#I looked up how to do your stupid fucking machine hems and everything and it's still not enough?

[marzipanandminutiae]

I didn't get the sewing job

I just.

why do I even keep going. nothing's ever going to change and nothing's ever going to work out and nobody's ever going to fucking want me

I'm going to get old working part-time jobs with no house and no family and no fucking future

and the economy's about to tank with Tr*mp so if I don't get something before that happens it's never going to

what's even the point honestly. when nothing ever-

[gingeraleluke]

𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗿𝘀

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: tom holland x fem!reader

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: your boyfriend got home just in time to watch his most recent interview on tv with you.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: swearing, nothing just fluff! :)

𝗔/𝗡: this is my first time writing for tom so i hope you guys like it!! <3

this is based on the spider-man: far from home interview with jimmy kimmel!

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

the young girls heart was silent for the first nineteen years of her life. nothing but a faint heartbeat and some clouded thoughts of little to nothing inconsistencies. from the moment she first opened her eyes as a baby, separating her fingers and spreading her toes while her newly polished eyes tried making sense of her surroundings, to the ripe summer when her mother insisted she become a camp counselor to succumb enough money to buy her very own long-overdue car. the girl felt nothing.

the teens she longed to be alike were a mere hourglass, y/n a shadow. portraying their success and growth without mirroring any of her own, she felt like a weak duckling surrounded by marvelous swans. she would spend her youth watching blondes fall for brunettes on television, plopping popcorn into her mouth while pressing rewind on her favorite romantics, watching the way they would look at eachother and move with one another. she never thought she could be able to experience that. everything inside her was too quiet, too plain.

and then she met tom. it became loud, too loud, and she loved it. everything she thought she could never achieve, she achieved with him. her colorless days no longer existed and she fell deeper and deeper in love with him everyday.

switching the tv from some medical soap opera, y/n sat on her couch. she wore nothing but a plain bra and a pair of baby blue satin shorts. normally, she’d cover up more, especially if she had company over, but tom was a different kind of company and a comfortable one at that.

“THOMAS HURRY UP!” she could hear her boyfriend yell a faint, “i’m coming,” through the noise of the water running. shortly after, the shower stopped as y/n scrolled mindlessly through her phone, impatient.

she expected to see her boyfriend walk out of the bathroom, a trail of steam behind him, but instead she heard the loud roar of a hairdryer.

“for fucks sake-“ her mouth was lacking the salty and buttery flavor she craved so she took the opportunity to use her time by putting some popcorn in the microwave while her boyfriend blowed out his hair.

as she watched the minutes on the timer go down, the machine dinged as she grabbed a bowl and poured the snack inside it. she made her way back to the bench sofa and extended her legs out on the grey island cushions. the lace on the trim of her shorts tickled her feet as she folded her legs. “TOM HURRY THE FUCK UP, ITS ALMOST STARTING!”

the girls mouth was full as she yelled, losing patience with the boy. “IM SORRY, IM COMING!”

minutes later, a shirtless tom holland, wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist, appeared in their shared living room. the girls eyes grew big, his doing the same as he took in her taboo and exposed form.

“what- tom! you haven’t even gotten dressed yet?!”

“well, neither have you, apparently! plus, this is pretty comfortable, is it not?”

“tom-“ she warned.

“i got it, i got it..” his bare feet slapped against the hardwood floors as he quickly ran into their bedroom and retrieved his clothes. he came back out wearing a black t shirt and a pair of light blue sweatpants.

“KIMMEL IS STARTING!” she pointed at the tv and looked over to see tom bounce down onto the couch next to her, sprawling his legs out like she had done earlier.

“baby, that’s just the intro, i’m not there yet.” she peered over at him.

“who said i’m watching this for you?” he turned his head and made a sarcastic face.

“yeah, sure..” he mocked.

“WAIT, i need my blanket! go, get it, i don’t want to miss this!”

“y/n, it hasn’t even started yet-“

“now tom!”

“but what if i miss it!”

“you were there, you already know what happens-“ you lightly shoved his clothed knee and he sprung to his feet, so fast that tessa jolted up and ran after him.

“tessa! calm down!” the dog didn’t listen and continued following her dad, panting the whole way back.

once they were settled, jimmy announced his upcoming guests before a quick commercial break.

“quick, my ass..” she muttered.

tom stifled a chuckle. “why are you so bent up about this? you’ve seen my interviews before!”

“yeah, but i’ve never been able to actually watch one with you! it’s like… an entirely different experience!”

he didn’t believe her. “are you sure that’s the real reason? or is it because you just want me to give you secret info on the film, because love, you know i can’t do that, not after last time.”

she placed a hand on her chest playfully, “tom! i would never, how could you think of me like that?! as if i would ever do such a thing!”

“mmhmm..”

the commercials came to an end and y/n looked up to see jimmy start announcing the cast.

“shit, oh my god, it’s happening.”

“shhh, calm down!” tom laughed, placing a hand on your shoulder, his other arm sprawled out behind the frame of the sofa.

“how can i keep calm!? my fucking BOYFRIEND is about to be on tv! you know how many people can say that they are dating spider-man? like, no one!” her knee was bouncing and she couldn’t contain the excitement. watching someone on television while sitting in the same room with them was a rush she had never felt before.

she was loud as hell inside.

“please welcome, tom hol-“

“WHOOOOO, YEAH!!” she started clapping dramatically and stood up for a quick second, her eyes glued to the tv as she watched her boyfriend appear, while her actual boyfriend sat there laughing at her excitement.

they did a stupid elevator bit, before him and everyone else walked up to their chairs.

“really, tom?” his dark eyes flickered to hers. “what?! i thought you would like it, it’s funny!” she rolled her eyes and smiled, thinking to herself: my boyfriend is a dork, even on national television.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

“oh my god, you all look so good.”

“i know, right?”

“look at jake!”

“yeah-“

“look at zendaya!”

“i know-“

“OH MY GOD LOOK A-“

“OKAY Y/N, i get it, everyone but me is attractive, thanks. you’ve made it pretty clear.” he frowned as you gushed over how good his coworkers looked.

“yes, tom! i think you look awful, that’s why i’ve been dating you for the past four years, because i think you are ugly.”

he looked at his girlfriend, uncertainty in his eyes.

“oh, come on, i’m joking! you’re beautiful, come here.” she grabbed the side of his head and pulled him over so his head was laying on her chest. she began to play with his hair while watching.

“so the trailer came out, the trailer got like 135 million views within the first hour-“

“yeah it did!” she exclaimed, her fingers busy in his hair.

“see, i didn’t know that then.” he muttered, his brows furrowing together as tessa looked up at him from y/n’s lap.

“well it’s no secret, i’m not very good at instagram.”

y/n bursted out laughing. it wasn’t even that funny, but all of her emotions where heightened in this moment.

“oh god, i know where this is going.. this is the zendaya story isn’t it?” you smirk down at him and he lifts his head to nod at you.

“i knew it..”

“i basically.. forgot to post the trailer.”

“that’s bad.”

“yes jimmy, yes it is.” she couldn’t contain the snickers leaving her mouth and tom protested against it.

“listen, it’s difficult for some people, okay!”

“mmhmm, whatever you say baby.” she remembers distinctly, waking up and asking her boyfriend why he never posted the trailer, which caused him to wind up into a frenzy and immediately contact zendaya for assistance.

“well, you wouldn’t tell me how to!”

“tom, you’re a grown man! you should be able to figure that out yourself, peter parker.” she leaned over and kissed his cheek, his arm wrapped around her.

“so you’re IT for the team?”

“yeah, y/n, making poor zendaya the it for the team-“

“oh, shush, it was funny as fuck. but not as funny as the time you spoi-“

he placed his finger on her lips to quiet her, “oh, stop it!” she giggled in response.

she watched as zendaya recalled the moment she had to screen record how to delete an instagram story for him, which was another thing y/n refused to help him with. sure, she loves him and all, but watching the panic on his face as he realizes that he messed up, always cracked her up. especially since he brags about how ‘tech savvy’ he is for his age.

“it’s not my fault you’re a grampa!”

“yeah, we’ll, you’re dating a grampa!”

“true, i am.”

her hands reached towards her blanket as she put her popcorn bowl down and laid the covering over her and her boyfriend. the grey weighted blanket matching the couch perfectly.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

“okay, wait…why are you guys still in highschool?!” y/n had paused the program to engage in a very serious and heated discussion about the aftermath of endgame which led up to the beginning of his new movie, far from home, which had yet to come out.

“i mean.. it’s five years! i’m so confused.” tom sighed, placing his hands on his knees, he sat up straight. “like i said in the interview, y/n, i don’t know.”

“well… ask the russo brothers! i mean, jacob is right, that’s a huge plothole!”

toms eyes sparkled as he looked at his lover trying to make sense of the whole thing.

“i… i don’t even know what to say right now. my whole life is a lie!”

“okay, let’s not get too dramatic here-“

“NO, tom! as an avengers fanatic, i need to know!” she gripped the hem of his shirt and tugged, his body jolting forwards.

“tell me!” she shook him as he laughed and tessa barked.

“i don’t know, baby!” she frowned slightly and looked at her boyfriends amused face.

“i’m dating spider-man, you’d think i’d get the inside scoop.” she rolled her eyes and placed her legs back up on the cushions. tom leaned over and looked her up and down, flickering from her bare chest and her eyes. he leaned into her neck and started planting kisses. “i’m sorry, i will be sure to ask someone at marvel for you.” she smiled sweetly before thanking him.

“has everyone seen avengers: endgame?”

the girl rose to her feet, the blanket stuck to her bare legs. “yes, jimmy, i have! i saw my boyfriend get dusted right before my fucking eyes!”

tom remembered the first time he watched the film with her. it was hard for him to keep it under wraps and while he did end up telling her some spoilers, he kept out the whole ‘death by thanos’ part.

“okay, calm down little one.” he reached his arm out to pull her down, back to the couch.

“tom, baby, i know you like.. could get in trouble for it but-“

“y/n… not this conversation again.” he put his hand up to his forehead, two fingers on the bridge of his nose. she knew that if she prodded and poked in all the right spots, that her boyfriend would give in. that it just took a little push for him to confess all the dirty details of his new blockbuster.

“come on! i am begging, tom- i have so many questions, can you blame me? i mean… mysterio, like.. what’s that guy all about?! he’s a villian right?”

“well…”

“a hero?”

“definitely not.”

“antihero?”

“not exactly-“

“UGH, tom! you are killing me here.” she whined, putting her hands on his chest as the paused tv shined upon his features. “please give me something… anything.” she trailed her fingers down his chest, tauntingly.

“anything?” he smirked at her.

“yup. like… maybe just exactly what jakes character is? i mean, i remember him telling us at dinner that time, but that was barely enough, i mean.. there’s gotta be more right?”

“go on.”

“and mj, i mean.. is peter finally going to ask her out? baby, so many questions, i just have so many.”

“well… i guess i could tell you one thing..” he tempted her. her lips twitched upwards as she pressed her forehead against his.

“mmhmm?”

“i could tell you that… the ending of the movie?”

“yeah..”

“is fucking fantastic. really, it’s brilliant babes.”

“because?”

“you will just have to see-“ he was cut off by his girlfriend hitting him in the face with a pillow.

“FOR FUCKS SAKE TOM-“

“quiet down! you are going to get tessa all going..”

“sorry…”

a moment of silence passed as tom squealed, “for fucks sake tom!” in his best high pitched, y/n impression possible.

“shut up!”

the two laughed before she clicked play.

“you look so good here, tom. it’s so weird like- i’m sitting next to you-“ she pointed at tom, “but, there you are on tv!”

“you are just realizing this?”

“well, it’s like inception!”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

“i was told, it was a wedding!”

her chest boiled with anger as she quickly hit pause. “NO BECAUSE, fuck you for that! i remember being all excited, thinking tony and pepper were gonna have a beautiful wedding, only to see hes fucking DEAD.”

tom couldn’t hold in his laughs. “i’m sorry, i didn’t know!”

“well it’s pretty obvious, tom! everyone’s sad and in black, baby, you really are an airhead.”

“hey-“ she cut him off with a kiss to his lips.

the two cuddled up while watching the interview, small laughs leaving their bodies.

“like, zendaya! when did you find out how endgame ended?”

“oh, i remember. me, jacob, and zendaya were all in a facetime call freaking the fuck out, while my boyfriend over here, was chilling like nothing was wrong.”

“you guys were in a facetime call?” he questioned.

“yes! i was heartbroken and i had gotten a call from z who was clearly also upset!”

“well, he’s fine clearly! i mean, i wouldn’t be in far from home if peter was dead, right?”

she looked up at him, his heartbeat still lingering on her skin. “so you can tell me that you are still alive, but you can’t tell me about jake gyllenhaals character?”

“well, it’s a given! obviously peter is alive!”

y/n groaned, her head now resting on his chest.

“dating a superhero is difficult.”

“aww, poor darling, i’m sure it is.” he peppered kisses along her forehead.

“hey! you ate all of the popcorn?!” tom was flabbergasted, his voice heightening a few octaves.

“yep, and what about it?” her tone dripping in sass.

“i wanted some, for one!”

“too bad, maybe if you would spill the deets on far from home, you’d get some of my popcorn. hell, tom, if you confess right now, i’ll make you a whole bowl!”

“no.”

“well it was worth a try!”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

“i can’t believe it’s over.” the house was completely silent, the only thing audible being tessa’s light snores.

“i’m gonna miss that guy..”

“baby, i’m right here.” he placed his hand at the small of her back, looking at her lovingly.

“i’m talking about mysterio.”

“oh, yeah, great!” she giggled at his response. “he’s just so hot, tom! way hotter than peter-“

“yeah, maybe if you think manipulation is hot!”

her mouth fell agape at his words.

