class I took in high school was fuckin awesome. Currently, though, I'm trying to teach myself to code and I'm enjoying that immensely.

Dream job? Professional acting!! Ideally I'd do live theatre, musical or otherwise. But I think I'd also be happy doing film. I would also be very happy as a live theatre director, though I'd need more experience directing first. I would also love love love to be a part of a professional improv troupe. Because I'm a dweeb. And good at improv.

Now I get to tag people. @genderkiller @gravellymistaken @nilovalentine @thesexiestlobster if you guy wanna do this :-) also anyone else who wants to, this was fun smiles

[clarktooncrossing]

HEY THERE PEOPLE OF TODAY AND ROBOTS OF TOMORROW! IT IS I, SANTA CLARK! Chestnuts are roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost is nipping at your nose. Mom and dad can hardly wait for school to start again. All the dogs in the neighborhood somehow learned to bark Jingle Bells in sync. Yet retail workers are still more annoyed with Mariah Carey. Snow is getting shoveled, tossed, and formed into sentient beings leading parades without permits. It makes for an excellent distraction as the Krampus abducts children for bad behavior. Fruitcake is exchanged only to find its permanent home in the garbage. Terrorists have hijacked the Holiday office party right before your boss can give you a Jelly of the Month Club membership as your bonus. And of course, the Turducken has returned to wreak its fiery vengeance upon an unsuspecting world! If all this doesn’t put you in the Christmas spirit, perhaps this festive slice of cheer from the Clarktoons will!

Let's make like The Ghost of Christmas Past and rewind back to 2014. Folks were suffering from Frozen Fever, both as a result of the movie and the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. That year also saw Jimmy Fallon take over The Tonight Show after Leno stepped away for real this time, The Amazing Spider-Man 2 swung low while the Guardians of the Galaxy aimed high, people still cared about Kanye and Kim's relationship as if either people are worth your attention, Bill Cosby was outed as the horrible monster that he is, and most importantly of all, I initiated the 12 Days of Christmas event. Yes, clearly that's as major a moment as those other things I mentioned. Starting December 14th I would post a new pic or comic everyday leading up 'til Christmas. Our first year saw the Pizza Bites writing their oddball letters to Santa (with help from Mr-Herp-Derp), Crocie visualizing his perfect yuletide, and even a full length action comic starring me as a seasonal superhero. And in case anybody asks: no, the Holiday Knight isn't coming back. Sadly, neither will the 12 Days at this rate. Despite my continued best efforts, this festive event hasn't been able to return ever since 2020. Blame that on the last four months of every year becoming an increasingly busy time for. Should the choice arise, I will always pick spending the season with my family over drawing. Weird to hear, I know. Still, that's not to say I haven't been hard at work. You can tell I have considering this giant page of sketches I found lingering in Clarktoon Christmas limbo. Thus we have Dumpster DUDELZ: Regifted Edition! Let's take a peak to what's waiting under the tree?

[1] KARL THE KRAMPUS People credit that crummy 2015 horror movie for introducing Krampus into the popular culture. To that I say; you're all wrong! Clearly I did that a year earlier with my own character, Karl. Being a Clarktoon take on a German folk monster, naturally he became a big, bumbling goofball envisioned to have the voice of Richard Kind. It also meant he encountered Croc's Swamp Gang the most, Xena and Bumper especially. After years of the two (or at least Xena) tormenting the fluffy demon, it was time for a facelift. Honestly this design is a drastic upgrade over the original, making Karl more monstrous while not losing his approachability. Cuz only in the Clarktooniverse will you meet a cuddly monster who drags naughty children of to hell. XD

[2] NUTCRACKER: REB00TED CAST Nutcracker freak'n sucks! I have made my opinions regarding this boring ballet no secret over the years. For crying out loud, I compared going to see it to the Five Stages of Death. Nothing against anybody who does enjoy it, just don't count me among your masses. Getting me to like adaptations lacking Mickey and Minnie is a challenge. Then again, I enjoy a good challenge. While contemplating what I would do with the story one year, an ad for Matrix: Resurrections dropped onto YouTube. After seeing it I thought: what if the world of Nutcracker was set within the Matrix? Hence we have Nutracker: REB00TED! I plan to diverge more plot details later, but for now you can at least meet our cast. Starting from left to right we have Prince Leon, the Nutcracker Prince who's grasp on reality is slipping. Helping to guide him is the Count Drosselmyer, turned into Love-A-Lot Larry Beary. Don't let his cuddly facade fool you, he will whoop yo' @$$! Alongside his niece Clara, the badass ballerina determined to rescue her beloved and free the kingdom from the evil Rat King! What does the king look like? Good things come to those who wait...

[3] ROSIE MEETS THE HOGFATHER Any excuse to draw Rosie Stardust is an awesome one! Even if the sketch is last minute like this one. During the Holiday season last year this random little idea sprung into mind of Rosie exploring Christmas contemporaries across the multiverse. This would include Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Festivus, Hearth's Warming Eve, Life Day, and of course Hogswatch. Anyone familiar to the works of Terry Pratchett will recognize the name. Just like those esteemed few will also recognize the mini-Claus counterpart the Cosmic Cutie's encountered. It's not the Hogfather she was expecting, but she will gladly take it!

[4] WILBUR'S PLASTIC TREE You'd think a collection of coupons would be the easiest to complete. Just like you'd think the monkeys would stop flying out of my butt at some point. Nope, that ain't happening. Blame it on my nitpicky attention to details, otherwise Wilbur's White Elephants coupons are already a third of the way done. In fact, the sketch here is already fully colored just waiting to be posted. Being the cheap sonuv'a bush he is, Wilbur naturally won't go for a natural Christmas tree, instead opting for plastic. No, the other kind of plastic. The kind that'll guarantee some poor tree manufacturer in Hoboken will get an angry phone call from an irate store manager. And in case you're wondering what he sounds like, my ideal voice actor is Daran Norris doing his Jameson voice from Spectacular Spider-Man!

[5-7] REDESIGNS FOR RANDOLF, CUPID, AND ZED My, here's a jolly trio that haven't been seen in a good while. Probably because I keep wanting to give them better designs! This is an itch I can't ever seem to scratch! Since I've listed all three of them together, let's go over each character:

RANDOLF: The cocky but caring step-brother of a certain red-nosed reindeer, Randolf hosts the famous North Pole 1 radio show alongside his bear buddy Zed whenever not hosting the even more famous Reindeer Games. Out of all the characters, Randolf is the one who's design if the toughest to crack. I want him to look young, but not super young. Think early to mid 30s if you will. It'd probably help if I could pin down a potential voice for him. Sam Rockwell is the top contender in my mind.

CUPID: Following some messy drama between princessofDisney27 of Disney and I, the original version of Cupid was thrown out and reworked from the top down. With an extreme hairstyle I 'borrowed' from MLP and an athlete's need for speed, Cupid lives up to her namesake who first pulled Santa's sleigh years ago. No idea on who would voice her if I could afford it.

ZED: Raised by gay penguins on a diet of Polar Cola and smooth jazz, Zed is a laid back bear with a beach comber's attitude.  So long as wherever he is has a heater and is populated by his buddies, Zed will go with wherever the flow will take him. His design is the easiest, being a polar bear in a Hawaiian shirt. One of these days I wanna draw him with his two penguin papas too, but for now we at least have the bear. Again, not sure who I'd have voice him.

[8] BUMPER'S A STAR! A sad truth about my Christmas tree is that I can never put a star on top of it. Everything we've tried is too top heavy. For the longest time I meant to make one featuring everybody's favorite floating marshmallow, finally following through on this desire this year. I made a shape template in Illustrator, drew the front and back of Bumper around it, colored it all in Illustrator, printed both sides out and glued them together. I would've just printed both sides on one sheet of paper, but printers are evil devices meant to torture mankind as a whole. I hate them! But I love this tree topper! ^^

[9] PANICKED TURKEY It's a shame Panicked Turkey didn't get to come out of hibernation this year. Especially when I had some good ideas for tips involving Canon Events, certain cartoon rodents, time traveling, dragons, and Rosie. Chances are I'll be able to use these ideas again in the future, but for now I just wanted to post something with the cowardly bird. So here's the sketch detailing his redesign from last year. Like Karl, this is another change I really like, PT feeling more expressive than he previously was. Hopefully we'll get to see this design in action again next year!

[10] I'll Have a BOO Christmas Without You ...I'm not even sorry! XD

[11] ALIENS OF THE ROCKAPOCALYPSE! Hey look, more characters you haven't seen in forever! This is Phil, the Clarktooniverse's resident one-eyed rockstar from outer space. Back in the day I used to do mock album covers for Christmas, Phil's girlfriend Yezzi standing in for Mariah Carey on one particularly great one that still holds up. Sadly there's only so many iconic Holiday CD covers you can do that aren't just the same generic 'things coming out of a box' design. Heck, it's why the last one of these I did was based on a Manowar album. That following year would've seen an all-new, totally original creation depicting Phil and Yezzi rocking around a dried out Christmas tree in a Nuclear Winter Wonderland. Sadly the full sketch was never realized, save for Phil's rocker gear here. Worse still, these characters have been retired until I can iron out the finer details of their story. Once I do, expect the ultimate comeback tour from the Aliens of the Rock! Just in time for the yuletide / end of the world!

[12] PANICKED WHO? What turkey? I don't see any turkey. All I see is this friendly induvial with a mustache! One who was just drawn randomly with no other intent behind it. Totally. XD

[13] KREEPY KRAMPUS Once upon a time I was able to complete entire comic storylines before Christmas. That couldn't be said for this one comic where Bumper and Xena both try to buy each other Christmas gifts, each of them going after different notable Christmas creatures to pay for them. Bumper would've gone after the wild Nog while Xena would've picked a more frightful foe: the Krampus! This image of the German monster is what she'd find while searching for information online, my intent to be truer to the original folklore than my usual interpretation. It would've made Karl's inevitable appearance that much funnier. Part of me still wants to see this comic fully realized someday. Until then; let this haunt your nightmares!

[14] ANGELICIA, THE SPIRIT OF THE SEASON Remember earlier when I mentioned a comic centered around me as a Holiday hero? The one I will never bring back? Part of that idea involved a literal spirit of the season named Angelicia, an adopted sister of sorts to Finjix's own character Aklamos. Both of us have tweaked and upgraded her overall appearance over the years, this being her last for an intended Sketch BOOM that was scrapped. I really should use this character again, the question is for what?

[15] A TURKEY DINNER TO GO! Like I said, there was once a Holiday Sketch BOOM that was never completed. This Panicked Turkey sketch is one of the few things to survive from it. Ignoring how this design was pre-2022 makeover, I still think this silly little pic is hilarious! Next Thanksgiving I'll make sure to remake this in full color!

[16] THE NOG Along with Karl, the Nog has become a seasonal staple of the Clarktooniverse. For years mankind has wondered where the eggs for Eggnog have come from. Some silly saps think they come out of chickens, but we all know that's a lie! Obviously the eggs come courtesy of the wild, North American Nog! These rambunctious creatures hail in the colder climates, sticking primarily to the North States where they graze on wild berries, tree bark, and rare flowers. Whenever it's not foraging for food it's fending off wild predators, displaying its tusks for potential mates, running for Congress, or raising their young. That is, the young that actually get to hatch. Good luck drinking that next ice-cold cup knowing the Nog is 100% real and you're feasting on what could've been one of its young you sick monster!

[17-18] TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLE DOVES Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Doves! Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Doves! Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Doves! Heroes for the Holidays! BIRDY POWER! Back in 2019 I made a silly little parody of the Ninja Turtles based on the beloved Christmas carol "The 12 Days of Christmas". Was it an extremally obvious joke to make? Yes. Does my earlier pun prove I will stoop to such lows? Heck yes! Thus these two goofy characters were born and eventually given the names Currier and Ives by AnimatedTigerGirl. Currier is the one with the bo staff on the left. At home he's a easy-going party animal, but in the field he's a dedicated leader fighting to keep his family safe. Next to him is the nunchuck-wielding Ives, a hot-tempered brainiac with a big heart. Together the two must save their mother, face the 10 Evils of Christmas, and help out their new human friend Ash.

Standing in for their April O'Neal is Ash, one of their few human friends who helps her fine-feathered friends move about New York. Since this story is set during the 90s, she's naturally a skate-boarding tomboy ready to prove to her dad that she's more capable than given credit for. That chance comes suddenly when her father is abducted by the Partridge Crime Family and their ten specifically themed assassins. Now Ash must rescue her dad alongside these two magically enhanced bird-themed ninjas. Y'know, that old chestnut!

[19] SHORT-E AND SHER-I Dang, it's been a while since these two were seen either. I'm sensing a pattern here. At leas these designs have held up the best. Heck, they look especially good in their winter ensemble. SHORT-E wears basic gloves and a jamaica while SHER-I went shopping with EMIL-E to get fancier gloves and a beret! SLAY, QUEEN!

[20] SNOW CONIE MEETS THE NOG Yes, another refuge from the scrapped Sketch BOOM. This one featuring the unofficial mascot of the Sketch BOOMs, the Snow Conies! Or at least one, facing down the angry snout of a mother Nog. I envision these creatures having the temperament of wild hogs, much to the misfortune of this innocent sentient dessert!

[21] SIR PANICKED TURKEY, THE CANADIAN! Along with redesigning this cowardly bird, I also made a special bonus Panicked Turkey tip for Canadian Thanksgiving. It was very last second, going through a few iterations before settling on the final idea. Before then the plan was to either have PT surrounded by angry canucks with guns in a style similar to the John Wick posters or the giant chicken disguising himself as a Mounty, not yet realizing he'll find no peace in the Great White North. Ultimately both were dropped in favor or one menacing Mounty looming over the frightened fowl, which I thought wouldn't work until I saw the final product. Funny how that works, innit? Still, what about the entre in shining armor? That has to do with an idea I mentioned earlier, but I dare not spoil the surprise further than that. Like I mentioned, said idea can be reused for next year. So when Turkey Day rears its ugly head, Sir Turkey turned tail and fled!

[22] UGLY SWEATERS, TROPICAL WEATHER Yet again another idea I hope to bring back, though slightly modified. Originally the plan was to make Ugly Sweater pin-ups for the couples (or friends) of 3K with my friends Finjix and @burningthrucelluloid. This one was the only one sketched before Alec lost his Adobe art programs that would've allowed him to help in this project. Even then, my nitpicky attention to details got the better of me again and too much time was wasted attempting to draw the other pics. All we got out of this failed collaboration were Nerva and her buddy Weed Eater in their Hawaiian-style sweaters, the latter not happy about his situation. He was even depicted eating the sweater and partridge at one point. Who would've guessed the living Christmas tree would be a humbug?

[23-24] CROCZILLA VS TURDUCKEN When I released by Terror of the Turducken posters back in 2020, peeps said they would totally pay to see that movie. Hopefully the same can be said for its sequel, an epic clash between the titular Turducken and the colossal Croczilla! Why are they fighting? Who cares, it's two giant monsters beating the stuffing out'a each other! No doubt the posted to go with this creature feature would've been a legendary one! At least had it not been for my nitpicky attention to details. Plenty of poster designs were drawn up, including this one that was inspired by the then-current Godzillva vs Kong posters. Perhaps I can recycle this idea next year when the sequel comes out and the two fight another giant monkey. Until then, feel free to place your bets on which of these festive Kaijus come out on top!

And if you're rooting for the Turducken, enjoy this redesign of the character where each of its heads feel more distinct. Hey, if nothing else it's cooler to look at than another freak'n ape.

MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!

[itsbrandy]

Burnout Chapter 6

Word count: 6.7k

End of Episode song: Will I See You Again? - Thee Sacred Souls

Chapter 6: Good To See You

Bee didn’t know how to feel or how to act after filming wrapped for the day. What she did know was that her interest in acting had increased far past the point of no return. The sensation manifested on her skin like an incessant itch that she just couldn’t scratch. She wanted more of it. More camera time, more attention, more of putting on a persona that wasn’t her at all. 

Not in the slightest. She wasn’t confident, wasn’t sure of herself, and most importantly wasn’t capable of effortlessly conversing with the Dieter Bravo. But all at the same time she was. 

And so after half of a work day of interacting with her all-time most intense crush, she felt like she wasn’t sure who she was anymore. More than anything, she felt like she could be Bee, the stunning and vivacious character that she had transformed into without a second thought. 

That thought lingered with her as she tried to spin the rest of her workday into one that was productive. She continued on, trying her best to act like the morning hadn’t happened at all. Instead, she scribbled down notes for new pastries, tested out a new lemon curd filled cupcake. 

With just an hour left in her shift, she decided she should review the upcoming schedule of Disney releases that still needed creative desserts and snacks assigned to them. The title of the upcoming Star Wars show made her heart flutter in her chest as she examined her options. 

“Hopeless,” she murmured to herself. “Completely hopeless.”

There were several options for her to choose from that still required this creative development. She viewed sneak peeks at costumes and poster covers to gain color inspiration, but finally she settled on designing a new Dole Whip cone option. There had been several of these cones produced before for Walt Disney World – Snow White, Rapunzel, Moana, etc. There was a list of possible options for her to choose from, but she decided on two potential options: Aurora and Mulan. 

As she sketched out a quick design for both Disney Princesses, she tried to remove thoughts of Dieter and her giddiness from her mind and instead thrust herself in her work. For the Aurora, she chose to go with a blue cone and pink raspberry? strawberry? Dole Whip, she was undecided on the specific flavor. A small chocolate charm of the owl from the film would adorn the Dole Whip portion. 

“So…how was it?” Staci’s familiar voice pulled her away from her work. 

Oh my gosh, she thought. It was just what she was hoping to avoid for her last hour. She was trying to behave like she was meditating, relaxing even before she had to return back to her sad normal life in her sad normal apartment with her sad normal–

“Helllooooo?” Staci asked, waving a hand over her face. “I asked how it went with Dieter Bravo?”

The actor’s name she said in a hushed whisper that made Bee burst out laughing. It was so ridiculous that the man was a secret between them as if he was still lurking the very halls of their workplace. 

“Why are you whispering?” Bee whispered back to her, using her arm to cover up the sketch that lived on her notebook. “He’s not–.”

“--he is!” Staci whispered back playfully. But it was less than a whisper and more of a shriek and her words had Bee so paranoid that she whipped around in her seat to make sure that Dieter was not standing right behind her in the studio. 

“Why hasn’t he left yet?” she hissed. “What is he still doing here? I thought they were busy, I thought they had an agenda.”

Staci nodded eagerly. “Most of them have already left! But then I just got back from going to take a pee and I saw You Know Who in the hallway!” 

Bee wrinkled her nose at the joke that lived in her head. You saw Lord Voldemort in the hallway? she thought. Or Dieter Bravo? 

Who was she kidding, both of them were just as fantastical of creatures. She could hardly believe that she had actually met Dieter Bravo himself that day let alone that he was still traipsing around her bakery while she was sketching out ice cream cones and she had no clue. 

Staci shrugged. “I have no idea but he’s definitely still here. How did it go? Do you think he wants to talk to you?” 

Bee laughed out loud. A short, sharp, ridiculous Ha! “As if,” she said. “I mean, I think it went well but do you really think so? That’s like fanfiction, Staci. That type of stuff doesn’t happen outside of fanfiction and fanfiction alone.”

“Isn’t fanfiction at least a little bit based in reality?” Staci challenged. Her dark eyes darted down toward her notebook. “What are you working on?”

“It’s not finished yet,” Bee shrugged. “I was just trying to pass the time for the last hour.”

The ticking clock pulled her eyes toward it as if it demanded her attention. Her task of sketching Dole Whip cone ideas had only consumed a mere 20 minutes of the final hour of her workday. The day had begun to feel like three workdays wrapped up into one. Regardless of the sloppiness of her idea, she turned the sketchbook around toward Staci for her to view it. 

“It’s a Dole Whip cone for WDW,” she explained. “I was thinking of something similar to the Snow White cone for this one. Can you guess who it’s for?” she asked. 

Staci laughed. “Well, yes. But you wrote ‘Aurora’ in the top right corner so that kind of gave it away…”

“Oh my god,” Bee whined. “Leave me alone, girl. I’m tired, okay?”

“It’s good though!” Staci insisted. “I think it’s perfect for her. Pink dress and blue dress, I love the owl as the accent. I’d eat it.”

“Strawberry or raspberry?” she asked. 

“Hmm,” Staci placed her pointer finger on her chin. “I think raspberry, but I’m biased. Make both though.”

Bee saluted her. “Aye, aye cap’n. I might work on it some tomorrow. I’ll definitely let you taste it, though. I know you’re the ice cream queen.”

“I am!” Staci said proudly. “They loved my Tatooine Ice Cream Sandwich. Did they like it in your room?” 

Bee wracked her brains, trying to remember his reaction to Staci’s dish. Selfishly, she had implanted the memories of Dieter trying her own dishes in her mind. The ice cream sandwich had been the third dish that Dieter and Amanda tried, after her own donuts and cookies. 

“I love it,” Dieter said with a little bit of vanilla ice cream on his lip and in his mustache. 

She had a distinct and not-so-pure thought of licking it off of his mouth before she quickly put the brakes on that train of thought. 

“It’s really good,” Amanda agreed. “Definitely a quality Disney dessert.”

“You have um–” the woman said, pointing to Dieter’s errant ice cream drip. 

“Sorry,” Dieter said, licking the ice cream from his lip. “Actually, can I get a napkin please?

He laughed and she felt like her breath was being taken away. A production assistant quickly produced an extra napkin for Dieter to clean the rest of the lingering sweetness from his lips. 

“What I was going to say…” Dieter said, the tips of his cheeks turning rosy even underneath the thin layer of makeup. “Was that I love this, but I think I preferred the ones that Bee here designed a little bit more. I might be biased though. Who can tell an artist that they preferred someone else’s art more?”

She beamed from ear to ear. “I don’t hold grudges, Dieter! Speak your mind. If you like this one better than one of the earlier desserts, it’s totally okay! I know they’re all good, I’ve tried them all.”

“He liked it a lot,” Bee said. “He even got some of the ice cream on his mustache and…” She trailed off, unsure if she should share the details with her coworker, but the cat was already out of the bag. Staci clapped a hand over her open mouth in shock. 

“Noooo, not Dieter Bravo and my damn ice cream sandwich recipe,” she said, stunned. 

“When does this come out? When will I get to see it?”

“You could’ve seen it in real life if you hadn’t switched with me,” Bee said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why you decided to do that to me but I’m not going to lie, I’m grateful for it.” 

Bee closed her notebook and began to fan herself with it for dramatic effect. Staci playfully smacked her on the shoulder to get her to stop. 

“I’m glad I did,” Staci admitted. “I was nervous enough as it is with the other two. Sweating buckets, I mean. Actual buckets. I would’ve passed out with Dieter Bravo in the room. Like flat on the floor on my back passed out.”

Bee giggled and turned her attention back to the clock. Just five minutes had passed. “Can that thing move any faster?” she asked. “I swear we’ve been gossiping for more than five minutes.”

Staci followed her eyes to the clock on the opposite wall. “I know, I’ve been ready to go home since after filming. I need a shower and a nap more than anything right now.”

“A nap? I feel like I could run three miles.”

Staci rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Superwoman. I’m emotionally exhausted from all of that smiling and pretending not to be me. I guess that’s what would make you a better actress than me. If you’re feeling pumped after half a day of filming with the hottest man in Hollywood, more credit to you.” 

“Maybe it’s just the adrenaline,” Bee shrugged off the compliment. “I’m not a superhero by any means.” 

“Sure,” Staci said, and Bee detected a hint of jealousy in her voice. 

“Where do you think he is by now anyway? Probably left right?” she asked, changing the subject back to the object of both of their affections. 

Staci looked at her with a mischievous quality to her dark eyes. “Should we go find him?” 

She set down her notebook with a harsh slap on the table in front of her. “No,” she said. “We shouldn’t.”

Staci raised an eyebrow. “I think we should. 30 minutes left now? We could come up with an excuse to wander for a bit. What else were you going to do?”

Bee looked down at her sketchbook. “Well, I was going to sketch a Mulan cone. And maybe an alternate version of the Aurora one just for good measure. Something with sprinkles on the cone maybe.”

“And that sounds better than looking for Dieter Bravo?” her friend asked. “Actually?”

“It sounds like doing the job that I get paid to do,” Bee said with a bit of sass. “Hunting for Dieter Bravo was not in my job description as much as I would love it to be.”

“Hmm,” Staci hummed in response, her eyes catching on something right behind Bee’s head. 

“I don’t think I’d like being hunted,” a familiar, smooth voice said, and Bee’s shoulders sagged with embarrassment. 

She turned around to address the person who had entered the room – Dieter Bravo – she had no doubt. If she hadn’t been overwhelmed by the idea of seeing him again, she would have sworn she could smell the masculine notes of his cologne that drifted to her from where he stood to where she sat with her sketchbook and her closest work friend. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Bee said with ease. She had to stop herself from freezing completely at the sight of him. When he was standing, and she was sitting – the height difference – she didn’t even want to get into detail within her own mind about it. “I was just talking to Staci, and she told me that you hadn’t left yet. We were going to come find you to say goodbye.”

Dieter smiled, one deep dimple appearing in his cheek that sent her heart fluttering like eager butterfly wings. She felt like the creature itself, emerging from a sticky cocoon and becoming the person that she wanted to be. 

It was then that she realized that being in front of Dieter wasn’t easy because she was a good actress. Instead, it was because she was being herself in front of him. She could crack jokes, smile, open up, and be herself without worry of judgment or being “too much”. 