“what?” he said, oblivious to the screw up he just made. she smiled widely at him as he slowly was hit with realization.

“oh, fucking damn it!”

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

A/N: this idea started as just random concept drabbling between leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ and i and we never really thought it would amount to anything tbh!! but as we started putting more and more into the plot and characters, we made the spontaneous decision to make it a full on, multi-chaptered collab fic! we have so many ideas planned and so much to elaborate on and we’re just so mfing excited to share it with you guys :’) any and all feedback is greatly appreciated 💌 we hope you enjoy the first part and that you fall in love with this stupid emotionally unavailable moron the way we did! happy reading!!

andrea’s askbox : leyla’s askbox : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : 

word count: 17.2k

content/warnings: vampire!harry being a lowkey asshole while downing straight tequila like a psycho, getting to know The Crew, Mitch being the iconic legend he is, mentions of smut, and Harry working his immortal charm on an unsuspecting human girl with a peculiar scent and intriguing personality

///

Harry hates clubs. 

In his two hundred years of life, through many trials and tribulations, through tricky scenarios and annoying encounters, through thousands of unappealing circumstances and patience-testing events, he doesn’t think anything quite compares to the crowded, nerve-wracking experience that is a Los Angeles club on a Friday night during peak hours. 

According to his wise, humble opinion, it’s absolutely fucking petrifiying. He’d rather swallow a stake than have to spend hours in a dimly lit room with synthetic smoke choking his lungs, half-conscious humans stumbling around into him, and the stench of sweaty bodies mixed with liquor fumes, alongside the faint yet unmistakable waft of vomit. 

Yeah, Harry would definitely rather eat a red oak spear than have to shoulder that.

Despite his intense hatred for this Californian city during its after-hours, he can’t deny that he fits right into the scene perfectly. Decades of grooming and practice have made him a prime candidate for the fast-paced characteristics that come with the party nightlife. 

Fitting into these aspects aren’t something he had learned willingly; he didn’t really have a choice on the matter, considering his entire existence depends on mortals immature tendencies to get properly shit-faced and make stupid decisions in tightly-packed glorified bars. Harry never understood that— how a fog machine, strobe lights, and an undergrad amateur DJ could ever seem more appealing than the quiet, stable ambiance of a semi-formal bar. How deranged do people have to be to actually enjoy strangers spilling alcohol on them while attempting to shag someone else two feet away on the dance floor? 

Whenever he dwells too much on that thought, he gets a spiking migraine. After this long, Harry’s just come to terms with the fact that humans are regressing as a species. His conclusion is a bit cynical, perhaps, but hardly difficult to accept. One look at a news outlet provides enough proof to launch an Ivy League research project on the matter. 

He really shouldn’t be complaining, however, because the combination of overflowed close quarters and dampened inhibitions makes it the ideal hunting ground. Picking up a living blood bag at a club is basically as easy as walking through a vineyard and plucking grapes right off the stems. It’s practical, it’s fool-proof, and if he plays his cards right, he gets to feed and gets his more intimate needs tailored (a combo that he and his friends refer to as Laid and Drained).  

So regardless of his distaste towards clubs and their eager inhabitants, Harry had learned to mold his persona to fit the bill, making himself as approachable and desirable as possible. His life literally hangs in the balance; he’d put up with throngs of drunk sorority girls and their affinity for shitty perfumed drinks if it means avoiding desiccation. 

It’s not like it’s hard. All Harry has to do is make himself look more appealing than the other hundred men milling around the establishment, which— if he’s being brutally honest— isn’t that challenging. The moral, physical, and ethical standards of men have dropped frighteningly low since his time. Most of the ones that creep around clubs are overconfident, overzealous, boundary-lacking douchebags who think they’re entitled to a woman’s attention, and therefore make complete, utter fools of themselves in the process of trying to court one into their pants. Buying a girl one Sex On The Beach and dry-humping to Daft Punk isn’t the way to convince her to come home with you. 

Harry has developed his own guidelines and tactics for securing a nightly bedroom companion, and his ideas have been working wonders for him for decades now. 

The first and foremost rule is to clean up nicely. Personal appearance is everything. Humans are visual creatures; they build first impressions solely based on outward attraction. That trait is enhanced the higher their blood alcohol content rises. The drunker someone gets, the shallower they become, and it’s Harry’s job to work that to his advantage. And at the risk of sounding shallow himself, he thinks he does pretty alright in that department. 

Especially tonight, present in all the elements of his physique. He’s clad in a pair of high-waisted tan trousers that have been ironed to a crisp, his fitted graphic tee tucked neatly along his waistband beneath his black leather belt. His t-shirt is probably his favorite part of the entire look. It’s a baby blue sturdy cotton number with pastel yellow detailing along the cuffs and collar and a giant cartoon puppy in a striped bowtie taking up its center, smiling cheekily at the onlooker. Arranged around the doodle in faded Times New Roman bubble letters are the words WE’RE IN THE SHIT. 

Harry loves the irony of the article— the innocence of the drawing juxtaposed by the crude message. The piece is a conversation-starter— people almost always comment on it— and that’s exactly what he needs. Something to draw attention to himself and shadow all the other men. Something that shows he has a personality; that he has taste and a good sense of humor and isn’t just another walking genital. Plus, what person doesn’t enjoy a funny little contradiction, especially when it’s this cute?

On top of his graphic top, he’s wearing a tartan cropped blazer (open, of course) with a creme background and royal blue lines. The hem ends at the bottom of his ribs, exactly where his pants begin, and the jacket's hand-sewn buttons and strap detailings show that it's an expensive garment. It shows that he puts money and effort into how he looks, which is something anyone would appreciate when scoping for a possible hookup.

Harry’s shoes are the most casual factor of his fit. They’re a pair of light yellow Vans that match the collar of his tee. They’re plain, but he keeps them clean and they tie the whole look together without a hitch.

Accessories are everything, as well. Aside from the pearls arranged around his prominent collarbones, the gold-dipped cross hanging from a delicate chain around his neck, and the matching dangling cross earring on his right earlobe (again, he adores irony), he’s sporting a plethora of chunky rings on his hands, each unique and effortlessly complimenting his appearance. On his left hand, his index finger dots a ruby jewel embedded into a thick rusted band, another large metal one with dancing bears on his middle, and two clunky golden letters on his last two digits— his initials, HS. On his opposite hand, he has a medium-width plated ring on his middle finger with peace engraved along its rounded edge, an elegant lionhead number with an amethyst stone snug in its mouth, and along his pinky is a decently-sized opal set into a delicate polished frame. 

His two last rings are the most important of all. The lionhead is his daylight ring, which he hasn’t taken off since he transitioned. It keeps him from bursting into flames everytime the sun hits his skin. The opal was his mother’s, and it was her favorite. 

Harry’s attire is something he’s immensely proud of, even though a good amount of people deem him eccentric in the eyes of modern masculinity. He couldn’t give less of a shit. With his lightly tanned skin, alluring cologne and lacquered nails, his shirt stretching across the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, his broad shoulders and tapering waist, his thick thighs, sharp jaw, jade eyes, loosely tousled chestnut curls, and the vast array of dark ink littering his arms...

He looks good and he knows it. And all the people whose gazes glue to him as he passes by know it, too. Especially a random group of young women in line, who ogle at him shamelessly as he casually strolls past. He treats them to a sly wink, an irresistible dimpled smile, and a soft, cheeky greeting of, “Ladies.”

He gets off on the way they swoon at his refined English accent, giggling and waving. 

The only other component Harry has for succeeding in the club environment is simple, but it’s important: Don’t seduce, romanticize. 

Anyone— even inebriated idiots— can try and seduce a woman. And if she’s had enough tequila shots to cloud her thoughts, they just might succeed. But only a real man can romanticize a girl, and it yields way better results. 

Females are an emotional sect (Harry says that with zero misogyny; it’s just a scientific fact and he actually praises it), which means that if you entertain their interests and fluff their egos, they are bound to fall right into the palm of your hand. It changes the game completely because then they don’t feel that they have to pleasure you, they want to. They pursue the guy who flirts without being too vulgar, who appreciates and acknowledges their efforts, and who can go head-to-head with their wit by carrying unforced banter. They chase after him because he’s showing genuine kindness rather than just sexual interests and if he’s that attentive on the getting-to-know-you front, one can only imagine how skilled he could be in other bases. Chatting up a girl the right way, with patience and courtesy, builds credibility and prowess. And as a thank you, they’re usually more than willing to pay special attention to your needs, as well. 

Thus, romanticizing is always the expert move. So, yes, Harry detests clubs and the disaster that is adult recreation. But he’s fucking amazing at playing it to his favor. He’s great at calculating everything down to the smallest detail and he’s going to piggy-back on those skills for the rest of eternity. He’s so good at what he hates that his closest friends have anointed him the title of Walking Paradox. He’s more than happy to keep it. 

All of these thoughts are circulating around his skull, hyping him up for the game ahead as Harry and his friend group walk up to the bouncer at the entrance of the club they had chosen for the night, faint stars twinkling in the dark sky as the sounds and lights of the city fall away into background static. 

They cruise by the long line of people, hearing sounds of disagreement and grumbling coming from the other patrons waiting to get in. Harry casually tucks his large hands into the pockets of his light brown slacks as he pulls up in front of the burly bald man, who is wearing a black shirt with the club’s name printed in neon letters. The security guard is at least five inches taller than him, overswollen biceps and pectoral muscles rippling under the flimsy material of his work outfit as he crosses his arms over his barreled chest, cocking a single thick eyebrow at the seemingly young vampire. 

Harry delivers a good-natured smile up at the employee, despite the man’s obvious begrudging disbelief at what he is about to try and do. His friends chat quietly behind him, uninterested in what is happening; after years of being acquainted, they know that Harry is going to get exactly what he wants. He always does. 

He’s the best of them, that much is obvious. Not only when it comes to his experience with persuading sexual partners and getting himself a decent dinner, but he’s the best at convincing just about anyone to do anything, neutral of gender. He’s the second oldest of the crew, yet he seems to have the most knowledge and practice under his belt; his easygoing charisma, undeniable good looks, and dazzling smile could sway even the most stubborn of souls. Frankly, he’s so successful in getting his way that no one cares to try and argue for the leader position. Not when they can just sit back and let Harry do all the work. 

“Good evening.” Harry’s deep voice chimes giddily in the direction of the bouncer, his accent particularly heavy for no real reason. “How you doing tonight, mate?”

The guard— whose name tag reads Brock and Harry has to actively stop himself from snorting at how fitting the name is for such a brick of a human— looks down at him with a stony expression, voice flat. “I’m good.”

“Well, that’s great to hear!” The curly-haired boy’s simper widens, dimples popping into place as he skates into his next question with dramatic friendliness. “Haven’t had anyone cause you any trouble tonight, have you?”

Brock blinks once, attitude remaining coldly indifferent even in the face of Harry’s cheeriness. His words, however, are snipped and pointed. “Not yet.”

“I’m guessing you’d like to keep it that way.” The young man comments sympathetically, nodding his head along with the worker. “Totally understandable.” 

“Good.” The employee remarks in the same detached tone, shifting on his feet, obviously growing uncomfortable and irritated with the conversation. “So I’m guessing that means you know you have to get in line.” 

Harry glances over his shoulder at the lengthy expanse of people gathered along the side of the building, a light wind filtering through his freshly-shampooed ringlets as he studies the way the bright sign on top of the club casts alternating rainbow colors across the crowd. 

He makes a disapproving sound by sucking at his teeth, lulling his sight back onto the guard. “I don’t know, man. At this rate, I feel like by the time we get to the front of the line, it’ll be last call.”

“Maybe.” Brock shrugs offhandedly. “It is what it is, right? Fair’s fair.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry returns his gesture, but his posture shows no intention of moving, the corners of his rose lip set in a knowing smirk. “But since you’ve been having a good night, do you think you could find it in yourself to just let us through? We’d greatly appreciate it.” 

The bouncer’s face hardens, any shred of professional amiability washing out of his defined features. “I don’t think so.” 

The vampire’s shoulders sag in exaggerated disappointment. “Are you sure? It’s just five of us. Don’t think we’ll do much damage. Right, guys?”

Harry glimpses over his back to his friends, who let their conversation falter for a moment to throw out a chorus of half-assed agreements, trying to keep themselves from snickering. 

“We promise we won’t cause any problems.” Xander speaks up, jutting his chin encouragingly at the man as his lips twitch slyly. He lifts one of his hands, the smallest finger sticking out stiffly and wiggling around. “Pinky swear.” 

The rest of the group bursts into a round of light laughter, causing Harry to release a few airy giggles of his own.  

Xander looks over at Niall, raising his eyebrows and quipping in an innocent manner. “Right, Ni? No funny business tonight. That means no climbing onto the bar again and stripping down to your socks.” 

“That happened one time!” Niall exclaims incredulously, socking the taller boy in the shoulder as the others laugh harder than before, his blue eyes narrowed and face pinched. “Once! And it was only ‘cause Harry challenged me to a tequila shot contest.”

The Irish vampire’s accented voice drops darkly as he reminisces. “Fuckin’ hate tequila. Makes me act like a moron.” 

“As if you’re not one already.” Mitch pipes up in his usual soft dialect, chuckling as he ducks away from Niall’s vengeful fist. 

Harry cranes back to face Brock, thumb playing with his daylight ring as his hands stay relaxed inside his trousers. He shrugs one shoulder easily for emphasis. “See? You can let us through. We pinky swore.” 

The entire charade seems to have only infuriated the security guard more than before, his brows now fully furrowed and a deep, unamused frown etched across his previously pursed lips. His voice is on edge with barely controlled anger. “I’m not putting up with any shit. If you want in, go to the back of the line. If not, leave.”