“That’s funny,” Dieter said, leaning against the doorframe in a way that only served to make his body appear larger. “I was just coming to find you to say goodbye.”

“Oh,” Bee’s face fell a bit. “Well, in that case, it’s great to see you.”

“It’s more than great to see you,” Staci said with a slight squeak to her voice that didn’t exist when they talked normally to each other. 

“Your name was…” Dieter sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “I’m sorry, my memory has not been great lately. Don’t tell me –.”

Staci stood eagerly, anticipating what Dieter was going to guess her name as. 

“It starts with an ‘S’,” Dieter continued. “And that ‘S’ is for….Staci! Staci, right?” The smiles from both women answered his question. 

“You got it!” Staci said. 

“Ugh, I’m so glad,” Dieter said with a bit of fake dramatics. “I would’ve hated myself for forgetting. I just wanted to say thank you to the both of you for today. I know that you’re both very busy women and our filming ate up a good portion of your workday.”

“It’s no problem,” Bee said. “I actually enjoyed it a lot. It was nice to have a break from a normal day and I like being in front of the camera.”

“You’re a natural at it,” Dieter said genuinely. “Seriously, I mean it.” 

Bee felt herself blushing, a deep heat spreading across the apples of both of her cheeks. “Oh, no you don’t need to flatter me,” she said. “I promise you. I know that I’m not the best at it.” 

Dieter shrugged. “No one said you needed to be the best to be good at something, Bee.”

The silence that took place after Dieter Bravo said those words to her left her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her girlish heartbeat was no longer comparable to the wings of a fledgling butterfly, but of a thundering stampede that was so loud she could hear it consuming her mind. She was so nervous. So nervous. But at the same time, talking to him felt natural. 

“I guess you’re right about that,” she said finally. “I’ve always been a little too competitive for my own good.”

Dieter chuckled. “Aren’t we all?” He then looked to Staci, careful to not leave her out of the conversation. “I’m sure you did wonderfully in your room, Staci. I loved the desserts that you made. The ice cream sandwich was incredible.”

“Thank you, Dieter,” Staci said happily. “I’m so glad you liked it. It was a pain to get right but so worth it.” 

“All of the desserts were wonderful, and I think the footage we got today is really going to make these a hit in the Parks,” Dieter said, removing his arm from the doorframe and righting himself again. “Thank you both, Staci and Bee. It was a pleasure to meet you two talented ladies.” 

He thinks I’m talented, Bee thought. Oh my god he thinks I’m talented.

“Thank you, Dieter,” Staci said. 

But Bee found herself suddenly speechless with her celebrity crush right before her. The thought that this interaction could be the last that she would ever have between herself and Dieter. What do you even say to someone for the last time? How do you say a final goodbye to someone that every fiber of your being wants to say more than ‘hello’ to?

“Thanks, Dieter,” she settled on. Like an old friend. “It was good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, Bee,” he said, echoing her sentiment. “Nice to meet you, Staci.” And then he was gone. Back down the hallway where he had originated from after copying her reluctance to not close their door, but rather leave it open. 

Even though he probably just said the same to her to be polite, she couldn’t help but feel like maybe Dieter wanted to see her again. As soon as he was out of earshot, Staci grabbed her by the forearms and shook her with excitement. 

“Oh my god, I think he likes you?” Staci said with wide eyes. “Why does he talk to you like that?”

“I-I don’t know,” she answered. “He’s just so nice, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“There’s something there, I don’t think I’m imagining it,” Staci said before she looked over her shoulder to the clock that dictated how long they needed to stay at work. “Let’s get out of here, we only have 10 minutes left. I doubt the boss would say anything if he found us at our lockers a little early.”

Bee nodded, a little too starstruck to disagree with her friend's rule breaking. They were careful not to speak about Dieter as they walked through the hallway toward the lockers that held their personal belongings. 

Instead, Staci kept Bee’s mind busy with chatter about upcoming pastry ideas and events that Disneyland was hosting that they needed to keep an eye on. They spoke about work, only to have an excuse if they were caught trying to sneak off early from their duties. The idle chatter kept Bee’s mind busy and off the insanity that her day had been so far. The talk consumed those painful last 10 minutes as the two of them packed up their  things and made their way to their vehicles. 

“Thank you for keeping me sane today, Staci,” Bee said as she slipped into the driver’s seat of her car. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

“Same to you, girl!” Staci yelled, waving the hand that contained her jingling keys. 

The Los Angeles traffic did not help her to keep her mind free from thoughts of Dieter. Her mind went wild as she drove, inching forward on the freeway as the radio played and her windows were half-rolled down. 

As she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the radio, she thought of his smile and his eyes and his dimple – that dimple. Each feature consumed her thoughts and each nudge forward of her vehicle through the early afternoon rush of traffic had her dreading the return to her apartment more and more. 

Going home was a must, not an option but the mere suggestion of her thoughts straying to a fantasy world where she could drive home to Dieter who waited for her at home instead. She would drive through several hours of traffic and it’s start and stop pattern if it meant that she could go home to him instead. 

Her mind drifted to the way that fanfiction authors described him from the light in his eyes to the curve of his lips. It was all so stunningly true. He was like a character brought to life for her. 

The only thing that she was missing was the plot. 

Because in this story, there was no next step. In this story, if she was the main character, she was meant to return to her “normal”. There was no big break, no romantic gala, no dinner in a crowded restaurant full of hot people where he only looked at her. 

Her chest ached at that thought. What she would give to be in a room full of hot people where Dieter Bravo only looked at her. 

As she continued home, the traffic eased and the lanes grew less congested, so did her mind. Instead of focusing on Dieter, she began to focus on turning all of this frustrated energy into something productive instead. She hadn’t followed up with Claire properly, the instructor from the acting workshop. 

The rest of the way home, she thought of what it would take for her to begin to act. She would need headshots, certainly, and perhaps more lessons. She would need an agent, eventually, and to quit her job. She’d probably need to move too. Her apartment was in a less than ideal location for acting gigs if she was landing roles shot at the studios in L.A.

But all of these details were minimal when it compared to the heartache that would be breaking this news to her partner. He had accepted her one-time deviance of skipping work for a simple, cheap acting workshop, sure. Would he accept a long-term departure from the career that she had so intensely dedicated herself to?

That answer was less clear. And so, she walked up to the door of her apartment with a clear mind and no more jitters and emotions for Dieter Bravo in her heart. Instead, she would play the role of a doting, attentive girlfriend as her home life had quickly turned into her most important acting role. 

“Hey babe,” she said happily, setting down her belongings and rushing over to the couch where her partner sat. 

Watching the news, she thought sourly. As he always does, always watching the nightly news. 

“Hey!” her partner said, looking up at him from here he sat. “You seem like you’re in a good mood today, what’s up?”

“I had a good chat with Staci at work today,” she lied with ease. “She really set me straight. Any idea of what you might want for dinner?” She leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of his head. 

“Um, I’ll take anything you have to offer,” he said with a shrug. “What were you thinking?”

She frowned. “I want to make something that you want to eat. I’m trying to do something to make you happy.”

“Okay,” he said. “I guess I’m fine with that nice garlic cheese-y pasta that you made last week. I loved that.” 

Bee straightened up and headed straight to the kitchen. Good, she thought. It’s deceptively easy to make. 

“Alright, I’m right on it,” she said as she pulled the ingredients from the pantry and arranged the pots and pans that she needed. She placed her phone on the counter and pulled up a Dieter Bravo forum to look at what the fellow Dieter fans had been saying about him. More than anything, she wanted to anonymously leave a comment shouting to the world that she – NOT them – had spent more than half of a full work day with him. 

Anything they had to say about him, they didn’t even know the real him. But she? She did. Bee had been lucky enough to chat with him, receive compliments from him, and see that adorable dimple in person. 

She left her phone unlocked as she filled the pot with water in order to bring it to a boil. Her partner stood from the couch and entered the kitchen to get himself a glass of water before leaning his frame against the fridge, kind of like how Dieter had in the doorway at her work. 

Except her partner had not nearly the character or the body to do so and look anything remotely like Dieter did.  Bee averted her gaze, trying not to make the comparison for her partner’s sake and locked her phone screen. As she did so, a text message popped up from her mother, lighting up the screen from its brief darkness.

[Mom]: How are you?

“Who’s that?” her partner asked, jealousy like the tone that Staci had held with her earlier that day. 

Bee held her phone screen up and showed it to him. “My mom.”

Her tone was less than kind, but her partner accepted the biting tone as he had been the one to pry without reason to. While it's true she had been texting the Whole Foods acting guy, they hadn’t communicated about much more than acting. Even that would be innocent to someone from the outside. 

“Oh, well then text her back!” he said eagerly. “How often does your mom text asking you how you are?”

Bee frowned. “True.” She unlocked her phone and hit reply. 

[Bee]: I’m not really having a great time, but I’ll live.

For once she replied honestly, rather than sugar coating how she was to her mom. As a defense mechanism, she usually pretended that all was right in the world when she interacted with her mother. That way there could be no room for criticism or question. After a childhood that was filled with control, her adult life was consumed with disallowing any level of it. 

She set her phone down on the counter once more, face down this time to avoid her partner’s prying eyes. Turning to the stove, she turned on two of the burners to bring water to a boil and warm up the pan to melt butter with garlic and some fancy cheese. 

Her partner kissed her on the cheek before returning to his place on the couch once more, leaving her to do her duty and cook them dinner. 

The first half of this recipe was simple enough that she could text her mom through it and as the text messages of questions and demands as to what was wrong with her came flooding in, Bee found herself opening up to her mom over text message. 

She told her how unsatisfied she was living in Los Angeles without pursuing the dream that had once consumed her. And she opened up about how boring she had begun to find her partner or maybe it was that he was boring so that’s why she picked him. 

Much to her surprise, her mom listened to her and didn’t try to overcorrect. Mom had always known that she wasn’t working to reach her full potential. They hadn’t come to this country for her to be a baker living in an apartment with two dogs and an entrepreneur boyfriend with no personality. 

Her daughter was supposed to accomplish great things. If it was too late to go to medical school and become a doctor, then trying to go for the big screen still counted in her eyes. 

[Mom]: I always thought he was a nice American man. [Mom]: But not much more than that.

Bee’s heart sank at the words on the screen. She knew it, her mom knew it. And honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if her partner knew it too. What more did he have to offer than a little bit more financial security than your average Los Angeles man, a love for their dogs, and her cooking.

Bee scowled as she turned her attention back to her cooking, beginning to work on the butter, garlic, cheese mixture for the pasta. 

[Bee]: I know mom. I just don’t know how to change the things that are bothering me in my life. 

She added the pasta to the now-boiling water, but her mother’s reply had returned immediately. 

[Mom]: You just do what’s best for you.  [Mom]: If you don’t, you will be unhappy for the rest of your life. 

Damn it, Bee thought. She was so right. More right than her mother had ever been. In fact, she couldn’t recall a moment in her life where her mother had been so encouraging of her to drop everything she was doing and start on a new path. In the past, she had been so staunchly against Bee doing anything against the realm of “normal American success story” that she had felt completely and totally suffocated by her impact. 

[Bee]: Thank you mom.  [Bee]: I love you and miss you.

[Mom]: I miss you more. 

She probably did, but Bee didn’t want to admit that to herself. Having a strained relationship with your mother was a painful wound that rarely healed itself. The only thing that could be done about it was to work on the relationship, to treat it like a baby that needed to be fed and nurtured. 

Up until today, her mom had been so stubbornly opposed to that notion that they had made very little progress. Today, her unquestioning support made her feel like her mom actually cared about her wellbeing more than her perfect American dream…even though her support of her acting had been like…at least a little bit based on that. 

“It smells good!” her partner said from the couch. 

“It’s going to be so good,” she called back. “I’m adding more cheese to it this time.”

“Nice!” he said, giving her almost absolutely nothing to form a reply off of. She gritted her teeth at that. Why on Earth was he so boring? Why is talking to him like pulling out her teeth one by one from her molars to her front teeth?

Rolling her eyes, she pulled her phone out once again and texted Claire, the instructor from her acting workshop. Though it had been a full day since the workshop and she still hadn’t texted, Claire responded to her quick “Hey Claire, finally getting around to texting you about getting connected with your agent.”

[Claire]: I was wondering if you were ever going to text me!

[Bee]: Of course! I’m sorry, I just had a busy day at work to deal with! How are you?

Bee stirred the pasta in the boiling water idly as she watched the three dots that showed that Claire was typing back to her. 

[Claire]: I’m great! Even better now that you texted. I spoke to my agent about you, and they really want to meet with you soon.

[Claire]: Here’s his number. His name is Mark Carter, and he has an office right here in L.A.

[Claire]: You should text him tonight so you can meet with him before the weekend. 

Bee read the messages as she switched over to the other pan and stirred her garlic butter sauce. She began to feel giddy, getting that heartbeat flutter that she had felt when she was around Dieter. It was almost like taking this step was her next step to seeing him and so it excited her especially so. 

Quickly, she inputted the agent’s contact information into her phone and made a mental note to text him after she finished dinner with her partner. There was no way that she could text an agent without absolutely squealing and letting loose that she was planning on making a real pass at being an actress. 

Just then, her timer went off and signaled the end of the eight minutes that the noodles needed to be in the boiling water. She tucked her phone away in her pocket and grabbed a strainer from the cabinets to strain the water from the pasta. 

She quickly completed the meal and plated enough for her partner and enough for her. She was ravenous after skipping lunch from her nerves after meeting with Dieter. 

“Dinner’s at the table,” she announced. “Do you want extra parmesan on top?”

“Yes please,” her partner said, getting up and meeting her at the table for food. 

“How was your day?” she asked, putting a forkful of pasta in her mouth. The pasta was warm and cheesy and everything that she could have ever imagined in a meal after such an insane day. 

Her partner shrugged. “It was good. Not too much news or new developments.”

“No news is good news, right?” Bee asked him. 

He nodded, unable to respond to her with his mouth full of pasta. 

“I had a pretty fun day at work myself,” she said, trying to coax him into more meaningful conversation. “I designed a new Dole Whip cone for WDW. And I did some testing in the test kitchen. There was a film crew at work today too.”

“Oh, that’s cool!” he said. “Were you on camera at all?”

Yes, I was. And with Dieter Bravo at that. For over an hour in the same room. And he liked me and talked to me, and he was so nice to me.

She shrugged. “We’ll see if I make the final cut.”

“I’m sure you will, you’re too fun to not make it,” her partner said with a goofy grin. 

Too fun, she thought. Not too pretty or too beautiful…

“I hope so. It was pretty fun, but you never know. I had a good day at least,” she said. The two of them ate in silence for the rest of their meal, both of them not leaving a single noodle behind of their pasta meal. 

“Did you like it?” she asked. “Just as good as last time?” 

“Better,” he said with a smile. “What next? Want to watch a movie?”

She yawned and stretched. “I’m actually pretty tired from today. I was thinking of going to bed early actually.”

“At seven o’clock?” he asked. “That’s really early.”

Bee shrugged. “Well, I was thinking of playing around on my phone for a bit first. I just want to lay down is all. Want to come with me?”

She offered the company but knew that he would decline. He hated laying down in bed and doing nothing. He would much rather sit upright on the couch and listen to political nonsense than cuddle with his girlfriend or spend time with her more than he had to. 

“I get it,” she said. “I’ll see you when you come to bed then.”

He stood up and kissed her on the forehead. “See you then, enjoy your extra rest.”

Bee smiled and cleared the plates from the table before heading straight to their room where she changed into a set of shorts and a loose t-shirt. 

As soon as her legs slipped underneath the covers, she found herself typing in a Google search for ‘Mark Carter agent’ just to verify that the agent was a real person. She wasn’t about to text some random stranger without knowing for sure that Claire had been telling the truth. 

Deciding that he was in fact a real person, she decided to text the newest number that was now in her contacts. She must have typed out the message two or three times before she finally got the courage to hit ‘Send’.

[Bee]: Hello Mark, my name is Bee, but Claire might have introduced me as a different name. I was in her acting workshop yesterday. 

The reply came too quickly for Bee’s comfort, almost as if he had been sitting there and lying in wait for her text message. 

[Mark]: Bee, I like it. That makes for a pretty good stage name! I’m excited to meet you and glad you reached out. Claire was very impressed with you which means that I’m impressed with you. 

His next reply had her feeling a bit too anxious for her own comfort, so she texted Claire and let her know that she had texted Mark. She also thanked her for her guidance and asked if she would like to get coffee sometime to talk about acting things. 

[Mark]: Claire told me that you’ll need some headshots taken. I have a photographer that I use for my clients. If you call them in the morning, they might be able to squeeze you in tomorrow sometime between 12 - 5 pm. 

Bee added the phone number for the contact card that Mark had sent her for his photographer. She felt giddy at the prospect of making so many new connections in the industry. It had been years since she had gotten headshots done. 

She considered taking a half day or even calling in sick for the next day. Her ends were fried and she needed to get a trim at least. A haircut was in order before she got her pictures taken. And she had no clue what she was going to wear. 

[Bee]: Sounds good! I will call them first thing in the morning. Thank you, Mark. I really look forward to working with you. 

[Mark]: So do I. Don’t get your hopes up but from what Claire told me about you, I might already have an audition for you sometime soon. If you can get me those headshots ASAP, we can discuss more. 

Bee clapped her hand over her mouth in shock at the words on the screen. 

“Oh my gosh,” she whispered to herself. “There’s no way, there’s no fucking way.” Her fingers were shaking so hard that she had to correct multiple typos to make a coherent text. Finally, she skimmed it over and hit the ‘Send’ button. 

[Bee]: I’m so happy to hear that! I’m excited to get my photos taken and submit them to you. Thanks again - Bee

[Mark]: I’ll be in touch tomorrow. Thank you, Bee. 

Bee set her phone face down on her chest and closed her eyes. She imagined herself at an audition for a big role, she imagined herself walking the red carpet for the release of her first big movie or TV show. And in her imagination, she saw Dieter standing beside her, with her arm looped through his. 

He was smiling at her and telling her how great she was. He was proud of her and how far she had come. From a nameless nobody who he had called a silly childhood nickname while filming a baking video to his equal partner on his arm at a premiere. 

In her imagination, she wasn’t starstruck with him. Instead, she was at ease. He was so natural to her and even though she was still taken in by his looks and his height and his charm, she felt like he was her home. 

When she opened her eyes, the surroundings of her apartment disappointed her. The masculine scent on the pillow to her left was not the same as the hints of Dieter’s cologne that she had smelled throughout the day. Instead, they were her partner’s, the man who day-by-day she was falling more and more out of love with. 

Rather than returning to the living room after she had completed her acting-related texts, she stayed in bed alone and instead thought of Dieter. She pulled up one of her favorite fanfictions on AO3 that involved Dieter falling in love with a fellow actress and she read the entire fic from start to finish, imagining that it was her instead who was the object of his affections. 

After their day of filming together and the interest that this agent had in her, she was stunned that her impression of him only enhanced the experience of reading these stories, rather than taking away from it. She could more clearly see the expressions; she could edit the story to fit the truth of Dieter Bravo. She knew how his cologne smelled, rather than the author of the fanfiction that merely had to guess. 

As she drifted off to sleep, earlier than she had really planned to. She fell asleep with acting on her mind. Plans to get her hair cut, plans to get her photos taken, plans to get her first audition, and perhaps most importantly, a plan on how to get Dieter Bravo to really see her as any equal. 

When she opened her eyes, her partner was in bed next to her, with his heavy arm draped over her waist. The time on her phone read just past 8 in the morning. 

Slowly, so as to not disturb him, Bee slid out from under the covers and padded out to the living room before dialing the photographer’s number to leave a message. Instead, the photographer answered the phone immediately. 

“Hi, I’m Bee,” she said confidently. “I was asked to call you by Mark Carter for some headshots.”

“Hi Bee,” the photographer said eagerly. “I’m happy you called so early! I’m open whenever today, you can drop on in when you can, just text me and let me know when you’re on your way.”

“Okay, sounds great! And your name was?” Bee asked. 

“Sam,” the voice on the other line said happily. “See you sometime today! Bye!”

“Bye,” Bee said. “I look forward to it.”

She briefly considered getting back in bed before she realized that she should get an early start to what might just be the first day of the rest of her life as Bee, an actress. 

Chapter 7 | Series Masterlist

[obsessivevoidkitten]

A Ghoulish Encounter

Yandere Male Ghoul x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Kidnapping, general yandere behavior, yandere ghoul, gender neutral reader, monster consuming human flesh, minor character death, no smut) Word Count: 1.2k (I made the reader gender neutral because no smut was requested so without a sex/gender specific sex scene the difference between a male and gender neutral reader seemed small and I wanted as many people as possible to be able to enjoy this since it is my first fic in so long. I know this is not my best work, but things have been crazy lately and I still liked how it turned out.)  You had been working at The Facility, a vague and secretive government research lab, for several years now. You were a lower ranking biologist. You had been recruited immediately following the completion of your degree, but your refusal to participate in any unethical research on any of the various “subjects” at The Facility prevented you from rising in rank.  The aforementioned “subjects” were in fact abnormal organisms ranging from werewolves and vampires to demons such as ghouls and afrits. It was of course policy to keep them alive, where possible, but they were not treated very well at all. Except of course by anyone other than you.  You cleaned their habitats, made sure they had food, you even tended to their wounds when you had to. As such most of them were rather pleasant towards you. One ghoul in particular was always pretty friendly towards you. His designation given by The Facility was “Subject 73”, but you used his real name, Leech.  Honestly you were the only employee at The Facility that had even bothered to ask what his name was. It was the act of simply inquiring more about him that made the ghoul first take notice of you.  He was no idiot, of course, he could still see the way you trembled slightly when he made movements and he could detect the hints of nervousness in your voice when you spoke to him, you clearly feared him. He could hardly blame you, given his jet black demonic eyes, and gaunt, almost skeletal, appearance, but you put aside your fear to treat him decently and that meant everything to him.  You were going about your duties as usual, bringing food and some requested reading materials into his room as he greeted you. You were always nervous around the subjects, but Leech made you extra anxious, the scent of blood always hung about him and he had gotten progressively more flirty with you as the weeks went on.  “Ah, thanks for the books pumpkin~ What’s on the menu today?” Leech gave you a big grin that showed off his many sharp teeth, the teeth of a predator.  “O-oh, um, just a standard ghoul ration meal, s-same as always.” You struggled to stifle a shudder at his unnerving gaze.  Leech hated the ration meals, they weakened him. Ghouls needed human flesh to survive and the fact that he had not yet died in The Facility’s custody was a testament to the contents of the standard rations, but it was either so diluted that it kept him from getting to full power or it was drugged somehow.    But that was okay, the monsters cooperated and now had multiple inside operatives in The Facility, and soon, mere moments from then, they would enact their plan. Then Leech could feast on the abusive researchers and go back to his life of harmless scavenging fresh corpses.  Of course, he could not let you leave his room when all this went down. He did not want you in any danger, and he had no intention of leaving without his little darling scientist either.  You made to leave the room after handing him his food but he grabbed your arm and pulled you back from the door.  “Hey uh um, you kn-know the rules! No contact!” You clicked the button on your bracelet that should have notified security you were in trouble but nothing happened, no signals or alarms, or response via intercom, or anything. Your face blanched in deepening fear.  “Ah, don’t be like that (Y/N), I am just making sure you do not get all caught up in that mess outside.” He looked down at you and smiled wide, he was drooling quite a bit, something that ghouls did when they anticipated a meal.  “Wh-what are you talking about?” You writhed and squirmed to get out of the grip he had on your wrist, but despite his skinny appearance and even in his somewhat weakened state it was like trying to escape pure steel.  Then you realized you could hear the scrape of all of the metal doors to all the subject’s rooms opening. You could hear screams and the snap of tendons and bone, the ripping of flesh, laughter and cries of joy from the various monsters.  That’s why he did not want you to leave he wanted to kill you himself! You started sobbing and crying and hysterically redoubled your struggles to get away.  This couldn’t be happening. This Couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be-  Leech put his free hand on your head and used the mild demonic magic he still had available to him to put you to sleep before picking you up and carrying you over his shoulder.  “Sorry pumpkin, but I had to calm you down. You were being quite silly.” He rubbed your back soothingly as you slept under the effects of his magic.  When you woke up you were on an unfamiliar bed in a dark red room with strange architecture. You looked around in a daze before remembering the events that had preceded you losing consciousness. You saw Leech in the other room, what seemed to be the kitchen, wiping his face of blood.  “Oh hey, sorry you had to see me all bloody like that buttercup, I normally only eat long dead corpses but I needed the meal to get us here. You know, for someone who acted so bitter Director Sparrows was surprisingly tasty.”  “Please don’t kill me!” You sat up, trembling, and backed yourself as far as you could on the bed until your back hid the head board.  “What? You’re being silly again (Y/N), I would never hurt you. I honestly never hurt any human! Our friend Sparrows here was already deceased when I found him.” He moved towards you but you leapt out of the bed and ran.  But there were no doors in this strange place, there were no windows. There was no escape.  It had been months since Leech so lovingly added you to his home. True to his word he had never once hurt you. Quite the contrary actually. He often left and came back with books and would pull you close to him on the bed as he read to you. Though you never stopped trembling when he put his arm around you.  Leech would even take you with him sometimes on walks to secluded places so you could get some fresh air and sun, since those seemed to be so good for human health, but any attempts at escape just ended with him catching you quickly and whisking you back to his happy little pocket dimension of hell.  Whenever the ghoul had to sleep he would always pull you on top of him and hold you securely close, you would shake in fear for hours before exhaustion finally pulled you into the merciless void of sleep.  Leech even tried spiking your interest in biology, bringing otherworldly creatures and plants home for you to examine, though you were cautious of anything despite the fact that Leech would never bring anything around you that could do you harm.      He didn’t mind it though, he didn’t mind any of it. He did not mind the flinching away, nervous stammers, anxious shaking, he could deal with a bit of fear. You had seen him feasting on your former boss after all, and he always naturally smelled of blood.  So he could be patient with you, in his tiny realm he had limitless time for you to accept him.