Harry sighs grandly in defeat, head shaking slightly. “Guess I’ll just have to go the other route, then.”

The creature takes a step forward towards the employee, close enough that their chests almost press together. The bulky man stands his ground, though there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes at seeing the smaller boy make such a bold move. 

“What the f—?”

Harry locks gazes with Brock, pupils dilating to twice their size, the usual emerald shade of his irises flickering a haunting red and looking sinister in the buttery light of the street lamps. Horror breaks across the worker’s face, the ability to form coherent sentences disappearing from his demeanor. Harry’s heightened senses can hear the way his heartbeat spikes, blood instinctively rushing into his chest as a response to the adrenaline materializing in his veins. The activation of human’s fight-or-flight modes is always so oddly pleasurable. Just feeling how they react so drastically makes Harry’s fangs tingle with longing. Fear is a good condiment, he’s learned; it gives blood’s usual metallic flavor a certain twang.

But at the moment, a beverage from this specific tap isn’t the one Harry has in mind. He has his interests set on something much tangier and full-bodied; maybe Casamigos golden tequila, or Don Julio's Blanco. Preferably mixed with a young office secretary or a Bath and Body Works employee instead of lemon and salt. 

All in all, Brock is just collateral for a much bigger prize, which lies behind the roped off area he holds dominion over. It’s Harry’s job to break that dam. 

Before the large man can fully react, the vampire begins working his compulsion strategy, tone coming out level and soothing, thick with persuasion and teetering along a sleepy undercurrent. “You’re going to let us through, and you’re going to forget we ever met.”

The guard’s pupils enlarge to match Harry’s, the look of utter terror on his face melting right off. His features go slack as the monster’s magical influence works its way through his brain, coating every neuron and bending him to the deliverer’s will. The man reaches over and removes the velvet rope blocking the group’s path, stepping off to the side obediently with an empty expression present across his appearance. 

The leader of the group smiles just as brightly as he had the second he’d walked up to the door. He passes by the worker, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder and feeling the muscular man strain under his supernatural strength. “Thank you very much. You have a nice night, Brock.” 

Harry’s friends follow behind him, echoing his parting message and sharing a collective chortle.  

The second the group dives past the frame of the club entrance, the whole ambiance of the atmosphere changes. Harry walks across the top ledge of the establishment, coming to a halt at the railing that overlooks the main level of the club, his inhumanly sharp eyes bouncing around all the corners of the building to construct some type of familiar layout in his head. Amidst the blinking lights, thick artificial smoke, and swaying bodies, his keen instincts sketch a mental image for tonight’s hunting ground. 

The bar is at the far left corner of the club, squared off and taking up a large chunk of the colorful tiled dance floor. The music station extends across the entire wall at the opposite end of the tavern, stocked with massive speakers and a professional turntable. Harry’s brows jump in mild surprise— it’s not every day that a club puts so much effort into their mixer. 

The animated dancing area is packed with people, the crowd all jumping and grinding to the beat of the bass, moving as one large mass while the rotating strobe lights hang from the cavernous ceiling, bathing their moving silhouettes in neon reds, drunken blues, groggy purples, and electric yellows. The dim surroundings and heavy fog make all the hues more intense, giving the endless party that timeless quality which people tend to enjoy about nightlife. It’s the night to remember effect that movies and shows always hyperbolize; he thinks this way because he’s well aware that not even a third of these people are sober enough to know what the fuck they’re doing, let alone recall it the following day. It’s comically ironic, really. 

But Harry profits off that liquor amnesia, so he brushes away his sardonic skepticism for the time being, settling his lean forearms onto the metal railing that lines the second story of the venue, which is meant to keep shit-faced customers from creating a messy lawsuit. He carefully absorbs the grandeur of it all, leaning his weight forward with a detached sigh, already flickering through the mental menu of his favorite drinks that he has expertly memorized. 

He’s in the process of choosing between a Manhattan— it isn’t a very complicated drink, which is exactly what he’s looking for; something simple and strong— or just straight tequila in a glass when he suddenly feels a familiar presence arrange itself beside him, bumping his shoulder playfully with their own.

Harry snaps out of his recipe retrieval, eyes casting to the side to land on his best friend of almost a century. He cocks an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the thin, bearded man to make the first move towards conversation.

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

The green-eyed vampire sputters into spontaneous laughter, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the small pits in his cheeks jolt awake. His tone is humorous and full of fake insult for the hell of the joke. “Wow, alright. So I get us into the club that you chose and that makes me a prick? Good to know. You can handle the muscle next time, then, if you’re gonna talk shit.”

Mitch cracks a gentle jesting grin, which is very on brand for him. He doesn’t seem like much, with his skinny, lanky frame, delicate features, shoulder-length hair, and somewhat scraggly stubble. He’s quiet, reserved, and hardly engages with anyone outside of their immediate group. He’s always been that way for as long as Harry could remember. 

When they had met back in 1924 at a speakeasy in New York, Mitch had given off a mysterious vibe that Harry had found amusing and intriguing. His slightly sickly appearance and distant persona made the younger vampire want to get to know him better; it was just so peculiar that this seemingly impassive man was working at an illegal bar as a live musician. One would think that a performer would have to display an engaging character to keep a loyal audience, but Mitch had been all the talk of the underground despite his unemotional coolness. It was startlingly unorthodox and Harry just had to know more. 

Therefore, with a bit of help from his convincing supernatural abilities, he’d secured a spot as the black market club’s leading vocalist. He wasn’t anything worth a Grammy, but he could keep his singing in tune and follow Mitch’s guitar rhythms easily enough, all thanks to his limited experience with piano. He fit right in. 

From the first show they had put on together, it was like they had known one another in a different lifetime. They clicked so flawlessly it was almost fictional. 

Harry was lively and charming on stage, working the crowd to his favor as easily as he could knock back a shot, wrapping every single patron around his jeweled pinky without breaking a sweat. His witty temperament countered Mitch’s timid disposition perfectly and that uncommon dynamic had been the foundation to their friendship. Their humorous shenanigans on stage (which included Harry pinching at Mitch’s ass and making vague vulgar motions at each other while harmonizing) was a hit within the drunken community, and it bled into their personal lives. They went from only interacting on stage to sharing drinks together afterwards, to hanging out outside of work, to deep late night conversations about the world and their experiences.

Soon enough, they were closer than either had expected to become. And once they found out each other’s true identities (Mitch had transitioned during the American Revolution, when a vampire in his battalion had given him blood to heal from a wound, unaware that the next day, Mitch would suffer a fatal gunshot to the stomach that would trigger his transformation) they grew inseparable. They had remained that way ever since. 

Despite his friend’s withdrawn tendencies, the older vampire never hesitates to make his opinions heard, obvious in how he’d just full-bodied Harry with that snarky comment. Even when it’s at his expense, Harry appreciates and respects the rawness of it. He loves the way Mitch is honest and straight-forward with everything that crosses his path— it’s one of his favorite traits about him and definitely one of the characteristics that had led Harry to deem him his best friend. He’s probably the most fulfilling person Harry has ever met and their friendship brings him a type of comfort that he doesn’t receive from anyone else.

Vampires can be so detached and cold not only towards humans, but towards one another, and it gets old at times. It’s unsettling not having someone to truly confide in, and Harry is grateful that Mitch had been so willing to fill that position.   

Due to this, Harry rarely takes genuine offense in Mitch’s digs. They’re normally expressed as a joke and they’ve both been alive for so long that thick skin is a default.

“How was I dick?” Harry inquires, slinking his head to the side with entertained curiosity. “If anything, he was the one being an asshole. I asked him to let us in nicely and he practically spit in my face!”

Mitch snorts in amusement, shaking his head lightly as his eyes streak across the humongous room in the same cunning manner Harry’s had. “You and Xander didn’t have to mock him that way.” 

That’s another thing that makes Mitch the better half of their power duo— he still has a decent shred of humanity in his unbeating heart. Pessimistic conclusions aside, Harry does have a bit, as well...but his is more like a paper-thin pencil shaving than a shred. Barely there, but there, at least. 

The young man returns his companion’s snort, rolling his eyes up to the hanging lights over their heads. “Was just some harmless teasing. Nothing bad came of it.”

Mitch scowls scoldingly. “It was unnecessary and mean.”

Harry mimics his expression with his nose scrunched sarcastically. “We were just taking the piss, and it’s not like he’s gonna remember it anyways. Stop being such a kill-joy.” 

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

“Or what?” Harry tilts his chin up challengingly, the amber specks around his pupils glinting tauntingly, faint black veins momentarily webbing across the whites of his eyes. He sweetens his voice into a honeyed drawl. “Are you gonna spank me, daddy? Have I been a bad boy?” 

Mitch belts out a feathery chuckle, shoving his friend with enough strength to send a regular human flying across the deck. But since the taller vampire matches his force, he hardly moves an inch. “Fuck off.” 

“I’m being serious!” Harry cackles, turning his hips and sticking out his ass towards his visibly disgusted acquaintance. “Go fucking in, if you want.”

He lowers his voice into a sultry hum, wagging his backside jestingly. “I like it rough, baby. Why don’t you bend me over this railing and show me who’s boss?”

It’s Mitch’s turn to roll his eyes to the ceiling, voice deadpan. “I think I’ll pass.” 

Harry juts his lower lip into a theatrical pout, sniffling faux tears. “You’re rejecting me that quick? Who’s the asshole now, huh?”

His best friend doesn’t even blink. “Still you.”

“I can live with that. And it’s probably a good call on your end to give up all this,” he signals vaguely up and down his tight torso with a ringed hand, grinning as he watches the veteran vampire pretend to gag, “because I don’t think Sarah wouldn’t be too happy about it.” 

Mitch’s humorous face immediately drops, eyes narrowing at the change in topic. “Very funny.” 

“I know, right? I’m a proper comedian.” Harry quips proudly, batting his lashes mockingly. “Where is Sarah, anyways? Have you heard from her lately?” 

Sarah and Mitch...They’re a complex couple, if they can even be called a couple. The two are more like occasional friends with benefits, “occasional” meaning “once every couple of months, if Sarah happens to be passing by.” 

Their relationship is open and very loose, mostly due to the fact that Sarah is fairly new to the world of blood-driven immortality and has decided to take full advantage of it. She’s been using compulsion to travel the world for the last three years since she changed, which had been the result of an unfortunate car accident. 

Mitch had been seeing her casually beforehand, keeping her around for the purpose of having a conventional feeding arrangement. Every time vampires feed, they heal the wounds they inflict with a bit of their blood, proceeding to then wipe the person’s memory with compulsion in order to eradicate any chances of getting caught. The caveat is that if a human dies with vampire blood in their system, they become one. 

Sarah’s death happened the day after she’d spent a night with Mitch, and one can imagine how distressed she had been when she'd awoken atop a metal table in a morgue within the basement of a hospital. Mitch had been there from the very first second she’d opened her eyes to her new life. Or rather, her dead life. He had helped her get accustomed to the next stage (meaning having to cut family ties in order to avoid a catastrophe— the less people that know the truth about the supernatural, the better) coaxing her through transition and teaching her the way to go about the rest of eternity without putting herself and others in danger. 

Vampires rarely have any compassion for life (usually out of spite, which stems from how their own lives were taken from them), so it’s not uncommon that bodies are found drained of blood in back alleys, abandoned warehouses, and washed up on banks of oceans and rivers. It could be either of two reasons, or even both: the monster doesn’t care about the consequences of their actions, or they never learned to control their urges. 

Harry’s crew isn't that careless. Through Mitch, they had learned restraint, taking up his practice of feeding enough to satisfy themselves without killing the host, healing them, and then erasing the occurrence from their memories. Mitch had come up with the tactic to cling to his humanity— to be as kind and nondestructive as possible— but if Harry’s being honest, most of their friends only play along because it’s convenient. No bodies means no police involvement, and no police involvement means being able to settle down in one place for an extended period, not having to stress about the annoying process of bouncing around the world for the rest of their lives to avoid detection. 

Keeping low was for the best, and when things get rough— whether it be a mistake on their part or a disastrous bender caused by another vampire passing through— they resort to drinking from blood bags until things tide over. Mitch has a contact at the nearest hospital, which is how he gets access to the stock, as well as how he managed to clean up Sarah’s passing so quickly. 

All in all, Harry had only mentioned Sarah to tease his friend, knowing the slight sensitivity that comes with the subject. Vampires rarely form emotional bonds, typically because it can get really messy, really fast, whether that connection be to a mortal or to another creature of their species. All of them have baggage of some sort— you can’t die, resurrect, be forced to abandon your family, and be a slave to drinking blood for the rest of eternity and just...be normal. That type of extreme emotional turmoil is corrosive towards love. It’s always better to just avoid it all together. 

That’s why this is so habitual to joke about; it’s a way to deflect. 

Mitch sighs grandly, Harry’s question echoing in his skull. “I don’t know where she is, to be honest. Last we talked was, like, four weeks ago, I think. She was in Japan, said she was drumming for a new upcoming band. Haven’t heard from her since.”

Harry nods his head once in understanding, itching to steer the theme of their conversation elsewhere now that he knows the topic is in a more sensitive state than he’d imagined. He doesn’t want to push Mitch into a depressive episode when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Spending the night consoling his sulky friend in the bathroom of a club is the last thing he wants right now. 

“I guess that makes Sarah the asshole, then.” He pokes jokingly, bumping the older vampire’s hip with his own. “She’s ghosting you. Get it? It’s funny ‘cause she’s actually dead.” 

Mitch’s sad expression shatters like glass, replaced by one of unamused secondhand embarrassment at the shitty pun. “I fucking hate you.”

“All the people who were ahead of their time were hated.” Harry sing-songs, turning up his nose haughtily. “Copernicus, Socrates, Einstein— all of them were hated for being geniuses. I’m willing to carry that same burden.” 

Mitch blinks at him three times. “No one hated Einstein.”

The curly-haired boy’s lips twitch darkly. “I’m pretty sure Japan did.” 

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

Mitch shakes his head, but even through the black lights, Harry can see him trying to ward off a laugh. After a moment’s pause, he speaks up again softly. “It’s not that hard to refrain from humiliating innocent people who are just doing their job, H.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re still on that?” The broad monster groans in exasperation, palms slapping down on the metal rungs below him. “We were just having some fun! But fine. If it helps you fake sleep at night, I’ll try and keep my condescending flare to a minimum.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Mitch responds peacefully, tapping his nimble fingers casually along the railing, his action much less violent than his companion’s. “S’not too difficult.” 

“Whatever.” Harry scoffs, returning his intent gaze to the dance floor, scoping out the scene once again in hopes of finding a proper meal for the night. 

He zones in on a group of young women gathered along one side of the bar, their messy giggling and lack of balance giving away that they’re obviously sloshed off their faces. Seems promising enough. 

When he talks once more, his tone holds an attitude that plays on a grumble, but it’s somewhat distracted. “The least you could do is let me have some fun, considering I didn’t even want to come.” 

Mitch huffs, making an entertained noise in the back of his throat. “You say that every single time we go out, and yet you always end up taking someone home. Don’t know why you’re complaining.” 

Harry side-eyes him from his peripheral vision, the corners of his pretty cherry mouth dipping down grudgingly, mood defensive. “You drag me to these things so I’m not going to apologize for making the best of it. I put a lot of effort into my pick-ups! I deserve to get my dick wet.” 

“God, please don’t say that again.” His best mate physically makes a vomiting sound. “You’re acting like a spoiled fraternity douche.” 

Harry’s gaze ignites into flames, his back straightening out as he fully turns to face the shorter man. He’s never been insulted so low before. “Take that back!” 

“Take that back!” Mitch mocks in an exaggerated, high-pitched British accent, attempting to stifle giggles. 

“Take it back! You know how much I hate Gen Z.”

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

“I know. Your lack of maturity is a constant reminder.”

Harry opens his mouth, prepared to make a sharp comeback about how Mitch should have left the shaggy-haired stoner aesthetic back in the eighties, but then a heavy Irish accent interrupts his rebuttal. 

“What’s all this about getting your dick wet?” 

Both of the vampires turn towards Niall, finding Xander and Adam accompanying him in a loose semi-circle. 

Xander isn’t paying any attention, too busy tapping away at the screen of his smartphone, apparently engaged in a very riveting conversation with whoever is on the other side. Adam has his hands tucked into the pockets of his plum purple wind-breaker, looking over Harry’s shoulder, seeming to be adamantly searching for someone in particular amidst the mob on the level beneath them. Niall is the only one interested in their dying conversation, probably only because he heard something crude being mentioned. 

“It’s nothing.” Harry dismisses, but he can’t help but stick Mitch with a glare. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”

Adam speaks up for the first time. “Charlotte and Ny texted saying they got here about ten minutes ago. Mentioned they were dancing near the DJ station, so I think I’ll go find them.”

“Sounds good.” Harry bobs his head in accordance. “We’ll see you out there, yeah?” 

Adam returns his action, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the bottom floor. The leader of the group watches him trot onto the large spiral staircase, disappearing into the thick throng of people scattered across its wide steps. 

Harry shifts his attention to Xander, snapping his fingers a few times in his direction and giving a two-toned whistle. “What about you? What’s got your head?”

“Not what, who.” Niall teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and making kissy faces at their friend. 

Xander ignores him, glancing up at the green-eyed brunette to let him know he’ll be with him in a second, returning his focus back to his iPhone. After a few more elongated moments of typing, the older man finally locks his device. 

“I have a date.” He throws out casually, almost as if it should be obvious. 

“A date?” Harry reiterates slowly, not quite buying it. Xander doesn’t date. He couch-surfs just as much as Harry does. 

“Mmhm.” Xander glimpses behind his fellow vampire, eyes carrying intention. “It’s just a random dude from Tinder. I thought it’d be easier to set something up beforehand, just so I don’t have to spend the whole night trying to figure out if a guy is making eyes at me or trying to keep his whiskey down.” 

“Smart.” Harry shrugs his sculpted brows, impressed. A cocky grin toys with the corners of his mouth. “But we both know no one will ever compare to me.” 

“Right.” Xander scoffs in a deadpan manner, gifting him a tight, aggravated smile. “If only you weren’t such an emotionally unavailable prick.” 

“Oh, like you’re mentally stable enough for a relationship?” Harry bites back, but it holds no true malice, just some petty rivalry. “Piss off.”

“Happily!” The other vampire exclaims, clasping his hands together for dramatics. “Have fun finding someone out there. I’m just gonna grab a to-go box for my already prepped meal.” 

Harry doesn’t bother watching him leave. Instead, he turns to Niall, pointing at him to symbolize it's his turn to share his plans for the night. “What have you got, Lucky Charms?” 

His friend breaks into a jolly cackle at the nickname, arms falling crossed over his chest, hands absentmindedly squeezing his elbows in thought. “Well, I dunno, Tea and Crumpets. What’s your game plan?” 

Before Harry can answer, Mitch butts in, feeling left out of the banter and somewhat hurt that no one had assigned him an alter ego. “What’s my country-derived nickname?” 

Niall gives the American a slow once-over, shifting in his dark brown Clarks boots, fitted navy slack riding up his thighs and allowing his rainbow polka-dot socks to peek out. He hums lowly in the back of his throat, a grin spreading across his rosy cheeks. “Biscuits and Gravy.” 

Harry chimes in, his own arms casually folding over his strong chest, index finger tapping on his bottom lip as if mulling something over. “I quite like We The People, actually.”

The Irish lad snaps his fingers as if having a sudden epiphany. “Uncle Sam!”

Harry’s emerald eyes twinkle with glee at seeing the way Mitch’s go half-lidded, no longer entertained. “Four Score And Seven Years Ago.” 

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

Niall wags a finger at Harry, lifting one shoulder in question, seeking approval on his next idea. “Star Spangled Banner?”

Harry copies the boy’s motion from before, snapping his fingers and making jazz hands. “I Pledge Allegiance.”  

“Ok, I get it!” Mitch whines with annoyed finality, pushing off the metal railing with a curt grimace on his scraggly face. 

“You asked!” Niall rationalizes between hiccups of evilly delighted joy, cupping his stomach as if to keep it from splitting open. 

“Won’t make that mistake again.” The older creature grumbles, leaning his back against the rungs and looking off towards the distance, communicating that he’s done being a part of the conversation. 

Once Harry manages to reign in his giggles, he rubs at his nose with the side of his finger, releasing a wistful sigh. He refers to the question Niall had stated before their little bullying fest. “I think I’m just gonna do what I always do— sway a nice, pretty girl into doing some not-so-nice but very pretty things.” 

“Solid.” The Irish bloke remarks, toying with the plastic buttons on his silk beige top. “Not much to do other than that, to be fair. Adam’s usually my wingman, but I guess he abandoned me for a girl’s night.” 

“Mitch is mine, and he knows better than to dip on me.” Harry roughly nudges his best friend with his elbow, dodging to the side when Mitch tries to hit him in return. 

Niall hums softly in amusement. “Maybe I should make Adam sign whatever contract you drafted for that poor bugger.” 

The curly brunette snorts. “Good luck. Adam’s as stubborn as they come. But, hey, if you can’t find anyone, just come to me.” Harry’s irises flit crimson for a millisecond, an ominous smirk buckling his features. “You know I’m always happy to share.” 

“Thanks,” his friend exhales flatly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you’re taking tips,” Mitch pipes up, vaguely signaling at Niall’s shirt with his chin, “maybe don’t wear that stupid shirt next time. The elephant doodles look ridiculous.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not taking fashion tips from anyone who actually enjoyed living in Ohio, then.” Niall snaps in an exaggerated American accent, middle finger jutting towards the other man. “The only thing you know how to dress is a cornfield scarecrow. Must be why you look like one.” 

Harry forces down more laughter, clearing his throat softly. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t get hammered— girls hate that.” 

“Note taken.” The pale boy runs his fingers through his hair, fixing it up and adding texture to appear more laid-back and rugged. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Later.” The younger vampire recites, giving a big thumbs-up. 

“Good luck out there. You, too, Boston Tea Party.” 

With that, Niall saunters away, leaving a fully laughing Harry and a grouchy Mitch in his wake. 

The two acquaintances decide to follow in everyone else’s example, descending down the looped staircase and chatting about Mitch’s latest gig at a new bar downtown. 

Harry praises Mitch's talent with his guitar, specifically the fact that he found a hobby which he enjoys so much that he’s willing to keep it as a permanent part of his life. It’s easy to get bored of things when you have hundreds of years ahead of you; everything can seem pointless, in the end. But Harry doesn’t think Mitch has ever let himself fall into those types of dark headspaces and he finds that extremely admirable. 

Harry wishes he could say the same. He’s no musical prodigy, that much is obvious, but he is an expert at playing a few specific French songs on the piano by memory. He rarely does it, though; only when he’s in a low state of mind, which— given the origin of how he learned said classical pieces— isn’t something he’s proud of. They’re tied to a very gruesome part of his past that he’d rather bury deep inside, but he can only push back his troubles for so long before they begin to leak out, staining the clean sheet of recovery he had sewn into place. Those arrangements just bring him a warped sense of comfort he can’t explain.

Even though he’s aware of the destructive aspects of the songs, he finds himself humming one now out of instinct as he elbows through squished bodies and flailing limbs. The second he notices he’s doing it, he cuts it off, focusing all his intention on making it to the other side of the room to the bar. It’s a hard trip when it feels like the walls of the building are closing in on him. 

When Harry finally breaks free from the Human Centipede re-enactment that is the club dance floor, he practically collapses onto the sleek glass counter. Death was less painful than that walk. 

He cranes his neck to the side wildly, suddenly remembering that his much smaller, much skinnier, much more crushable friend had been in tow behind him. To his utter shock, he watches as Mitch calmly weeds around grinding drunk couples with the poise and grace of a swan, filling the empty spot besides him without a single ailment in the world. 

Harry blinks at him blankly in silence, almost as if he’d grown an extra set of fangs. 

Mitch flags the bartender from all the way down the counter, not bothering to meet the green eyes peering at him in disbelief. “You’re so fucking dramatic, H.”

“How did you not die? Again?” Harry sputters, sight jutting all around the older vampire’s body, looking for any battle wounds or missing appendages. “I almost lost an arm in there!”

“It’s a good thing it wasn’t your favorite one, right?” Mitch smirks at his own lewd joke, the simper molding into one of genuine kindness when the mixologist slides up in front of them. “Hi, how are you? I’m good, as well, thank you for asking! Yeah, I’ve got something in mind. Don’t worry, I’m not one of the ‘just make me something sweet’ type of assholes.”

Harry zones out the rest of the friendly chat Mitch entertains with the employee, letting his gaze wander around the large auditorium-like room. He dances his vision over the DJ remixing music on top of the stage, head beginning to bop along to the beat that is currently shaking the seven foot tall speakers. He’s pleasantly surprised at how good this specific producer is. 

He continues scoping out the rest of the venue, taking notes of the different clusters of people that seem to hold promise for the plans he has in store later tonight. A small group of hippie friends here, a two-party duo of tipsy stoners there, and a clump of college students at the edge of the ruckus, stumbling around loudly. Things are looking somewhat decent, in his opinion. The hippies seem to be catching his attention more than the others— specifically, the one that looks similar to Stevie Nicks. That’s a fantasy that’s been waiting to be fulfill for decades now. 

Harry lulls his head forward again when he feels Mitch give a squeeze at his elbow, telling him that the bartender is waiting to take his order. He decides to go for the gold tequila, asking for it straight in a highball glass without any garnishes. The worker’s eyebrows jump up slightly at the unorthodox request, but he drops a polite, “Coming right up.” either way.

“You truly have no flavor.” Mitch tuts once their waiter has stepped away to prepare their drinks. “No taste buds whatsoever.” 

“Yeah? Well, you can suck my flavorless dick.” Harry chimes brightly, eyes crinkling shut as a result of a theatrical smile. 

The younger vampire goes to turn back around, legitimately interested in the girl he’d seen that looked like one of his seventies celebrity crushes, already running through scenarios in his head on how he’d get her into his bed for tonight. Weed and ABBA are probably good conversation starters for that, if Harry’s undisputed people skills have anything to say about it. 

As he’s rotating his torso, a blurred image catches his eyes. He does a double-take, honing in on a group of girls that look faintly familiar. He scans them carefully as they huddle around the corner of the bar area, laughing and toasting along to the multiple conversations they all have going at once. They look like the typical posse that would be a backdrop clique in a mainstream movie. 

He knows where he recognizes them from— it had been the same girls he’d spotted earlier up on the second deck.

Harry expertly surveillances each woman, picking out potential candidates as easily as he’d pinch petals off a flower. The one in the center of the group is obviously the leader, present in how she’s the prettiest and is somehow managing to juggle all of these interactions at once. It means she’s used to being the center of attention— probably strives under it. He throws her out as a potential; the last thing he needs is someone who everyone knows and seeks out. He wouldn’t be able to sneak away with her quietly. 

The rest of the girl crew all seem to be the same status-wise, appearing as supporting characters to the main one in the middle. He could choose any one of them blindly and it wouldn’t make a difference. They all seem so tight-knit, they probably share personalities, at this point. It’s like dipping his hand into a jar of jelly beans and they’re all the same flavor. That notion makes him laugh to himself a bit; maybe Mitch was right about his lack of taste. 