[mygodyouredivine]

Something About You

Summary: After you joined the Avengers, you had quickly bonded with all the team members and accepted even Loki. Loki finds himself drawn to you and develops a begrudging fondness for you. He doesn't realize just how deep that affection was rooted until you are injured on a mission.

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: mostly none, minor injury (nothing graphic), minor angst

Word Count: 2965

Notes: Hi! This is my first ever fanfiction and the first time I’m posting on tumblr! I’ve read many (many, many, many) Loki/Reader fics and I wanted to give it a try to see if I could write a short interaction between Loki and the reader. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes, and if you enjoyed, any feedback/comments would be much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Loki despised the Avengers. It was impossible to miss the distrustful looks thrown his way, the way the air shifted uncomfortably when he entered a room, or the thinly veiled jabs at his loyalty despite him living in the compound for well over a year. However, their treatment of him wasn’t the source of his contempt. It was you, and for all the Norns he couldn’t determine why. 

You had moved into the compound a few weeks after he had and every single occupant of the tower had been immediately infatuated with your charm. Not that Loki could blame them. You maintained a sense of innocence he could hardly believe, especially due to your history. He didn’t know much about you, but you had been rescued - and then recruited - into the Avengers after all. A tragic backstory was practically a prerequisite. You were also contradictory; for though you exuded innocence, there was also a complexity and rage that simmered underneath your skin. During missions, you were a force not to be underestimated - you stuck down enemies with a certainty and ease that even Loki respected. But in the safety and comfort of the tower, you were, for lack of a more eloquent term, adorable . Walking around in oversized Midgardian articles of clothing and fuzzy socks that often sported cartoonish designs of various animals, you almost appeared soft. Paired with your bright, but not blinding, personality, it only made sense that the others warmed to you so quickly.

Stark was the first to fall under your spell, pampering you with his latest inventions before showing anyone else. Loki supposed it had to do with your genuine enthusiasm when Stark talked, and the team had quickly learned that besides Pepper, you were one of the only people who could persuade Stark to venture from his lab to get the rest that all mortals needed. Rogers had been next. It wasn’t hard to see why the Captain had taken such a quick liking to you. Loki personally believed Rogers only saw the innocence and not the complexity, but that innocence had apparently activated his protective mode, for the Captain was oh-so-careful whenever he reluctantly sent you on any missions. Next, it had been Banner. You and the shy doctor had bonded over your shared love of quiet relaxed conversation and he could often find you in Banner’s labs, assisting him with various mundane tasks. You had even swayed the ever-suspicious Widow. How you did so, Loki had no idea. Even now, months later, the Widow only gazed upon him with open hostility. Finally, his oaf of a brother Thor. Thor had loved you from the first time he met you, but that was no surprise. What was surprising was how you tolerated his boisterous brother’s extroverted and often over-enthusiastic nature with a never ending well of patience. He could see how you flinched when Thor would sometimes talk too loudly, but you were always quick to cover it up with a smile and a hug for the oaf. 

Loki noticed that like many Midgardians, you seemed to crave touch. Even among the highly suspicious Avengers, they all seemed to trust you intimately. Stark, who, putting it lightly, was not a hugger, seemed to enjoy the occasional brush of your fingers across his arm. Rogers loved to ruffle your hair whenever he saw you, his large hand continuously running through your soft locks during meetings. Loki wondered briefly what it would be like to feel your silky strands of hair between his fingers, to have you sigh contentedly and close your eyes while he wove intricate braids into your hair. He didn’t know. The only one besides Rogers who touched your hair was the Widow, and you could both often be found brushing and braiding each other’s hair. With Banner, you seemed to be fond of side hugs, quickly smooshing the entire side of your body against his, and with Thor, well, you seemed to be the most comfortable with his brother. Your customary greeting was a hug, and it often annoyed him when his brother would abandon whatever interaction he was having with Loki to embrace you and spin you around while you giggled with a childlike glee. During the weekly movie nights, you could usually be found next to Thor, curled next to him with one of his arms thrown haphazardly behind your shoulders. Loki hated it. 

When you had first moved into the compound, you had been cautious around all of your new companions. Slowly, that careful apprehension had faded away, and you had become an integral part of their family, while Loki had remained an outsider. He had tried to hate you, and for a time, he was successful. He looked down upon your openness, your softness, and categorized it as a weakness. Over time, he began to see your courage and ability to trust as a strength and as a sign that you were truly comfortable with all the occupants of the tower, and he admired it, rather against his will. 

Though Loki refused to admit it to himself, his fascination with you had nothing to do with how the others saw you; Loki couldn’t care less about the opinions of Midgardians. Except you. There was something about you that drew Loki to you, for when he noticed you were relaxed with all of your roommates, he was startled to see that it included him. Not to say he was your favorite by any chance, or that you paid special attention to him, but he was excruciatingly aware of your perfectly average treatment of him. The way your eyes met his without flinching and how your body refused to tense when he entered a room and the way you didn’t hesitate before contentedly dropping into a seat next to him made him feel accepted. Though his pride prevented him from acknowledging it, acceptance was one thing Loki strived for but could never reach, regardless of his Silvertongue or magic, charm or tricks. But with you, Loki didn’t have to strive for acceptance, he simply was. As uncomfortable as it made him, Loki begrudgingly began to develop a fondness for you.

Not only did your laid-back treatment of Loki prompt him to lower his defenses around you, your complete and inherent trust in him pleased him immensely. He wasn’t talking about you sharing all your deepest and darkest secrets with him, but rather the way you trusted he wouldn’t hurt you or betray the Avengers. Occasionally Loki would unintentionally hear snippets of conversation between ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ making jabs regarding his ability to be trusted and simply at his expense, but you were never a part of the unpleasant discussions. In fact, Loki would often see you frowning disapprovingly at whomever had made the disparaging comment, and while the others’ opinion of Loki did not matter to him whatsoever, seeing your discontent had him appreciating you even more. More than how you acted when Loki wasn’t present, Loki still mostly enjoyed the interactions you did have with him. Loki typically hated movie nights as he was forced to suffer through the combined presence of all the people who disliked him crammed into a single room. He constantly craved to distance himself from everyone, including you, until he had experienced your closeness for himself. Though it was unbearably harder to see you interacting so affectionately with Thor after he knew just how intoxicating you were, the times you would touch him always kept his negative feelings at bay. On the rare occasions when you weren’t glued to Thor’s side during movie nights, you opted to sit next to him. More often than not, you ended up falling asleep, either right next to him, or on him, though that seldom ever happened. The few times it did, Loki found himself paying even less attention to whatever repetitive and predictable Midgardian film was playing and focusing on you. The steady rise and fall of your breaths against his skin, the warmth your body radiated, contrasting deliciously with his own icy interior, and the unpredictable actions you took in your sleep, such as the occasional tightening of your fingers on his chest or the charming way you enticingly nuzzled your cheek into him. Whenever you feel asleep on him, Loki would take extreme care to keep his breaths as even as possible to not disturb you. He once mustered up the courage to drape his arm across your slumbering form, and you had sighed ever so softly and only burrowed deeper into his side. When you woke up, you always looked mortified and apologized profusely, as if Loki could ever be displeased by your actions. Unbeknownst to you, the moments you spend curled up next to him warmed him during the days you were absent or off on missions.

He doubted you knew how much you mattered to him, and he himself didn’t understand just how deep he cared for you, until he almost lost you. You were on a mission with Thor and the Widow and were supposed to be back a week ago. Various complications had arisen, and while worry grew within Loki, he pushed it deep within himself as missions rarely did go completely smoothly. However, his sleep quality, while usually less restful when you were not within the compound, deteriorated at a rapid pace, and he found himself in the kitchen making tea when the Quinjet returned, announcing your return. Loki immediately knew something was off, for he did not hear any quiet chatter or soft laughter that usually accompanied you, Thor, and the Widow. Convincing himself that he had nothing better to do, Loki had gone up to the roof with the intent of offering his brother tea as a guise to check on you. The sight Loki was met with had his fingers tightening on the mug and his teeth being grinded so hard he could almost hear it. For there Thor was, leaving the Quinjet with you held in his arms and the Widow prancing along behind. A concoction of emotions began boiling within Loki: confusion, hurt, anger, disgust. As Loki continued to watch from the shadow of the roof, his revulsion only increased as Thor lowered his face to yours in a disgustingly sweet manner and whispered in your ear. However, as Thor and the Widow drew closer to where Loki was standing, he began to pick up on the oddity of the situation. Why would Thor be carrying you in his arms? The Widow was not prancing, she was running. Why was she running? Why were you still limp? Was that blood? Loki quickly emerged from his corner and walked forward towards you. The sight he was met with had the tea in his hands dropping to the floor and shattering with a crash that Loki couldn’t hear. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything but a distant buzzing surrounding him, for you were there, lying in Thor’s arms with your eyes closed, skin sickly pale but shining with sweat, hair matted, and coated in blood that seemed to ooze from your body. Without a word, Loki had teleported all of you into the doctor’s lab. 

As Thor positioned you gently down onto the bed and the Widow ran to summon the healers, Loki could only focus on you. Your breaths, so solid against his side a few days ago, were erratic and thin, your chest barely rising at all. Your fingers twitched, not in the peaceful way they had against his chest, but painfully. Your brows furrowed and you whimpered pathetically. Loki’s heart shattered. Under any other circumstance, he would have immediately demanded what had happened, but he could not tear his eyes from you. Oh, you precious little mortal. Loki had forgotten how frail Midgardians were and how easily you could break, how utterly short your existences were. He reached towards your fragile form, carefully brushing your tangled hair away from your face. He poured his seidr into you, praying to all the Norns - Hel, even to Odin - that you would survive this ordeal, all the while cursing himself for not going with you, for allowing you to become injured to such an extent, and for not practicing healing magic when he had a change. His desperate attempt to heal you and self loathing was cut short by the arrival of doctors, nurses, and the other Avengers, all wildy alert after receiving news of your injury. Loki allowed himself to be jostled away while medical personnel surrounded you as the others began questioning Thor and the Widow on how you had arrived in this condition. 

Now, Loki sat by your bedside, where he had resided ever since they had stabilized your condition. He refused to budge, plainly ignoring anyone who tried to take his place and brushing off Thor’s half-hearted attempts to get him to eat. No, Loki spent all his time here, watching you for any sign of recovery and ensuring that your breaths kept coming. Your clothes had been changed. You were no longer wearing your bloodied uniform, but a set of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt taken out of your bedroom. Your body had been cleaned and hair had been brushed. You looked so peaceful, just laying there on the crisp white sheets. Your eyelids fluttering randomly and the occasional wince and groan were the only signs of life you exhibited. Your body convulses, and your face tenses as sweat begins to bead across your forehead. Loki recognized these symptoms all too well. You were having a nightmare. 

“Darling? Darling do you think you could wake up? I know you can. Come on, you can do it.” 

Loki whispered encouragement into your unconscious body, hoping he could rouse you from whatever torment your subconscious decided to inflict upon you. Surprisingly, you do awake, though it was not with the grace he typically saw from you. Instead, your eyes jolted open with a start and you immediately attempted to sit up, falling back down onto your back as your injury took over you. Your eyes were clouded as a result of the medication the doctors had pumped you with and your lips were chapped. Your hair framed your face haphazardly as a result of your incessant twitching from the nightmare. Your eyebags were prominent and half of your body and face still swollen. Norns, Loki thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. 

Seeing him, your half alert face breaks into a genuine smile and Loki hands you a glass of water, prompting you to greedily gulp all the liquid down.  

“Loki?” , you croak. “I'm cold.”

Loki’s relief at your awakening is palpable, and he immediately shrugs off his hoodie and bundles you up in the dark green (and insanely soft) fabric. His heart seems infinitely lighter as you look up at him wearing his ridiculously large hoodie and softens when you lay back down and burrow yourself into the fabric. You looked so small there in the hospital bed, your body still recovering and drowning in dark green cotton, and Loki has a sudden desire to brush his lips against the top of your head. Justifying his actions of simply that of a concerned friend, Loki gives into his want. The instant his lips come into contact with your skin, Loki never wants to let you go. The warmness of you seeps into him and fills a void within himself he didn’t even know he had. But Loki lets go, and you sigh happily. Looking down at your now sleeping figure, Loki decides to alert the others. As much as the Avengers dislike him, he does not take joy in witnessing their restlessness as they wallow in guilt. Moving away from you, Loki is stopped by your voice. 