Then, Harry spots her, and all the other women immediately go up in smoke. 

It’s hard not to spot her. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but not in a good way. 

The prospective contender is off to the side, sitting atop a barstool with her feet tucked along the footrest, tapping them against the metal rung awkwardly. She’s talking to one of the other people in the group, but the interaction seems forced and not very satisfying, obvious in both of their faces. She’s tracing her middle finger around the edge of her glass cup distractedly, the contents inside barely touched, the ice in her drink long-melted. She seems disinterested in the chaos her friends are causing, her expression bored and borderline regretful, as if she doesn’t want to be here. 

The further he sizes the girl up, the more appropriate she looks for the role he needs filled. Since barely anyone is paying attention to her, that means he can lead her astray without too much resistance from her acquaintances, if any at all. She appears somewhat unimportant to the narrative— merely a background extra— and it makes him wonder what she’s doing with this clique of women that can’t seem to be bothered by her presence. It’s sad, really. Sad, but beneficial, because that means he can succeed in making her the supporting protagonist of his narrative, at least for tonight. 

The girl is attractive, but not anything astronomical. She’s unconventionally pretty in a way that makes her relevant, but not particularly distinct in the eyes of regular men with presumptuous standards. She’s easy to pass up, and if Harry hadn’t been actively pursuing someone of her bashful persona to card into his plans, he wouldn’t have noticed her. At the risk of once again sounding shallow, Harry’s aware that— physically speaking— he’s very much out of her league. His above-average appearance gives off the vibe that he’d fit better with the leader of the group instead of with her, but he doesn’t want someone that would raise suspicions as a result of their absence. This girl, sitting along the edge of the party with barely any purpose and no one to really question her whereabouts, is exactly what he’s looking for. She’s perfectly imperfect for the cause. 

Harry continues to examine her meticulously, analyzing other traits that can give him a better feel for her character. She’s clad in a pair of high-waisted pastel pink silk pants that stop right at her ankles, accompanied by a flouncy creme lace blouse tucked into her waist. Tan wedges, no accessories, delicate rosey nail polish, and minimalist makeup. The boldest thing about her is the brick red shade of her lipstick, which is easily shadowed by the sparkly sequin dresses, five inch heels, and layered tops her friends are wearing. 

Harry likes her outfit, though. It’s concise and safe, which he can appreciate. Yes, perhaps she looks like she belongs in a dentist’s office rather than a Los Angeles nightclub, but he thinks there’s beauty in simplicity. She looks cute, and that’s good enough for him. 

“She seems interesting.” Mitch’s soft voice snaps him out of his detail-hungry haze, drawing him back into the reality that is the black lighting of the club and the deep booming of the music’s bass. 

His friend slides his tall drink across the glass counter, the amber liquid inside warping his reflection. 

“I suppose so.” Harry answers passively, shrugging one shoulder in indifference while accepting the cup, ringed fingers clinking against the crystalline surface. 

He takes a leisurely sip from the straight tequila, its tangy kick sending a warm surge up through his ears and down his throat, spreading into his chest and along the trench of his tummy. Alcohol really is the cure to everything. 

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, the strobe lights alternating across the glossy surface of his hazel irises, highlighting smugness. “You’ve been gawking for five minutes. Put your pride back in your pants and go talk to her.” 

The curly-haired vampire flashes him a light smirk over the rim of his drink, absentmindedly tapping his two initial rings along the bottom of the highball cup. “Ever so blunt, aren’t you?”

Mitch scuffs, taking a swig from his trusty beer bottle. Out of everything, that’s the one aspect Harry despises about his best mate— that he goes to a club and orders the same drink every time. Where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement of trying something new? When you have an eternity, the least you could do is utilize it to your advantage. Cycling through every cocktail in human history is a prime example of making the best out of immortality.  

But Mitch is a creature of habit— as are most of their kind— and Harry knows he won’t shake easily. Not when it comes to surrendering his preferred beverage, and definitely not when it comes to sticking his nose in Harry’s intimate business. Meddling and being irritating are what best friends are for. 

“What can I say? Pep talks are my forte.” The older monster remarks sarcastically, bumping his bottle against Harry’s glass in encouragement, using the spout of his container to point in the general direction of the mysterious girl. “Now go make dinner.”

“But, darlinggggg,” Harry whines playfully, a smirk still tugging at the corners of his slightly liquor-swollen lips. “I made dinner last night. Isn’t it your turn?”

Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves Harry’s shoulder harshly, with just enough force that it actually has some type of impact this time around. “Just go, before she gets creeped out by your staring.” 

Harry’s own irises copy his friend’s actions as he pushes himself up from the bar, rubbing at the new sore spot on his shoulder with an exaggerated pout present. “Ow.”

Mitch blinks at him flatly, fighting off a grin. “You’ve had worse. Go.”

Harry swivels on his heel, once again facing the group of tipsy girls at the other end of the counter. It appears that most of them have dispersed into the dance floor, having found partners to entertain them for the time being, moving to the music as if there are no other people in the room. They had left behind three of their companions, one of which is Harry’s aspiring hookup; he gets the feeling that the two girls had stayed behind out of the kindness of their hearts, feeling too guilty to leave the runt of the litter all on her own. He hopes that’s the case because if so, the second Harry inserts himself into the situation, they’ll take that chance and split, leaving him to tend his meal in peace.

He tucks one large hand into the front pocket of his trousers, the grip on his glass tightening a smidge, rings biting into his skin as the condensation of the chilled tequila cools the small spike of pain. He spins his lionhead ring around his finger within his slacks, gradually drifting closer as he goes through a checklist of prized pick-up lines he could use to garner her attention. He ducks and dodges inebriated club-goers with ease now that he’s had something to take the edge off, finally reaching the end of the bar, slowly coming to a halt right behind his target for the night. 

Harry nearly passes out as soon as her scent hits him. 

It’s faint and tender and nothing quite like anything he’s encountered before, a mixture of honey and lavender that permeates through her normal perfume. He feels like his head’s been put through a wringer, his whole body clenching for a moment as raging sparks erupt across the pit of his belly. He indulges a deep breath, willing the blazing current away in order to keep his cool, but all he can see flashing before his eyes are images of her leaving traces of that smell smeared all over his face as he bobs his head between her quivering thighs.

He takes another penetrating inhale, centering his mind back into the present. He needs to behave.

Her friends spot him immediately, their side of the conversation faltering to ash. They give Harry a wide-eyed once-over, mouths parting in slight shock as they drink up his attractive appearance, gazes lingering along his thick chest as it strains the baby blue material of his tee. Their sights drag across his broad shoulders, dainty collarbones, and strong neck, faces gawking without remorse, blinking emptily at the slope of his sharp jaw and the peaks of his prominent cheekbones. They seem to be at a loss for words the second his dimples indent into place, his brows shrugging in a half-assed greeting before he cocks his head to side a tad, voice velvet as it directs towards the girl they had forgotten existed.  

“I’m guessing you’re the designated driver?”

Y/N jumps slightly in response at the new addition to the painfully dying conversation, not recognizing the heavy English accent and deep baritone that booms behind her. She had been wondering why Melissa and Isabel had stopped talking so abruptly, and she now has her answer. 

Y/N slowly goes to cast a curious glance over her shoulder and Harry can hear the pulse flaring in her neck from the sudden intrusion to her surroundings. His fangs prick along the inside of his bottom lip due to carnal instincts; he has to will them back into receding. 

 When her eyes land on the owner of the random words, her finger immediately halts its swirling motions along the hem of her glass.

‘Fuck.’ is the only thought that registers through her short-circuiting mind. 

The lanky, curly-haired brunette that stands before her gives a gentle yet confident smile, the gesture dazzling even in the low lighting of the atmosphere. He’s absolutely gorgeous, with deep pits carving into his cheeks, perfect teeth complimenting full cherry red lips, eyes the color of a rainforest canopy, and a broad frame that is somehow not overwhelming. He’s sporting neatly ironed tan slacks, a fitted cotton shirt with a cute yet crude graphic at its center, a fancy plaid coat, and crisp yellow Vans without a single smudge in sight.

Y/N can’t help but take notice of all the little details of his fit, especially the accessories. A beautiful pearl necklace laid along his delicate clavicle, a cross resting between his defined pectorals, and a matching earring dangling from his earlobe. Not to mention the array of clunky rings arranged along nimble fingers, hugging a tall glass carrying caramel liquor and somehow managing to dwarf the cup’s size. The extra decoration is sensual in such an unexpectedly delicious manner. 

The hand he has tucked in his pants ducks out to comb through his dark auburn ringlets and Y/N can feel her mouth water at the new round of elegant rings. The action activates the cologne Harry had thoughtfully spritz in specific pressure points along his body, the scent of tobacco and vanilla traveling through the fog-heavy air and causing Y/N’s stomach to summersault. 

The young man is as close to flawless as anyone could ever come. 

Y/N feels an unmistakable sharp pain shoot through her ankle, and she comes to the realization that it had been the tip of one of her friend’s heels. The reality check jars her out of the embarrassing daze he’d spelled onto her, open mouth snapping shut and her lashes fluttering over her previously unblinking eyes. 

“Oh! Uhm—uh—” She clumsily twists sideways to fully face him, swallowing thickly and tasting the remnants of the alcohol she’d barely been nursing. “N-No. I’m not— well, I don’t think…? We Ubered here so that wouldn’t make any sense ‘cause I have no car to drive...so...” 

The boy chuckles softly at her choppy monologue, his laughter warm and inviting, similar to the look reflecting off his shiney irises, the golden flecks around his pupils seeming to swell and shrink from the rainbow lights cascading across them. Despite being caught off guard and utterly embarrassed, she can’t seem to break eye contact with him. The longer she gazes into his eyes, the more relaxed she begins to feel, a fuzzy heat stemming from the center of her belly and spreading up her neck and ears. 

Y/N gulps heavily like before, willing her tongue to produce a less embarrassing comment. “Sorry. Let me...Let me start over…Hi.”

“Hello.” He quips back playfully, lopsided grin widening in fond amusement. He lifts his drink up a bit in greeting. “M’Harry.”

“Y/N.” The girl squeaks out, copying his gesture because it’s easier than forcing her disoriented brain to try and come up with its own. 

Harry flirts his intent up and down Y/N’s body slowly, checking her out without any subtlety. He wants her to know he’s interested. 

When his sight locks with hers again, he bats his lashes sultrily and pours as much passion as he can into his tone, accent weighing in just right. “S’nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Her entire face prickles at how her name sounds dripping from those faultless raspberry lips. She’d pay anything to hear him say it again. “You, too.” 

This is not what Y/N intended. This is most definitely not what she’d intended to happen when she’d reluctantly agreed to go out with some coworkers on a Friday night, giving in simply because she had promised herself she’d be more social within her new job. 

She had moved to California roughly two months ago, wanting to get away from her old life in the small, boring town she hated to call home. Buying the flight had been a drastic decision made when she had been under the influence of something she’d rather not admit, but the following day— after she had sobered up from a wicked hangover— she found herself not wanting to cancel the trip. Found herself craving the excitement and adventure of beginning anew somewhere far away from everything she had ever known. 

All of Y/N’s friends back home had supported her without hesitation, egging her preposterous idea and congratulating her on “getting the fuck out of here.” Her family had been a little less supportive, but after a few heartfelt chats about following your ambitions and a budgeting lesson from her cousin, they had gingerly gotten on board. They understood that keeping her trapped in that lame town where nothing really happened wasn’t the way to ensure her success in life. Therefore, the people closest to her had swallowed their opinions and respected her choice to dive off the deep end, in search of something better beyond the borders of their tiny city. 

Within a week, Y/N had secured a decent job at a semi-popular cafe, courtesy of a connection from a family friend. Within two weeks, after many sleepless nights full of Rocky Road ice cream and the bright white pages of ApartmentFinder.com, she had managed to book a nice flat close to her place of work. It was a miracle, if she’d ever seen one. Especially within the crowded, expensive community that is Los Angeles. Within three weeks, she had been walking out of the giant glass building that was LAX with only two suitcases in tow, boarding an Uber to her new life. 

Things had never seemed more picturesque, she’d thought. Everything was falling into place in a way that seemed almost blessed by the universe.

Then, the culture shock hit. 

California was different. It’s was so fucking different than anything she’d ever faced and she wasn’t prepared for the social difficulties she’d have to hurdle. All her life, Y/N had grown up with the same people around her, spending every school year with them up until graduation, expanding her friend group as time passed. Even after high school, she’d remained closely connected with most of her graduating class. The region she lived in was tiny, tight-knit and friendly; it was hard not to. She couldn’t even go to the store for groceries without bumping into at least three people from her Algebra II class. 

Point being, it had been ages since Y/N had been put in a situation where she actively had to try and make friends. She’d been through that challenge way back in kindergarten and had never been hit with it again. 

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

Y/N didn’t mesh well with Californians, she quickly found out. They were all about crazy parties and club-hopping, whereas Y/N had been raised on community cookouts and mass sleepovers. They enjoyed getting cross-faded and streaking down the beach at two in the morning, meanwhile Y/N liked stripping down to her undies and spending the night binging Queer Eye while stuffing her face with Cheeze-Its and Snickers bars. They freely boasted about their sex adventures while bussing down tables at the restaurant, while Y/N’s intimate life had been nonexistent since the move. 

It was just...startling, to put it lightly. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and that’s mostly her fault for not doing the correct amount of research before jumping headfirst into a cliche LifeTime film. 

Therefore, Y/N had made a pact with herself one month in, swearing to let loose and allow her surroundings to sweep her into a new dynamic— into a new, social butterfly version of herself. She’d started accepting the invitations from her coworkers to go out at night, and she’d started putting more effort into being open to wild experiences, no matter how scary they might seem. Shutting down and refusing to mold to her environment would only result in her having to return home with her tail between her legs, and she’d rather jump naked off a pier than see her parents’ faces wracked with pity. 

And that’s exactly what she’d done a couple nights ago, at the encouragement of the group of girls she was at the club with now. It had, in turn, ended in her coming down with a mild cold, but at least now she’d be able to tell her friends back home a cool story about dropping inhibitions. 

Dropping inhibitions is also why Y/N’s here tonight, dressed in the most party-like outfit she could put together, prodding an overly-boozy drink into her system, attempting to release some of the tension that had been building in her head for the last couple of weeks since she’d left her old life behind. That’s why she’s here, with strands of her blow-dried hair catching on the dark red gloss Melissa has slathered on her mouth in a thick layer. That’s why she’s here, with synthetic smoke scratching at her lungs and drunken men and women bumping into her every two minutes, most of them too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats to realize they’d almost toppled her off her seat. That’s why she’s here, with a blasé expression plastered across her features as her coworkers talk over her head without a second thought, her mind far away from the walls of this overhyped horror house. 

Y/N had been thinking about how she’d just started her Disney+ membership, finding comfort in putting together a mental checklist of all the movies she’s going to plow through the second she sets foot past the doorframe of her apartment. Indulging on her childhood was an ideal form of escapism, in her opinion. She’s positive Walt Disney would agree. 

That’s what her brain had been lost in when Harry’s deep, melodic voice had interrupted her daydreams, sending her spiraling into an embarrassing performance of nerve-induced hysteria. 

Now here she is, blinking back at him dumbly, eyes the smallest bit damp from the smoke machine and neon flashes of light. And here he is, smirking at her over the rim of his glass, eyes raking down her wired up body suggestively as he takes a calm sip from what appears to be the straight tequila in his colossal, bejeweled hand. 

The English boy takes a gradual step closer to her, wanting to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries that would make her uncomfortable. The scent of his cologne intensifies and she feels a fiery heat suddenly pour between her clasped thighs. It just hits her how long it’s truly been since she’s gotten laid and fuck, it’s sad.

Harry begrudgingly peels his attention away from Y/N for a second, aiming his words towards the girls standing behind her with their mouths still opened stupidly. Even from a respectful distance, his warm breath still washes across her jaw and cheek, causing electricity to zip down her spine. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a bit, do you?”

‘Yeah,’ Y/N thinks in the back of her muddled skull, ‘that’s definitely tequila.’

Isabel and Melissa slowly shake their heads in unison, glancing at each other as if to confirm he’d just spoken to them. 

The edges of Harry’s lips jolt into a kind, easygoing smile. “Thank you. Promise I’ll keep her safe.” 

Y/N feels her heart hiccup at his statement. If she’s not insanely mistaken, it appears to have carried an undertone of dirty intentions. God, she’s praying she’s not mistaken. 

The two girls clamber away on their tall pumps, rounding around Harry and pausing for a moment. They make moaning faces and vulgar motions behind him, encouraging Y/N to pursue the stranger. She then watches them disappear into the throng of crowded bodies, leaving her alone with the beautiful boy and her heart slamming against her ribs. 

Y/N focuses back onto Harry, licking her itching lips lightly, not knowing what to say next as he settles himself beside her. He rests his forearm on the counter along with his drink, tucking his other hand back into  his trouser pocket and fixing himself into a comfortable standing position, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. The friction between his jacket and the bar rides his sleeve up an inch or so, and Y/N gets a view of the anchor tattoo he has along his wrist, as well as the upside-down cross inked between his thumb and index finger. 

Harry catches her looking, mouth twitching with a smidge of arrogant self-assurance. He loves when girls drool over his tats. 

“I have more.” He remarks lightly, a pang of condescending pleasure shooting through his chest at the way she jerks and pins her gaze down to the floor. 

Blood rushes into her cheeks at the realization that she’s been caught and Harry’s teeth grind. It’s so hot watching her fidget for him. Maybe he finds her more attractive than he’d originally let on. “Would you like to see them?”

Y/N timidly coaxes herself into locking stares with him once again, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, barely nodding with a soft, “Sure.” 

She looks so pretty like that, he notices, staring up at him all doe-eyed and shy. It’d probably look even better if she were on her knees.

Yeah, he definitely likes her more than he’d thought. 

Harry proceeds to shift about, shrugging his coat off his strong shoulders, letting it slip down his lean arms and reveal the plethora of dark tattoos strewn across his left arm. Y/N watches avidly, drinking up every flex of his biceps under the black paint and every twitch of his pecs beneath his cotton shirt, the tendons along his throat going taut for just a moment. That moment is enough for her to etch the image into the back of her eyelids for the rest of her life. 

Harry tosses the article onto the table, extending his arm over its surface for her to get a better reading. She doesn’t miss the chance, her pupils tracing over every line and stroke of the pen, over every shaded area and meticulous detail. 

His voice comes out as a low, garbled murmur, his own irises studying her features with just as much intensity. “You can touch them, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

After a moment of hesitation, the brim of her crystalline cup is replaced by the ridges of his smooth, tanned skin. She drags her digits over the naked mermaid, tracing the curve of her figure and the dip of her tail, then passing onto the stem of the large rose, ghosting over every thorn and prickle. Harry can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips and it’s making him throb. 

“They’re very pretty.” Y/N whispers, allowing her touch to fall away, palm finding refuge across the counter. “Did they hurt?” 

“A bit, yeah. But I’ve gotten so many done that I think I grew numb to the needle after a while.” Harry answers, shrugging one shoulder to show it’s no big deal. He grasps his glass once again and takes a drawn-out swig, extending the action just so she can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. Once the cup is back in its place, his tongue peeks out and swipes any leftover liquid from his rosy lips, which then settle into a coy simper. “Plus, I kinda like the pain.” 

Y/N’s breathing stutters in her lungs and she swiftly swerves the topic onto something much less explicit. “So why’d you ask if I was the designated driver? That’s kind of an odd question. Very out of the blue.” 

Harry lulls his middle finger across the hem of his glass, exactly how she had been doing earlier, the motion weighed by an innuendo. She seems to understand it, present in how she bites into the inside of her cheek. “I just figured that a pretty girl like you would have easily found someone to dance with. So when I saw you sitting here looking all bored with your drink barely touched…I just assumed, I suppose.” 

And there it is again— the blood pouring into her face. Christ, if she keeps that up, he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Thank you, that’s— that’s really sweet. Proper gentleman.” 

Harry runs his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes snapping to her tinted mouth for a second, establishing some sexual tension that he’ll expand on as they go. “Who doesn’t like a guy who knows how to treat a girl, right?” 

Y/N clears her throat softly, obviously phased by his forward compliment, but she tries to play it off. “To answer your question, I— uhm...I’m not really one for the club scene, I guess. Don’t really like it, but I didn’t want to be rude and turn down the invitation.” 

‘Good girl,’ Harry thinks, silently cheering her on for having more brain cells than the typical human. 

“Well, that’s where we share some common ground, then.” He chimes brightly, a soft smile bringing his dimples to life. “I don’t care for clubs, either, but my friends have an affinity for them so here I am.”

He gestures vaguely towards the general direction where he’d left Mitch, continuing his rant. “The choking smoke, the annoying strobe lights, the crowded floor, the drunk morons—”

“Bumping into you without giving a shit.” Y/N finishes his sentence, her vulgarity drawing a boyish giggle from her companion and now she’s convinced she’d do anything to hear him laugh like that again. “And there’s always a faint smell of vomit coming from somewhere.”

Harry slaps his hand down against the glass table in passionate agreement, voice pitching up slightly as his brows jump in emotion. “Right?! It’s fucking disgusting. Don’t understand how anyone could genuinely enjoy it.” 

Y/N nods vehemently, sharing the same expression of utter distaste towards the subject. “It honestly doesn’t make any sense to me, either. Why come here when you can go to, like, a nice bar somewhere, y’know?”

Harry blinks at her in astonishment, her opinion mirroring his own with psychic-like accuracy. “My thoughts exactly.” 

“Great minds think alike.” Y/N responds playfully, taking a hearty gulp from her drink since the first time he’d spotted her from across the room. 

After a comfortable pause, Harry speaks up, also entertaining another sip from his own drink, which is now nearly empty. “Are you from around here?”

She can’t be. Rarely anyone born and raised here is willing to bash the status quo, and never so openly. 

She’s once again mesmerized by the attractiveness of his rings, but manages to get her composure in check. “Kinda. I moved here about two months ago.” 

Precisely his point.

Harry releases a curious hum over the cup between his lips. “Let me be the one to officially welcome you to Cali, then! Where people go to shitty clubs for fun and tan themselves into a strip of leather.”

Y/N sputters out a half-suppressed giggle and Harry’s brows almost furrow at the weird fluttering in his stomach. He rarely gets it.

Y/N takes another deep gulp of what he thinks is probably an Old Fashioned, silently praising the way she’d finished it off so quickly. She crunches an ice shard between her teeth and lets it melt across her tongue before engaging again. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here either though, are you?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to chuckle a bit and she fights off an endeared smile. 

“What gave it away?” He asks, purposefully doing a thicker, fuller accent, his teasing nature making the grin she’d just stifled fully break through.

Y/N lifts a shoulder offhandedly. “Your accent seems a little too…posh for this area. Or even this hemisphere.”

Harry scoffs softly, the pinky around his glass sticking up jokingly as he kinks an eyebrow at her, a few rouge curls falling across his forehead. “Keen ears, mate.”

Y/N lifts her drink up a bit with a playfully knowing air, mimicking an English dialect. “Cheers.”

He places his empty cup down on the counter, his middle finger once more ghosting around the edge absentmindedly. She notices the pastel yellow polish covering his nails, tiny black smiley faces decorating the lacquer.

“I like your nails.” She admires, tipping her empty lowball towards his hand for significance. “Did you do them yourself?”

Harry glances at his fingers, stretching and wiggling them out, his features taking on a bit of pride. “Sure did.” 

“Don’t think I’ve ever met a guy at a club who could pull off nail polish so easily.” 

The left edge of his lips flicks upwards. “How do you mean?”

Y/N’s gaze bounces back to his and the tone twirling in his jade irises tells her everything she needs to know about keeping this conversation going: he enjoys being praised. 

She chooses her next words carefully, wanting to appeal to his interests. “I mean that it looks amazing on you. The color suits your skin nicely, makes your hands look good.” 

Harry breaks eye contact, glimpsing down at his shoes and she realizes he’s actually trying to hide a blush. The fact that she had managed to coax one out of him boosts her confidence while simultaneously making his own waver. He’s never like this— never so easily flustered. He needs to get it together.

Harry tilts his chin back up, lower lip strung between his two front teeth. His voice comes out as a flirty laugh.

“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.” 

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach. 

“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”

Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”

Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”

“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”

“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.” 

She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give. 

Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”

“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath. 

He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.” 

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.” 

A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.

“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”

“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”

The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.” 

Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks. 

When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.

By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs. 

The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.

By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge. 

An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.

“So how do you like your new home?”

She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”

The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.” 

“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”

“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”

“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.

“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?” 

“Hm?”

His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”

She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.

Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.” 

It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”

Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”

Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again. 

He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”

A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”

“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”

He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.

Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke. 

She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.” 

Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”

The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.” 

With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.  

Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning. 

Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil. 

Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.” 

The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name. 

Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.

She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done. 

She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?

Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”

She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight. 

Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”  

“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”

He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.” 

Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”

“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.” 

It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.

Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” 

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night. 

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer. 

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.  

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.  

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had. 

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.” 

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys. 

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell. 

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them. 

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately. 

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.” 

[fruitcoops]

Hey I was wondering if you could write something kinda angsty but with a pretty ending with the cubs, I’m trynna project getting stood up and turning it into something nice and good, even if it’s just in my head. No pressure but I just wanna smile for a bit and your work always makes me do so :)))

Hello lovely! I’m so sorry that you were stood up--that feels awful and whoever did it missed out on a wonderful person. I’ve combined this with some other asks in the same vein (y’all wanted my boys to hurt) so I hope you don’t mind. Sending love and hugs your way! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove​ <3

1. Bad mental health day for Finn + pushing himself too hard + passing out (ft. Bee anon!)

2. O’Knutzy boiling over with a fluffy ending

3. Insecure Leo

TW for internalized guilt, vaguely implied self-harm (pushing himself too hard at practice), and relationship arguments

Finn had a few bad habits. He left dirty dishes in the sink, could never remember which setting the laundry was supposed to go on, and barely wiped his shoes on the doormat before entering the house. He wasn’t proud of his flaws, but he acknowledged that everyone had some—as long as they didn’t hurt anybody, it wasn’t the end of the world.

This one…this one was different. Even Finn knew that.

He gritted his teeth for the next set of squats, ignoring the ringing in his ears and the climbing nausea in his gut. The chart only said to do three reps, but he had been beating himself up for slacking a set earlier in the week and decided to do five to make up for it.

That, it seemed, was a poor decision.

His thighs were shaking when he finally put the weight down and he leaned on the wall to stabilize himself. “Fish? You okay?” Logan asked from the yoga mat to his right, staring up at him in concern.

“I’m fine,” Finn lied. “Just straightened up too fast.”

“D’accord.” He could feel Logan’s eyes on his back as he left the gym and headed toward the showers.

Finn’s worst habit was taking care of himself, and it wasn’t something that could be explained away as “oh, silly Harzy” like the washing machine. He made a mental note to take some ibuprofen before driving home so he would be marginally less sore in the morning, but he had the sinking feeling it would be a rough practice the next day.

Remus and Talker were playing some sort of volleyball with an old balloon between their stalls when he entered; he missed getting nailed in the head by a narrow margin and waved off their apologies with a forced smile.