“Don’t go.” , your sleepy voice whispers, “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Though he wasn’t sure of the exact details of your past or what experiences prompted you to ask him to stay, but in that moment Loki vowed to completely annihilate not only those who put you in your current state, but also any being who had ever dared to harm you in any way, even if he had to track down the man who had cut in front of you when you were in line getting coffee for the team a few weeks ago. Your eyes look at him with sadness and pleading within that whatever miniscule amount of conviction within Loki dissipates. He quickly returns to your bedside, dragging the chair closer to you. Selfishly, Loki wants to touch you again, so he reaches out a hand to close your eyelids. 

“Shh. It’s okay love. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you. I promise. Try to get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

“Thank you. You’re the best you know. You’re my favorite,” you mutter almost incoherently as you doze off again. As he moves his hand away from your face, you grimace and grab his hand before he can pull back entirely. Your fingers intertwine with his as you bring it back to you. Turning onto your side, you pull your connected hands back up to your face and cuddle with it. You. Cuddling. With him. “Thought you said you weren’t going to leave,” you mutter as you frown, “Lokiii” you drawl. You smile then, and truly drift off.

Something inside Loki cracks. He had been suppressing and denying it for weeks, months now even, but he could no longer run from the realization that his heart belonged to you. Looking at your sleeping form, willingly grasping onto him even though you knew his history and all that he had done, Loki finally let himself believe he might not need to run anymore. 

[crypticcodexcreations]

2022 Writer Year-In-Review

@inkspellangel tagged me for this, so let's see how 2022 writing went! I got rambly, so a read more!

Total number of completed works:

Um..... None? Oops. Really thought I was going to finish Hell's Casino when I started on it in August and then I didn't!

Total number of WIPs worked on this year:

Six, unless you count the vague concepts that all I've done is try to design characters. Then it's eight, but I don't count ones that I haven't done any writing on.

WIPs neglected this year:

That depends on the way you want to define 'neglected' because each WIP has kind of been left mostly untouched as soon as I started a new one. I've definitely gotten a little more on some of them, but honestly, all of them have been at least a little neglected except Reapers as it's my newest one.

Total word count:

I have a few things I haven't typed up, so those aren't counted, but with what I do have typed. 27,455 words.

Looking back, did you write more than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you expected?:

Oh, way more. I had stopped writing for a few years, and then just. It all came rushing back in August this year and I really didn't think I'd get very far.

Did you take any writing risks this year?:

The honest answer is probably no, but just getting back into writing at all felt like a huge risk in a way I don't know how to explain.

Do you have any goals for the new year?:

To just not stop, no matter how slow it feels.

Biggest disappointment?:

I think that would be the fact that Hell's Casino has kind of gotten buried under everything else. It's a pretty straight forward story and I'd like to get back to it. Every other WIP has so many more moving pieces so to speak.

Biggest surprise?:

Honestly? Just how much all of my stories have gotten attention. I know there are others here who get way more attention, but that doesn't really matter to me tbh. I have a nice handful of people who get super excited about what I do write, and honestly? The tags and such are so much more valuable than twice as many likes and nothing else, you know?

Most popular story of the year?:

This is hard to judge because each story has had about the same amount of interest, just from different people it feels like. I might have to give the title to Reapers though, as it's the one that caused me to actually make a tag list, because I got a request from someone to be added to it.

What's your own favourite story of the year?:

Oh, you're going to make me pick a favorite child? Honestly, it's hard to say because I love them all for different reasons. Reapers has given me the most moments of absolute giddiness writing it so far though, so I guess Reapers wins another award lol.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

Cross Over could use some more love to be completely honest, but I also can't say I'm super surprised. That one is just completely self indulgent shenanigans and also didn't have as much posted about it.

Most fun story to write:

That's been Only Human. While Reapers has won out on making me absolutely giddy, Only Human has made me really think a lot about where I'm going with it, and gotten me to smile a lot while also getting me both out of my comfort zone and into it at just the right moments. Out because I usually don't write such low stakes type stories, but in because it's always there with my completely queer cast of almost no humans. It's fun because some aspects have been challenging, but also a refreshing break from some of the more heavy stuff I've been writing.

Most unintentionally telling story:

I feel like this might be Only Human, just because of how much of my personality and identity William stole from me. Although, Reapers is likely a close second, but only for the parts that haven't been shared, which hardly counts I think. To be honest though, I feel like all of my stories are very telling and I'm kind of aware of this whenever I write. I see the me going into every piece, and I know that the only way to hide it would be to write something I'd hate, which I just can't do.

[chocominnie]

Desperado — 09 (M) | JJK

Pairing: Badboy!Jungkook X Reader

Summary : A messy situationship at it’s finest. You don’t even know whats headed your way, just even engaging in the slightest within him. See, he has an assignment to complete. A mission granted by his father thats do or die. You just so happen to be a major pawn in that assignment. He didn’t mean to take an interest in you. Surely it was an accident right? Only except. you hold much value in this game that he’ll do anything to complete it. Oblivious is what you are. Poor thing. Poor.. Poor thing.

Genre: Mature/ Mafia!Jungkook

Trailer: xxxxx  preview 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

Word Count : 7.3k

Warnings : This honestly isn’t for the light hearted and the weak…High angst, usage of drugs, drug mentions, mental illness, switch!jungkook, Brat reader, possible stockholm syndrom, kidnapping, assault, death of side characters, murder, weapons, usage of weapons, masturbation, physical violence, blood, alcohol, weed, unprotected and protected sex, spanking, honestly its a lot of aruging…

Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

TW : Suicide, Body Hanging for display.

Her hair moves so flawlessly and the her breasts spill over the mini triangle bra with each sensual move she makes. The way her waist and body whines against the pole could leave absolutely anyone in a trance.The rhythm of the music blasts in the air and she’s directly on beat to it, not missing anything through the song playing. 

The led lights are dimmed low enough in a red color, but enough for everyone to see. Shes uncaring at the men in the room sizing her up in her designer high waisted thong that hugs her hips very well, showing off her round, plump ass. That was what she wanted, the attention all on her while they throw hundred dollar bills for her. 

“ Who knew someone could get down and dirty like that.”

To no suprise, Jimin, the ladies man but heartbreaker for sure, enters the private room and closing the door beind him. He throws a stack of money towards her, as he was the seemingly late one to the meet-up. 

“ Jungkook is late, he’s never late. What’s taking him so long?” A grumpy Namjoon says, looking down at his apple-watch. It’s half past 10 pm and usually he’s the first one here.

“ He’s probably sucking up to yn-”

The girl turns her head sharply towards the boys, overhearing what they said. She furrows her eyebrows at them, “ Why would he be doing that..”

Taehyung lets out a small groan. “ Because Mr. Lover boy has gotten himself a crush. The worst part is, she’s his target for this mission.”

“ Shut the fuck up. I don’t have a crush on her, i’m just doing my job.” A semi-loud voice roars through the doors. Everyone stops to look at the sudden intruder and to relief it’s him, Jungkook. 

Of course he has to lie about that. He knew for sure he caught himself up with you and the feelings were strong. Though the big bad mafia boy catching feelings for his target is highly uncommon, and Jungkook doesn’t know the consequences.

“ Jungkook..” The girl says, frowning at him with her hand on her hips. He takes a seat on the couch and tilts his head at her to go on. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at the young boy. “ You fell for her.. so what about us?”

It isn’t hard to say that he doesn’t have any more feelings left for the girl. She and him both knew what they agreed upon. The pair had history together, sexual to be exact. Romance was hardly there if he were to be honest. She’d began actually working for Won-Shik, under this club they’re in now which is owned by him, a year ago. Jungkook had entered the club once when he was considered a minor, but that was to pass a message along to the girl from his father. He was told to go straight in and straight out. Of course, he did the exact opposite. Sat around looking at all the half naked women that night as the music blared loud. 

It wasn’t until his phone rang and it was Casper telling him to hurry up and come back to the car, is when he finally decided to get up and look for the girl. When he did find her, it was over with for him. The girl was, and still is, stunning. One of the many foreign girls in the club but she’s the one that stood out of all. She wore nothing but a small outfit as she danced on the pole. Her beauty mesmorized Jungkook that night as he watched her dance in awe. Soon enough she came to him showing her her dimply smile and perfect teeth.

He was stunned alright. She knew he looked to be too young for the club so she asked him his age. He told her, and thats when she nearly called security on him until he told her who he was and affiliated with. The message was passed along accordingly to her, she got the memo. Jungkook though, kept coming back to that club and always going to where she was, following her around the club like a lost puppy. She enjoyed his time, as all she did was sit and talk with him and that turned out to not be enough for him. He wanted her, and she insisted that he was too young for her. 

So Jungkook did what any other person would do when feeling rejected, he started to present himself like a true man and mafia boy. The gym was his favorite place after that and he buffed up very well. That jawline of his got sharper and his personality gained more confidence and dominant by the time he turned nineteen. He of course kept going at her, shooting his shot anytime he could and yet kept getting denied. It wasn’t until his nineteenth birthday is when he begged her telling her how bad he wanted her, and that lap dance he kept suggesting months before. Since it was his birthday and he was legal, she gave him what he wanted but that still wasn’t enough for him. He wanted her underneath him bad. The slight age gap between them didn’t phase Jungkook at all. What he wants, is what he gets. 

And he did.

And kept getting it, and getting it, and getting it since then. 

“ Relax baby, I’ll still be coming around you know that.” His voice is smooth, smirking at her.  He wasn’t going to be coming around as much, but he knew that would disappoint her. 

She purses her lips and begins walking towards him and sits directly on his lap, straddling him. Jungkook can’t push her off the way he wants to because it would confirm the crush rumors from the boys about you. So he lets her sit there, uncomfortable as hell for him. 

Namjoon clears his throat to get the rest of the group attention. It’s nearly 11 pm and Crystal has been blowing up his phone ever since he stepped foot in the club. He told her beforehand about the meeting, but she wanted him at her apartment by at least 1 am. 

“ We all know you love yn, but remember who you are Jungkook.” Namjoon says, glaring at the boy who returns the glare back at him. “ Fuck you. Like I said, im just doing my job.”

“ If you were doing your job Jungkook, there’s no way in the hell that it should take you this long. “ Jin retaliates. He knows hes right.

By this time, Jimin had finished preparing seven perfectly rolled blunts filled with the most finest imported weed. He places them onto the tray, taking his own and then passing the tray to Yoongi. Each of the boys take their own until it reaches down to Jungkook who takes his and puts the tray back onto the table. 

“ Enough about her. I was summoned to go over the details for the next seven days. “ Jungkook groans, sparking his blunt and inhaling. He passes it Melanie, who takes it to inhale as well. 

A malicious smile comes upon Yoongi’s face as he exhales the smoke into the already fogged up air. One thing he loves to talk about is torture. One of bangtan’s best walking torture device to be known.

“ Tonight we are starting.. I say you let me go first.” Yoongi pauses, taking a long inhale of his blunt. “ I’m coming for their trade transaction place. Arson, let me burn the bitch down and then fuck around with their father.”

It’s a good idea. Sending a message after burning it down straight to it’s opponent. Fire is Yoongi’s thing, and that’s his signature marking in the Bangtan Boys. The father of the shooter was one of their dealers, until the shooter’s father fucked up by taking money out of bangtan’s cut little by little. The boys knew about it, they waited for the perfect time back then to take action. Of course, giving them a mission to complete.. or so he thought. The mission was a false one. Created by Jungkook to catch him off guard. Jungkook used some of the mafia men on Won-Shik’s side to set up a trade off of drugs, decieving the shooter’s father by thinking they were just setting up a regular mafia trade from another gang. The trade was complete, but their protection was no more. Needless to say, the men didn’t even make it back to their cars. It was a bloodshed war between Jungkook’s assigned men and their men. The point was to send a memo that the Bangtan Boys were coming for them, and coming hard. 

Everynight for two weeks unimaginable signs were sent to their family. Ranging all the way from several gunshot bullets going through their home, to severed heads of previous betrayers of the bangtan boys, sitting right on their porch. By now, all the other gangs in Korea knew not to have any business with them. 

“ Day 2 I want it. I’m going for the mother. That scamming bitch and her precious flower shop? I’m shooting it up. Whoever lives, lives. Whoever dies, dies.” Jimin shrugs, smirking as he leans back in his spot.

“ Day 3, for me I’m sending another message. One of their men is gonna die in my god damn hands. I’ll be sure to take a selfie and send it to the father. The body will lay hanging on that pretty little oak tree in their yard.” Taehyung says. The boys are roar with shock that he’s said that. Normally he doesn’t like touching a dead body, so it’s a change for him.