A hand closed around his bicep as he passed, snapping him back to reality as Leo’s bright eyes came into focus. “Hey, lovey, is Lo with you?”

“He’s finishing up.”

A small furrow appeared between Leo’s brows. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope.” Finn faked a yawn and stretched his arm over Leo’s shoulder, dragging him down for a kiss on the cheek. “Cap’s workout just kicked my ass today.”

“That’s what they’re supposed to do,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes playfully as he passed. “You’re not a rookie anymore, O’Hara.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.”

Logan entered the locker room a few minutes later; Finn closed his eyes and breathed in the thick steam of the shower until the fog in his head cleared a bit and he couldn’t feel the skin on his shoulders. It billowed off him as he dressed again and tossed the keys to Leo, who raised his eyebrows. “Me?”

“You. There’s a little bit of slush left, and you still need to learn how to drive in it.” And I feel like I’m going to pass out at any minute. He swallowed down the last thought and pasted a teasing grin on his face—what Leo and Logan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. It was his own fault for being lazy in the past.

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

What Leo and Logan didn’t know apparently did hurt them. In hindsight, Finn should have seen that coming before he passed out in the middle of a scrimmage.

The lights of the coach’s office made his headache even worse. “Care to explain?” Arthur asked in a voice like frost. To his left, Sirius was glowering.

“I already told Hestia—”

“Yeah, I know what you told Hestia,” Arthur interrupted. “I want to hear it directly from you.”

Finn sighed through his nose and picked at a stray thread on his jersey. “I…I pushed myself a little too hard at yesterday’s practice and didn’t say anything when I started feeling bad.”

“Why.” Sirius’ eyes were hard as flint.

“Because I didn’t want to be a pain in the ass! I can handle some aching muscles, it’s not a big deal!”

“Not a—”

Arthur put his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “That’s enough, Black. O’Hara, I want you to look me in the eyes.” Finn raised his head. “This was a dumbass mistake and all of us expected better from you. Your safety and health come before any workout routine, and it is your responsibility to speak up before you scare the shit out of us by dropping like a rock.”

“I’m sorry, Coach.”

“Apology accepted. I also want you to call Heather when you get home and schedule an appointment with her.” Some of Arthur’s frustration melted into genuine concern and guilt crawled up Finn’s throat. “Doing that to yourself isn’t healthy, Finn. You’re a good man, smart, and I know you know better.”

“Can we talk for a second?” Sirius asked quietly, glancing at Arthur. He nodded and left the room.

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck, Finn?” Sirius ran a hand down his face, suddenly pale. “What the fuck was that?”

“It was stupid.”

“Yeah, no, I got that part.”

“I slacked off a set on Monday.”

“Wow, nobody’s ever done that before,” he said sarcastically, sitting down in the chair by the wall as Finn resumed messing with his hem. “You scared the hell out of all of us.”

“I know.”

“You know I’m not mad at you, right? I’m upset that you thought you had to do that at all.”

Tears prickled the backs of Finn’s eyes. “I know.”

“I’m sure as hell not your coach or your dad, but I’m going to say this as your friend, okay?” Sirius leaned over into Finn’s field of view. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you. This team wouldn’t be the same without you. I wouldn’t be the same without you. We need you to take care of yourself, Harzy.”

Finn nodded silently and Sirius gave his hand a quick squeeze, which he returned. “Does everyone know?”

“I told them you were under the weather, nothing more.”

“Classic media answer.” He tried and failed to crack a smile. “Thanks for not telling on me.”

“That’s not my job. My job is herding cats on ice skates for five hours a day.”

Finn’s smile was real that time and he managed a light laugh as he swiped away the dampness on his cheeks. “Love you, man.”

“Love you, too.” Sirius helped him stand up and hugged him tight for a second before letting go. “Speaking as someone who used to do the exact same thing, talking to Heather makes a world of difference.”

“I’ll give her a call.”

The cold feeling returned to Finn’s gut when they stepped out of the office; Leo and Logan were waiting by the opposite wall, looking angrier than Finn had ever seen. Sirius patted his shoulder once before walking off down the hallway toward the locker room, where he would no doubt deflect even more questions.

“Hey,” Finn said, barely above a whisper. Logan continued to stare at the ground.

“You lied to us,” Leo said bluntly. “Several times. Both of us asked if you were alright and you told us you were fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I accept your apology, but I don’t understand.” He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Finn, this isn’t how we deal with things. We agreed to be a team.”

Finn bit his lip. I fucked this one up. “We did. I am so sorry for scaring you—”

“We’re not mad that you scared us,” Logan snapped, still looking anywhere but his face. “We’re upset that you refuse to take care of yourself and then lied to us about it.”

Leo nudged Logan’s shoulder before turning back. “Why did you do that, Finn?”

“I didn’t want to fall behind. I was just trying to make up for the set I skipped on Monday.”

“What? Twenty squats and some pushups? That’s not worth your health, honey.” The pet name soothed the terror clutching Finn’s heart and he took a deep breath. They still loved him. This wasn’t the end.

“It was a stupid thing to do and it won’t happen again.”

“Good. Let’s go home.” Logan grabbed his duffel bag off the ground and started walking toward the door; Leo looked like he was going to say something, but Finn gently took his elbow.

“He’s going to need a minute,” he said under his breath. Logan was a hothead about many things, but lying was in the top three. Finn knew he hurt him deep.

“Did you…” Leo trailed off and pressed his lips together as they followed Logan into the parking lot. “Did you feel like you couldn’t tell me?”

Finn shook his head. “No. This was all on me.”

“It’s just that I know I’m younger than both of you and I’m new to the hockey lifestyle, but I never want you to think you can’t trust me—”

“Leo.” Finn stopped walking and tugged on Leo’s hand, turning him around. Worry was painted all over his face and it sliced to Finn’s core. “I trust you and Logan with everything, but I got into my head about this and I wasn’t thinking about how it would hurt you. Please believe that.”

Leo sighed. “I do. I just don’t get it.”

“Neither do I, to be honest.” Logan was already sitting in the car with his headphones on as they crossed the lot. “It’s going to take him a while to talk to me, isn’t it?”

“He was really upset.”

“We’ll figure this out.” He tightened his grip on Leo’s hand. “We’ve made it through worse.”

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

The apartment crackled with tension until Finn literally had to stick his head out the open window to get a breath of fresh air. Waves of frustration and hurt rolled off Logan, though he still refused to look Finn in the eyes.

After dinner, Leo slid into the armchair before Logan could get there, leaving only the couch available. They carefully sat on opposite sides—Finn stole glances at Logan out of the corner of his eye for the entire first half of the movie. Ninety minutes of action later, he felt something chilly poking at his calf.

Logan kept his gaze trained on the TV as he scooted his freezing toes under Finn’s legs. Relief flooded Finn’s veins; he felt a little like crying, but instead schooled his expression into a small smile and rested his hand on Logan’s ankle, where it stayed until the movie ended.

Leo had fallen asleep by that time, splayed out sideways on the cushion with his face smushed against the armrest. “Il est mignon,” Logan said softly. There was a beat of silence and he looked over at Finn. “He’s cute.”

“He is.” Finn cleared his throat and met his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lo. I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry.”

“Promise me you won’t do that again.”

“I won’t.”

Finn had a few bad habits, but backing out on his promises would never be one of them.

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.6

Spencer is in love with you, but you’re engaged to someone else.

Chapter Six: Do I Wanna Know?: Late nights at the office. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading.   Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: cursing, heartbreak, unrequited / unreciprocated love, very angsty, mentions of cheating / cheating, this series is a real slow burn babyyy

series masterlist

A/N: i actually i can't get over all of your support and just the nicest feedback omg !! i hope you like chapter six as much as you liked the others.. ENJOY!

-

“Look dad, I can’t really talk right now.” You muttered into the phone. “Don’t tell me you’re working pumpkin.” Your dad responded, a slight hint of fatherly disappointment in his voice. “It’s Friday night. You should be out with Ethan, enjoying your youth!” He exclaimed.

“We just got back from a case so I have a mountain of paperwork.”

“And what does your fiancé have to say about this?”

“He’s working too.”

Anthony sighed on the other line. “At least tell me you’re not in that office all alone.”

“Don’t worry dad, uhm, Spencer is here.” You glanced in the direction of the brunette doctor. He looked up at the sound of his name escaping your lips and a timid smile appeared on his face. Nervously, you smiled back before quickly averting your gaze.

Ever since your slip up on the case, you didn't know how to act around him. You felt incredibly guilty for allowing your emotions get the best of you, and almost ruining the friendship both of you cherish so hard.

Spencer on the other hand, being his usual kindhearted self, didn't let the tense situation change anything. Partially because he felt guilty too, although mainly because he knew that he’d lose you forever if he allowed for one moment of weakness to get between you.

He did everything in his power to make sure things weren't super awkward. He initiated conversation at every opportunity. He brought you coffee in the mornings, and walked you to your hotel room at night. He showed no sign of anger or disdain, yet you remained distant.

“Ah good, good.” Your dad retorted. “Say hello to the brilliant doctor for me, won't you pumpkin.” “I will. Bye dad, love you.” “Love you too.” You hung up the call and placed your phone on the desk. Sighing softly, you ran your fingers through your hair before once again glancing in Spencer’s direction.

The hazel-eyed man was already looking at you. This time, as your eyes locked, your heart skipped a beat.

“My dad,-” You cleared your throat. “My dad says hi.” You repeated the short message making the small smile on Spencer’s face spread a little wider. “Next time you’re talking to him, say hello from me too.” You nodded at his request and with one last shy smile, you turned your attention back to the files spread across your desk.

As you tried your best to focus on the task at hand, Spencer found himself unable to avert his gaze.

It hurt to see you act this way. It hurt to see you hurting.

“Are you hungry?” Spencer asked, making conversation. You shook your head ‘no’ without even looking at him.

The brunette doctor could tell that there was something on your mind. He could also tell it was something bigger than the almost kiss.

He got to his feet and ambled towards you, stopping at the edge of your desk. His sudden closeness, more so the smell of his cologne, caused you to avert your gaze upwards.

“We should talk.” He stated calmly.

“What about?” You played oblivious, blinking up at him.

“About what happened the other day.”

Shit. “I have a lot of work to do Spencer.” You replied quietly, so quiet in fact you weren't even sure he heard you.

“I think this is more important Y/N.” He uttered while pulling up a chair next to you. “You’ve been walking on eggshells around me for days now, and it needs to stop.”

You swallowed your breath. “That’s easier said than done. We almost crossed a line, and I can't help but feel terrible about that. Fuck Spencer, I’m getting married.”

“I know. Which is why almost is the key word there Y/N.” He said. “Plus, don’t forget that you’re not the only person complicit in what happened. I was there too and unlike you, I didn't stop us.”

He was of course correct. Spencer was the voice of reason even back when you were dating. He always did the right thing, and knew exactly how to bring you back to earth - especially when you didn't want to.

You nodded your head slowly. “I-I guess you’re right.”

Spencer smiled at your response. “Of course I am. Now, are we good?” “I guess we’re good.” You repeated. Although your gut was telling you something different.

Spencer sprung to his feet and extended his hand. You furrowed your brows slightly confused. Spencer immediately noticed the perplexed expression and your face and chuckled lightly. “You can’t work on an empty stomach.”

“Sure I can.” You tried to stand your ground but the brunette doctor wasn’t having it. Usually, this is where he’d grace you with a fact or statistic about using your brain while your stomach was empty. But not this time. Without uttering another word, he reached for one of your hands and pulled you up effortlessly.

“Let’s go. Come on.”

Over the next week while everyone cleared out for the evening, Spencer and you remained. To anyone that asked the excuse was of course work. The truth was a lot more complicated.

Although neither of you admitted it, those late nights at the office were the best part of your days. You laughed, ate cheap take out dinners, reminisced, played chess. Spencer taught you card tricks, while you played him newly discovered music. Bliss.

Of course, you could have done all of this either of your homes. Ethan was away at a conference meaning you had the free space, but you couldn't bring yourself to suggest it. Since with every day that passed your feelings for Spencer shifted into something all too familiar. The office was safer. 

“We better get some work done.” You laughed as Spencer threw his arms up to celebrate yet another chess game victory.

“You're just saying that because you lost.” He grinned causing you to roll your eyes. “Have you ever heard of the term ‘sore winner’ doctor? Because that’s what you are.” You said making him laugh.

“Still a winner.” Spencer replied shrugging his shoulders. He opened the drawer of his desk to retrieve a black notebook and grabbed a pen. He flicked briskly through the pages to find the correct one and scribbled down the scores. “This marks my tenth win against you this week.”

“Don’t get cocky genius. I’m not that far behind.” You affirmed.

Spencer’s grin grew a little wider. “Have you ever heard of the term ‘sore loser’ Y/N? Because that’s what you are.” He teased. Laughing, you reached for one of the chess pieces and threw it at the brunette doctor. He caught it with ease and gloatingly stuck his tongue out at you.

“How very mature doctor.” You joked while standing up. You straightened out your skirt and fixed the hem of your shirt before glancing back up at the hazel-eyed man who was watching you intensively. The second your gaze landed on him however, he looked away clearing his throat.

“I should eh, get those boxes back to the file room.” Spencer said while pointing at the stacked cardboard pile.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“No, no. I can manage.” He replied while getting to his feet. Rolling your eyes, you walked over to the boxes. “Don’t be silly doctor. It would take you at least four trips, and together maybe we’ll manage in two.” You said looking back at him.

The brunette doctor swallowed. Spending this much time with you alone was a dream come true, and he knew he should consider himself lucky. However, with every second that passed he could sense something lingered in the air. The kiss that didn't happen.