The boys continue listing off the days and assigned tasks for the rest of the night into the wee early morning. Namjoon left after his, of course going straight to his girls apartment. They don’t judge him, seeing as though the boy really is in love and knows when and how to handle it. He definately doesn’t mix business and his love life together, unlike his other hyung.  Soon enough the banter and socializing ends and it’s time for Yoongi first. 

Night 1

It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to find the place. The empty steets of Seoul have soon faded into just dirt roads with the city left behind. The humming of his porsche echos through the night time air. Yoongi takes one final turn, making sure to pull into the place slowly like a true hunter keeping it’s eye on its prey. It’s not a full house tonight, even better. 

Taking the jug of gasoline out his car, he carries it with ease up to the empty warehouse. The wildlife outside don’t make a noise. As if they know who’s approaching and just shut right up. Forty degrees fahrenheit outside and lastnight’s snowfall piled all around.The darkness outside is haunting, anything could pop out at any second to kill the man. That doesn’t scare him at all. Darkness is always what he crave. Inside and out. 

“ Sir.. do you want us to go in with you?” 

Yoongi stops dead in his tracks. He’d almost forgotten about the back-up men Jungkook ordered for him. It’s not like he needed them anyways, but since Jungkook can’t be there with Yoongi, that was the next best choice. 

Rolling his eyes without turning around,“ No. Wait in your cars. I’ll handle it on my own.”

Just like that. The boys are off like lightening. Yoongi takes one final step towards the two double doors, and begins to pour the gasoline at it’s starting point. Usually, he’d go from the inside out, but seeing as though he wanted them to scurry out fearing for their lives, this is the next option as well. Soon enough, the enire jug is empty and he’s now poured all of it around the outside of the warehouse. Leaves crunch with every step he makes back to the starting point. Part of him hopes they can’t hear him from the outside. It’ll ruin the plans. 

The lighter in his pocket feels so smoothe against his palms as he reaches for it. It’s one of his signature ones with his initials on it. An andrenaline rush runs through his veins as flicks the ignition with his thumb. The flame all bright and orange as he stands there infront of the building. It’s going to be a damn good night.

Without hesitating, Yoongi runs his fingers through his hair and throws the lighter right onto the gasoline puddles. The way the whole ring of fire lights up infront of his eyes makes him laugh hysterically while watching the whole building go into flames. The loud crackling sounds of the now decomposing warehouse jumps him back into reality. 

He heads right towards the big tree next to the right of the warehouse, leaning on it with one foot up against it with his hands crossed. That sinister smile doesn’t leave his face. He enjoys the view of the men from the inside running out as fast as they can. Some falling in the ring of fire in the process. The fire is no match for any human as they try to stop drop and roll. Ha, as if that would work with a 15 foot fire consuming the warehouse. The dead bodies pile up on their own, just burning in the fire over their simple mistakes of falling and thinking they would survive the fire.

Until the golden egg comes out. He’s furious as runs out perfectly, as if he’s been through this, without managing to catch on fire. Yoongi chuckles, leaning off the tree. “ Kang Dong-Woo.”

Usually Yoongi would use the honorfics to people who were much older than him. In this case though, he doesn’t deserve honorifics. 

“ Min Yoongi.” He says, harshness laced within his voice. Dongwoo frowns when nearing the man. He knows what Yoongi is capable of, and that’s what sets his fight for flight into action.

“ Let’s get straight to it. Your daughter is after our leader. She seems to be doing the dirty work for you yeah? Did you not train her enough? Of course you know she wont be able to live after this right?”

Dongwoo laughs right into Yoongi’s face as if he was joking. It angers Yoongi, so he grabs Dongwoo by the shirt and drags the man over to the fire where he kicks the back of his legs to where he’s kneeling inches away from it. 

“ I don’t think this is a laughing matter, Dongwoo.” He growls, tightening his grip around Dongwoo’s arms that are behind his back. “ You want to die?”

“ She’s gonna fuck you all over.” He growls.” You may think she’s not capable of finishing off you guys one by one, but she is. I raised and trained her since a kid. She’s stronger with more energy than me. She’ll kill you all when you least expect it.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes at him.” The dumb bitch can’t even shoot right. Going for someone else knowing Jungkook would save them is an ameteur move. Should’ve went straight for his damn head.”

“ I’ll make sure she’ll bring you guys hell Min Yoongi. All of you. Tell that shit to Jungkook and his daddy for me alright?” He mocks, laughing again at the boy to taunt him.

Yoongi doesn’t care for it. He’s had enough of this foolish talk. With one swift move he kicks the man’s back making him fall down to the left side, away from the fire. He’s lost it. He’s totally lost it at this point and there is no going back. Kick after kick after kick, he doesn’t stop. No. Not until the Dongwoo is sure to cough up blood. The crimson liquid poors from his mouth as he lays there. No remorse is felt.

Besides, the bastard bitch needed to get the message. Consider it message recieved. 

Night 2

The flower shop is full, but not full to its entirety. There's tons of different bouquets and arrangements set around the pretty shop, from what he can see from the outside. It’s almost closing time, an hour left. Jimin’s fingertips grip on the steering wheel, anxious but patient to make his move. He’s running off of pure adrenaline and 2 cans of monster that are crushed and sitting in the passenger seat. Waiting isn’t his forte and he’d honestly like to get this show on the road now.

The moon is out and shining bright tonight. A sigh escapes his lips when he glances again at the shop. The only reason he’s not done it yet is due to the fact that there is a child and his mother inside. Rule number 2 of Bangtan, injure no child. The price to pay if you were to break the rule? Simply it would cost you your own damn life.

As if time would of went any slower for the boy, the child and his mother finally made their transaction and made it out of the store, heading across the street to continue their journey of shopping. It’s go time.

He knew to come prepared with his bulletproof vest and full face ski mask, long Sleeve black shirt to cover all the markings he has and also the two tattoos on each of his arms. He knew that the little lady wouldn’t be so dumb to not carry, or at-least have someone inside that would be her undercover security. Considering who her husband is, there’s no way she won’t be protected.

Oh how innocent the people look to not know what’s coming next. Jimin loads his Glock 19 with golden bullets that have Bangtan Boys initials and symbols on it just before pulling his mask down and getting out the car. He makes sure to signal his back-up men to create a distraction so he could make his entrance. Sure enough, a loud boom in the near distance of what sounds like some type of construction falling, echos loudly. It turns heads from all around to look where the sound came from, making it easy for Jimin to slide into the flower-shop.

Not a sound made by him. He draws his gun and pulls the safety off the trigger, then cocks it. Eyes are all on him as his eyes shift around the room looking for his target. There she is, eyes wide in the middle of a transaction for two middle aged couple. His eyes set into hers, lowly smiling and pointing it at her. The way everyone frantically screams and cries out doesn’t phase Jimin, no. It just encourages him even more as he starts firing shots mid air, shooting any and every person in sight for the hell of it. Bodies drop to the ground, and the bloodbath begins.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate to step over everybody, eyes still set on his target. The middle aged couple’s shrieks were cut short by their bodies dropping to the ground with three shots each to their hearts.

“ Park J-” He cuts her crying off with a finger to his lips, daring her to say his name in public. She gets the memo. “ I wouldn’t if I were you.”

The barrel is pressed against her temple as she trembles with fear. He cocks his head to the side, smiling at her when he taps the gun against her head harshly, repeatedly. “ You know why I’m here.”

“ You kill me and she will murder you all.”

Jimin chuckles, “ That’s what you guys think. We don’t have time for your gimmicks. It was you guys who stole money from us. Why did you think you’d still be protected from the law from us? Getting your daughter to go for the leader first is dumb, like the rest of you.”

“ We almost went to prison for you guys, remember that? We needed that cut money from you guys to pay off our legal fees. Thats why we stole. We completed your dirty work while trying to pay off the fees, its the least you guys could of did as a reward.”

“ That’s not how it would’ve worked. You fucked up. All of you.”

With two shots to the leg, she falls into Jimins arms. He rolls his eyes and throws his body off of him and onto the floor. It’s going to be a headache trying to explain to the dry cleaners why there is blood stains on his designer ripped jeans.

Night 3

It was too easy, way too easy. It took nothing to lure that man right into Taehyung’s trap. Nothing but a simple few slick comments made to him for him to get a riled up at the wrong person. Taehyung had spotted the man prior heading into the park with a small duffle bag. He assumed it was for a night trade off for some other person who had delivered drugs for him. Nontheless, it was merely too easy to pose as the alleged person who completed the mission. 

A rookie. That guy must’ve been a rookie. 

When the money was handed off to Taehyung, he tossed it to the side and struck the man down. The two did fight on the concrete floor for a bit but the man was no match for Taehyung’s quick moves. Taehyung’s pocket knife dances around the man’s throat as his body is pinned to the ground. 

“ Rookie mistake not verifying if I’m the real one.” He chuckles, pressing the blade against the mans neck. The man pleads for his life but it’s no use. Message must be sent, that it’s no way you’ll fuck around with Bangtan and escape.

“ You know, I would’ve trained you more than Dongwoo. Letting the weakest link go run an errand? Ha. Your boss set you up for that one.” 

Although the man is merely innocent, it doesn’t stop Taehyung from slicing into the man’s neck. A blood curdling scream comes out, but soon hushed over as his will of breathing and screaming is cut. It’s music to Tae’s ears. 

The body is transfered per request of Taehyung to his back-up men. It’s not like him to touch a bloody dead body. So they take him into the back of their car and follow Taehyung to the residential house of the shooter. Nothing more than 10 minutes away. 

The lights are cut off in the neighborhood. Not a sound made other than the two cars coming down the street. Everyone seems to be at peace and quiet in their homes. Sleeping to say the least. Upon arrival, Taehyung parks his car right infront of the house. The back-up men drag the bloody body out the car and onto their lawn, placing it right under the oak tree. 

Taehyung takes the rope be brought along with him, and begins to tie multiple knots around a sturdy branch from the tree. When done, he wraps some of the rope around the dead boy’s neck, tying it into a slipknot and hoists him up high into the air. 

The body dangles from the tree like a flag waving in the sky proud and high. He signals for the boys that the assignment is done and that they’re free to leave. Taehyung though, he just sits back in admiration of his work. It’s been a while sinice he felt this way. So he stands there soaking it all in. 

Message recieved. 

Since it’s been three entire days of hell, Jungkook knew his day will be approaching faster than ever. If only it could get here faster though. Truth is, Won-Shik isn’t too happy about Jungkook’s plan still not being complete. At this point, the father is going against him any chance he gets to just get this over with. 

Luckily, tonight he’d be able to meet with his father again with some good news. It hasn’t been brought to his attention yet about your father being in Taiwan. With the technology of Won-Shik’s men, your father could be brought here within 12 hours tops. 

“ Father.” Jungkook says, entering his office doors. The boy fixes his leather jacket upon entering and places his hands back into his pockets. “ I have news.”

Won-Shik is one to not play around with. Interupting his office time is a big, big deal. One is to not enter without it being urgency. That rule still applies to the heir of the company. “ It better be damn good because your plan isn’t getting anywhere Jeon Jungkook.”

Won-Shik takes his glasses off and sets them to the side on his desk. Its full of papers and photos of himself and Jungkook when he was a child. His favorite one right in the middle, where Jungkook had just ate some cherry flavored ice cream and his lips were all red as he smiled for the camera showing his two front teeth. It reminded him of when Jungkook was easier to manage rather as to now where he’s a damn menace.

“ Taiwan. Her father is in Taiwan. I don’t think it’s Taipei though.. he’s hiding so a city wouldn’t be ideal. I say search the mountains first, then the city.”

Bringing this proposal to the table meant that Jungkook wanted to atleast gain his father’s trust back. Hell, he wanted all this to be over with by now because you were driving him crazy to the point where he’s beginning to actually forget who the hell he was and why he was assigned this mission. The plan was not to fall, but to complete. He’d be lying if he wasn’t knee deep in love with you right now. It all comes down to him protecting you from his father at this point. 

“ So your little plan is suddenly working huh.. still doesn’t mean she gets to run free Jungkook.” He says, smirking at the boy to challange him. Jungkook knew that. Once it’s proven that your father is the snitch, all of the family dies.

You’re innocent. Too innocent to know that or to be even tangled in that mafia mess of his. Part of him wishes he never met you and never had been assigned this mission. Then everything would be so damn different and emotions wouldn’t be caught up in this. From the moment he met you, he knew it would be hard. You have always held a special part in his heart. Only because you acted just like his mother. Sweet, but sassy and it hurt him a lot on how you remind him of her. You even word your words just like her, even when upset. Everything about you, is just like her. 

It was hard to not get attached to wanting to get to know you more. Somehow he thought that if he got to know you, he’d somehow fill that hole inside him of his mother’s disappearance. As if you were going to be his new replica as you would be the one to put a band-aid on that hole to patch it up. 

Here you are, not knowing you could die any moment and it will all be thanks to Jeon Jungkook, who couldn’t save you fast enough. 

“ I know. But she’s innocent. She doesn’t even know her dad worked with us. I swear she doesn’t.”  Jungkook bites his lip in hopes that there could be someway to save you by the hands of your father.

 “ I dont care!” He roars, jumping out his seat. Jungkook flinches, backing up a bit from the sudden outburst. “ You know not to mix business and pleasure. You reap what you sew. You get to pay the consequences.”

Jungkook knew that though. 

“ Father-”

“ Nothing more. I’ll have my team start the search right now. You on the other hand, get you god-damn shit together Jungkook. You’re the heir, not a damn lover-boy. Got it?”

It is no use of arguing with him. Jungkook looks down at the ground and nods his head yes just before Won-Shik dismisses him. It’s going to hurt. Seeing you dead. He hopes for a miracle can happen, that your father will not be the snitch. That you and him could live happily ever after. There will no be any happily ever after about this situation though. One will die. Just a matter of who it will be. 

The vibrating sensation in his pocket snaps him out of his trance. An incoming call from Namjoon. It’s alarming since today is Namjoon’s day of hell, and only one thing could be happening right now if he’s calling for Jungkook. 

There’s been a mistake.

“ What is it Namjoon.” 

“ She fucking outsmarted me. The bitch caught on to where my location would be for the next kill. I don’t know where the fuck she is Jungkook.. this is bad.”

Jungkook sighs heavily, closing his eyes while letting out strings of curses come from his mouth. Shit couldn’t get possibly worse than this right now. Namjoon said he’d wanted to go straight for the killer and bust her up a bit. Give her some words and a branding on her. He had wanted to do it with a knife, carving the initals of Bangtan Boys into her upper hip. Namjoon had zero problem tracking her next location down, as he had been keeping an eye on her all day. To him, it seemed as if she would be heading to an orchestra shop in the city. Every step she took, Namjoon took it too. 

Until she rounded the corner to go inside the shop and she wasn’t there. There wasn’t any outlet. The shop was on a dead end street surrounded by other shops that they both had passed. There was no way she didn’t go back, he would of saw it. He saw her go into the store, so she had to be there right?

Wrong. You see she knew all this time that Namjoon was followering her while in disguise. The orchestra shop where she led him to, she knew the owner. They were good friends. She had spoken to him asking if that she could use his upstairs office to read over some of the newest edition of music pieces for her to practice. He obliged, and she made up there in time before Namjoon came inside.

Up there, she’d be lying if she wasn’t scared to death. All this week the boys had definately given her hell. Each day with zero remorse. It was taking a toll on her for sure. Taking up this assignment by herself wasn’t something easy but she wanted to prove to him that she can be just like him. That she wanted to work with him too to take down Bangtan for decieving them and leaving them in the dust. 

She can’t do it. The boys are to expierenced for her. It’s a bad mistake that she cannot come back from. You see, she thought it would be easy to befriend you and become close to you after you’d laid eyes upon Jungkook your first day here. She knew you’d soon fall for him, like any other girl did, and that would be her easy acess to him from you. It was all planned beforehand. To be quiet and observe you and your moves with him. In her mind, Jungkook needed to die first. The boys can’t function all that well without him, so that would be the weak spot to take advantage of if he would’ve died when she knew he’d take the bullet for you. She coudn’t shoot him first, it’d be too straightforward and blunt. 

It was going all well. Deep in the inside she was jealous of you as well. Sungmin had been her crush for years, they even almost dated. Until you came along and he left her in the dust for you. Sungmin is everything she wanted in a boy, but you took that away from her. Her chances to date him ruined by you. It hurt everyday to see him head over heels in love with you, when that was just her at one point before you came along. Not only that, but she seen the way you play with Sungmin’s emotions. It made her upset that you do that. Sungmin’s love is a drug, whether it be friendship love or romantic, nobody can get enough of it. 

All this stressed her out to her max. Her family being hurt because of her, her mom unable to walk for the next few weeks is all because of her. Only cause she cannot complete this task she brought onto herself. As if being in danger because of Won-Shik and Bangtan wasn’t enough beforehand, she just made things worse all in all. There is no way out of this for her and her family. So it’s time to just accept it and say goodbye to it all and start a new life. 

“ I’ll find her. You wait at the base and I’ll report back to you guys after I find her. When I do, you will come and finish your damn task Namjoon. Do you hear me?” Jungkook’s beyond pissed at this point. If it wasn’t for him, the boys would be lost as fuck without him.

He shoots Casper a text, letting him know that he is to follow him closely as he searches for her. To his luck, Casper was already outside his apartment building in his car. Not long after he pops those contacts in and changes his outfit again, he’s cruising the streets of Seoul in his midnight purple lamborghini. 

The pain in his shoulder throbs with each turn he has to make with the wheel of his car. A little pain medicine would of helped beforehand, but rushing to get this shit over with was more important. This bitch definately has it coming. It’s been taking Jungkook these past few days to not just up and kill her. No that would just be too easy. Torture and marinating her to lose her shit at the last minute is something so satisfying to him. 

The streets of Seoul soon end behind him and the Mappo Bridge comes into view. It had been an a whole hour searching around the areas of where she could’ve been, including where she was last seen. No sights of her at all. She’s good at this for sure. Text messages are sent back and forth between the boys and Jungkook. They’re all on edge, tired, and frustrated at this chasing game that they’re all playing.

He’d almost missed it. The body walking alongside the side-walk of the bridge with their head hanging low and hoodie on. It’s the hoodie of his school, but most importantly it has their class graduation year on it. It has to be her. Jungkook flashes his hazard lights on, letting Casper know to pull over with him. 

It’s now or never.

After sending the text to Namjoon, he’s out the car and jogging towards the suspect. Height, body type, and shoes match the alleged identity. It seems she’s too into something to notice the extra footsteps behind her. He can’t do anything to her though, it’s not his night. 

“ Kang Minlee.”

She stops dead in her tracks as if a ghost had called her name. Frozen, she stands there contemplating on running or staying. If she runs, she’s dead. If she stays, shes dead. 

“ You think..” He pauses, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him. Her face is red from crying and her glasses all fogged up from underneath her mask. For a split second, Jungkook does feel regret. 

Killing a classmate of his wasn’t something he’d ideally let happen. But it’s far too late to not have her killed off. “ You think that running away is the best option?”

Minlee trembles underneath his grip, “ I made a mistake. Please just let me go. Let me and my family go and we’ll leave you alone forever.” She breaks down into tears, placing her hand over his in attempt to let her go. 

It didn’t hurt Jungkook to see her like this. All in all it just feels weird to him. Weird to have one of his classmates begging for her life to be spared from the gruesome events to come. 

“ You know I can’t do that.” It honestly can’t be an option at this point. It’d be better to just continue out her days of hell with her family. “ You came for me, that means you die.”

Finally she jerks her arm back from his still in tears as she starts to back away slowly. Jungkook knew that she wouldn’t run. Not in this case. Letting her cry it out was the best way, hell it’s the only way because Namjoon would be here any minute to brand her. It would mean she belonged to Bangtan after that, and she’d have to keep quiet as they planned out her death.

Her sudden movement from the ground to climbing up the railing of the bridge alarms Jungkook. She cries louder when Jungkook comes closer to getting her down so he stops. Suicide? Right now? What happened to being all big and bold? It confuses Jungkook as to why she would take her own life right now. Either way she’d still end up dead and unhappy if Bangtan would kill her or she’d kill herself. 

“ Jungkook!” She semi-yells, pointing to the direction behind him as another guy approaches them. Just in time, the sound of Namjoon’s car can be heard from afar. He’s getting close.

The guy she’s pointed to is Casper, who’s also alarmed at the fact that she’s close to the edge right now. Jungkook holds his hand up at Casper for him to stop right there and shakes his head, meaning that it’s too risky for Casper to step in right now. Casper nods and Jungkooks turns back to the scene. 

“ Don’t you think that I’ve suffered enough? Everyday you guys give me hell. My mom can’t walk because of you guys, and my dad has health issues. You left us in the dust when we needed your support the most! I was almost put up for adoption a year ago because of you!” She sobs, wiping her never ending tears with her hoodie sleeves. 

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say, or do. It’s not like him to have sympathy over a rival. It’s just not in him at this very moment. 

Minlee continues on, “ Yn? She took what’s mine. My Sungmin. She plays with his heart and it hurts him a lot. I wouldn’t have did that. But no, he’s head over heels in love with him. I got left in the dust when she came along and it looks like everyone loves her, including you Jungkook. My friendgroup does anything and everything she wants because she’s just oh so little miss perfect. That was supposed to be me!”

There it is. The jealousy. Jungkook would have never known it. It’s all news and shock to him. Sungmin and Minlee? Didn’t seem like a match to begin with. 

Her dramatic meltdown continues on, but Jungkook allows it. Namjoon will be here any minute to sneakily get her down. Where is he and why the hell is he taking so long?

As if on cue, Namjoon pulls up to the scene and immediately gets out his car running towards the girl. Jungkook waves his hands for him to stop, eyes wide with a finger to his lips. The last thing he wanted was for the girl to jump. A death from their school? Surely was to be put on him and his boys. 

Namjoon stops infront of Jungkook’s car, confused as to what’s going on. Jungkook mouthes to him the words suicide attempt. That’s when Namjoon gets it and decides to let him handle getting her down. 

“ Yeah it was meant to be you. But I plan to take Yn away anyways. Then you and Sungmin could come together again.” Jungkook’s convincing isn’t convincing enough, she doesn’t buy it at all.

“ If I get down I’m going to die. There is no escaping that within the next few days i’d be dead in your hands. I made a mistake and there is no going back. Spare my parents. Let them live. I’m the one that started this. I’ll be the one to finish it.”

The girl lifts one foot off the railing and leans backwards. Jungkook’s breath hitches along with Namjoons. No. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

“ Kang Minlee!” They both scream, running towards her. It’s too late though. Her body falls gracefully down as all three of them watch over the railing. She looks peaceful, a smile on her face while her body is sprawled out in the air.

Inches before she hits the water, the three of the boys look away with only the sound of dense water splashing to fill their ears. Namjoon sighs, putting his hands against his head. Jungkook stands there in complete shock. Casper, well Casper just shakes his head knowing the two boys weren’t prepared for that.

“ We fucked up Jungkook.”

“ I fucking know that Namjoon.” His voice cracks. It isn’t like Jungkook to cry. No not at all. Especially for a target like that. At the end of the day she was human and she did what any daughter would do for her family.

 She was also your friend.

You hadn’t heard about her death yet the next day. It’s a normal saturday morning for you. This time you’d decided to go to the cafe with your laptop and write your essay for your Psychology class. The cafe is nice, it’s cat themed and has some pretty kittens running around the outside of the kitchen and customer service area. 

As soon as you order and sit down with your Caramel frappe you spot a white kitten laying near you on the floor. A smile comes upon your face when it comes to you when you call for it. They don’t have these in Canada. Cat Cafes. The kitten lets out his purrs when you rub his back as he lays across your lap. The nametag says Mochi, a cute name for a cute kitten. 

Minutes seem to pass by without your knowledge. You’d been too into typing to hear the news on the tv being broadcasted live. It wasn’t until you heard suicide of a teenage student on Mappo Bridge. That got your attention.

You listen carefully as the news reporter goes into detail of how the body was found. It had gotten caught on a rock as the stream moved it around. A mother had found it with her kid as they walked across the bridge that early morning to look at beautiful water. It saddens you to know someone took their life. Maybe if that person had access to getting help, they’d live to see many more days. 

When they announce the name and show a school picture of the student, the look on your face drops. 

Minlee. It’s Minlee on the screen. Its all too much for you right now. Your stomach twists and turns along with your hands that begin fidgeting. She seemed so healthy and happy these past few days when you saw her. It didn’t add up. It wasn’t going to ever add up to you that you had just lost one of your new friends.

Packing your things up in a hurry, your phone begins to go off with a bunch of text messages at a time. You know it could be the groupchat. What you wanted to the most right now, is to go home to cry and calm down. You shove everything in your backpack and place the kitten back on the floor nicely before taking off towards the door. You bump into somebody on the way out, causing them to drop a picture in their hand. The two of you both reach to pick it up, but they pick it up first before you.

“ I’m sorr-”

You’ve seen her before. Long curled hair, big dimple on her left cheek, and bangs. 

There’s no fucking way. 

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

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

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

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

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

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

word count: 24.2k

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

///

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

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

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

Harry still hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from it, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It felt really nice.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

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

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

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

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

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

I’ll see you there, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

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

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

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

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

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

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

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

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

“Shut up.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

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

“Ask for permission.” 

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

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need interior design advice. 

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

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

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

Genuinely? 

Yup!

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

Alright, shoot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Immature? 

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

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touché.

Exactly. 

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

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

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

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

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

Maybe.

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

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You read my mind.

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

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

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

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

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

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

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

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

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m going to call you.

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

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

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

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