It wasn’t a huge issue. As long as the two of you were preoccupied, Spencer’s mind stirred away from wondering about things it shouldn't be. The almost kiss. Yet now he found himself feeling lightly awry of going to the file room with you.

Eventually he nodded and moved toward you, reaching for one of the boxes still on the ground. His heart hammering inside his chest as you looked at him with the prettiest smile gracing your already perfect features.

“This way we’ll be done in no time, and maybe have time for another game of chess.” You stated as you walked ahead to the elevator.

“Another chance for me to beat you.” Spencer replied, trying his best to hide his sudden nervousness.

“Someone’s feeling confident.” You noted while stepping inside the machine. The brunette doctor followed close behind. He pressed the floor button with his elbow and soon the elevator began to move.

Spencer chuckled. “Taking into consideration our past games, the odds are in my favour.”

His eyes locked with yours again. Of course he caught himself staring at times over the last week- how could he not? He knew that you noticed it too, but it didn't seem to bother you. Quite the opposite actually. It ever so slightly made you blush.

“Why didn’t you stop us?” The question escaped you unintentionally. Once you realised you said it, it was too late. Shit.

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked, although he knew exactly what was on your mind and your lack of response only proved he was right.

Before he could say anything, deflect perhaps, the elevator stopped on the desired floor. The doors flung open, and you didn't waste any time to hurry out of there - away from the conversation.

“Y/N, wait!” Spencer called after you.

“I shouldn't have said anything.” You replied without looking back at him.

Spencer huffed. He hurried ahead and towered over you, causing you to halt in your spot.

“We were doing good, we had a great week. Can we just forget I even asked that stupid question? It just slipped out and...” You trailed off; hesitantly glancing up to meet his gaze.

“I can tell this is bothering you. I can tell this is obviously still on your mind just like it is on mine, therefore this time we should talk it out.” Spencer retorted.

“Please Spencer, just drop it.” You muttered back. With your mouth pursed into a tight smile, you began to walk around the brunette doctor.

What happened next was a blur.

Faint thud. Clatter. The cardboard container previously in Spencer’s hands was now on the floor, papers spilling out.

He pulled you back. His grip around your arm strong yet not too tight. In the space of a single heartbeat, before you got a chance to react, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be.

As Spencer’s hands moved graciously to your face, your grasp on the box loosened and fell to your feet completely betraying your better judgement. Once there was nothing left between you, Spencer pushed himself in closer so that you were now standing chest to chest. Completely melting into one another.

Your instincts were to push him away and tell him to stop. Tell him if what didn't happen last week was wrong then this definitely was too. Instead your fingers tangled in his perfectly messy hair, tugging slightly at the roots. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered harder with each passing second.

Spencer bit your bottom lip causing your mouth to part. His tongue slid inside within an exchange of breaths and attached itself to yours. His hands still holding your face, thumbs gently caressing your flushed pink cheeks.

Without warning, past memories of the two of you in this very position flooded your mind. Spencer and you kissing for the first time outside your old apartment door. Sharing soft comforting moments after particularly tough cases. Leaning across the dinner table at a restaurant, the flickering light reflecting in Spencer’s eyes. In the middle of the street, under the street lamps, as if you were the only people left in the world.

The overpowering euphoria you felt just seconds ago passed and was immediately replaced by guilt.

Both of you pulled away breathless.

“This- I- we- I can’t. I’m sorry.” You blurted out, freeing yourself from his embrace.

The words were painful to say and even more agonising for Spencer to hear. His nose twitched, and his eyes glossed over with tears. However, he didn't protest. He nodded his head in understanding and swallowed his breath.

“Treat it as a goodbye kiss.” Spencer rationalised. “Now, there is nothing holding you back from your happy ever after.”

His lips formed into a thin half-smile before he began to clean up the files currently scattered over the floor.

You opened your mouth to say something but no words came out. What could you have said? That now there was something holding you back?

You chewed on your lip and wiped the single tear from the corner of your eye before joining him in complete silence.

It was better to leave it alone. Yet another memory - right?

(Baby, we both know) That the nights were mainly made For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day

-

A/N: hello friends! i hope you liked this chapter (not a fan of cheating so this was a little hard for me to write but THEY FINALLY KISSED AH !! i’d love to hear your feedback and as always if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne​, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​

masterlist | series masterlist | series playlist

[kariachi]

While I work on something y’all ain’t gonna see for ages, some more Osmobeast college stuff.

Oh Kevin.

~~

Something that had been coming more to his attention since he started using the research labs was that while his classmates loved the fiddly bits of engineering- the math, tinkering, planning- they weren’t so big on machining. They seemed to see it as a necessary chore, an inevitable step on the road to proper construction. He adored it. It made for a nice break from everything else, and he’d always enjoyed getting his mitts deep into every stage of a project, making sure as much as possible was exactly to his needs and standards.

Gar’d called him an ‘artisan’ once, and he was still kind’ve riding that high.

So really, time in the shop with his classmates generally amounted more to them each handing him a list of specs and a tenner before sitting on the other side of the room and chatting while he worked. That day’s topic of choice: what moron had left what they were assuming had been a ham and cheese sandwich in the back of one of the storage cupboards and how long ago given how much of it had given way to a weird mold Tracie was delivering to the biology department as they spoke. The best guesses so far, in his opinion, were sitting at ‘at least since fall quarter’ and ‘that dipshit with the misspelled tattoo’. From the classes they’d shared, he seemed the type.

“Kev?” His heart skipped a beat at the sound of Gar’s voice, but in the name of safety he waited until he’d finished cutting out the hole he’d been working on and had everything shut down and safely set aside before turning towards the door. He was leaned half in the doorway, exchanging quick waves with Kevin’s classmates.

“You okay?” Giving him a toothy smile he had- by law- to return, Gar nodded.

“I’m fine,” he said, “but we need an engineer in the med labs and…” He gave a little shrug and immediately Kevin was getting to his feet, shucking his safety gear.

“Alright. I’ll come back and finish you guys’ shit later.” A wave of approvals and nods came from the group along with a little too meaningful of smiles.

“Yeah, yeah, go and help your boyfriend.” Pitching his work gloves at Chris’s head as he passed, he fought down the heat in his face and rolled his eyes in Gar’s direction. ‘Pay no attention, he’s an asshole, nothing to see here.’ Luckily, Gar just shook his head in response. Still, Kevin waited until they were far enough down the hall to evade notice before throwing an arm around his shoulders, if just to avoid his classmates getting even more up in his business than they already were.

It wasn’t like he was going to entirely miss out on a chance to have his arm around him.

“So,” he asked as they went, “what’s the problem?” Gar hemmed over his response and did not move closer, down Levin.

“Have you ever seen a microscope just, collapse,” he asked, gesturing for emphasis. Kevin took a moment.

“I have not, no.”

“Well it happened. Just a pile of parts.”

“So you need someone to fix it,” Kevin laughed. And he’d come to him. Life could be good.

“Well apparently they’re really expensive,” Gar said with a chuckle, “and I’d rather the school not try to blame Alaia just so they don’t have to foot the bill.” Of course not, he was a sweetheart like that. There was a reason Kevin was so fucking gone for him, and that he didn’t have single fucking chance.

“I’ll give it a look,” he said. “No promises, but I might be able to do the job.” Gar snorted and gave him a grin that made his guts do cartwheels.

“If you can’t do it, it can’t be done.” Tightening his grip, Kevin grinned back. The man was going to be the death of him, him and his stupid face and his utmost belief in his abilities.

Now he had to fix the damn thing, one way or another.

[sorryimanon]

A Bit Stir Crazy: Pt 2

(Note: I tried to challenge myself on writing smut. It is not my strongest field, but I had fun writing this. Enjoy.)

Warning: 18+

-

After the embarrassing confrontation the morning of day 16, you found yourself even more on edge. Anything relating to eating, sleeping, and hygiene wasn’t on your mental critia for the rest of the day. Your mind was set on one thing only. Katsuki.

Childish as it is, you didn’t mind lying down in bed daydreaming perfect scenarios of you and Katsuki. Sometimes you’d catch yourself clutching to the nearest pillow , pretending it’s him you’re cuddling . Pathetic. Thank god he didn’t have a telepathy quirk, or else you’d be packing your shit by now. You were in the middle of a good daydream when all of a sudden you hear the painful sound of hardwood being dragged across the floor. It was coming from Bakugous room. Blocking out the sound was impossible, it kept going on for another good 5 minutes. What the hell is the doing in there?

The temptation to yell at him to keep it down was immeasurable, but you were still skittish to show the mere sight of yourself to Katsuki again. For the next hour, you stared blankly at the chipped ceiling, listening to your roommate rearranging the entirety of his small ass room. How could you blame him though? This quarantine has made nearly go ludicrous due to boredem. Some were sadly succumb to becoming stir crazy, which you weren’t denying could possibly be you by now. You also noticed your hormones were more off the rails. Every hour you had the weird inkling to touch yourself. or just once in awhile brush up against the pillow you were holding. You couldn’t help it. No physical or social contact from the outside world for the past 16 days.

Evening struck and you haven’t eaten anything all day. The cereal from this morning made a surprise visit not long ago, causing your appetite to dissipate completely. Although, you did want to get your hands on the left over pizza Katsuki ordered last night. You were about to get up when you heard two loud knocks coming from your door.

“Hey dumbass, don’t think I didn’t notice you not eating all day. I made you some soup since you’re lazy to make something right now.” He sounded agitated, but you knew better that he meant well. “I’ll leave it by the door since I know...you...tch. Just fucking eat. If you don’t I’ll make you okay?”

And with that he left, making it clear for you to hear the door to his room close. You waddle over to the door and open it quickly, scooping up the piping hot bowl of soup. You hate to admit it, Katsuki makes a pretty damn good soup. A little spicy though.

-

Later that night, you laid on your back, toying with the hem of your panties. The muscles in your arms restricting you from going any further. A sick punishment really. You needed some relief, something to get this feral feeling out of your system. Touching yourself wasn’t a foreign feeling. You had a boyfriend to handle the task for you. Note, had a boyfriend. He randomly stopped texting you one day and after that you assumed he didn’t find you attractive anymore. Which sucks because he was great in bed.

Now it’s been almost a year without any form of sexual pleasure from another person. The thought alone made you groan out loud. I am such a fucking loser.

Your fingers itched closer as the minutes ticked by. Just do it, Katsuki should be asleep by now. With a quick glance at your clock, the red numbers 10:30 stared right back. You sighed in relief remembering that Katsuki has been keen on knocking out by 9:00. The sudden burst of confidence caused you to finally plunge your hand into your panties. The feeling of your index finger brushing up against your clit made your whole body shiver. Oh, it definitely has been a year. Making sure there was no evidence of anyone being awake in the next room, you rubbed the very sensitive bud with a slow and teasing motion. You wanted this session to last a while, so you stopped rubbing and dipped your middle finger into the hole. A soft moan escaped your mouth, with which you quickly slapped your mouth with your hand, trying to cover up any lewd noises you might emit.

10 minutes have past and you haven’t climaxed yet. You were starting to get tired of fingering yourself, noticing the warm sensation in your lower stomach has went away. Then, an involuntary image of Katsuki flashed behind your closed eyes. He was there, above you while looking absolutely feral. His eyes were no longer red, but somehow dilated to the point where they were just plain black. You felt the warmness coming back again as you glance down from his eyes to the placement of his hands. The mere sight made you gasp. Katsuki, with his knees proping himself, had his fingers inside of you. No longer were you covering your mouth, each and every whimper or moan left your throat. Katsuki gave you his infamous smirk and began to thrust his fingers faster within you. You couldn’t help but to clench around his fingers, wanting to get as close as possible.

“That’s it baby, come for me.” Katsuki spoke in a sultry tone.

Surprised by him speaking out, your eyes widened to the uncommon nickname.

“You look so fucking cute like this. Taking my fingers like a good girl...so fucking well baby ah fuck!” He continued with his lewd comments. He kept the usual pace while saying sweet nothings in the air.

“Katsuki...nagh...please make me come.” You pleaded softly.

With that, he curled his fingers inside you, causing a long drawn out moan from you. You felt it, then you finally released once he rubbed the tiny bud that desperately needed attention.

“Fuck, Katsuki...” you said breathlessly, eyes drawn to a close in complete euphoria.

Wanting to look back at the man who delivered you to climax, you opened your eyes to see nothing but darkness. Everything was a lucid dream. Katsuki wasn’t actually here to your beckoning call.

Embarrassed, you slipped on a fresh pair of panties and rolled onto bed, knocking out right away due to your recent endeavor.

Behind the wall next door, a lone Katsuki laid awake with his hand wrapped around his qivering member, breathing harshly after climaxing as well with you. He slapped his forehead.

“Fuck.”

-

The following morning, you woke up feeling much better. The constant pang in your lower region was gone, leaving you with an obvious glow. Katsuki noticed too when you strutted into the kitchen, wearing nothing but your big tshirt. His mind went ravage there, thinking about whether or not if you were wearing panties underneath. Considering what he heard last night made him think otherwise.

“Sleep well dumbass?” Katsuki asked as you made yourself a cup of coffee. You didn’t detect how smug he sounded. He was leaning against the island, wearing his usual attire of a tank top and sweat pants.

Thinking nothing of it, you answered his innocent inquiry. “Yeah actually. I haven’t slept that well in ages.” You took a sip of your coffee and leaned against the counter, your body mimicking Katsukis position.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh really? Some type of remedy I don’t know of that makes you sleep well?” Again, you didn’t notice how tauting his tone was.

“O-Oh um, nothing too complex really. Just a simple uh, breathing excerise I did.” You lied through your teeth.

“Ah that makes sense. No wonder I heard you breathing so hard last night” Katsuki snapped his fingers.

You regretfully spit out your coffee, coating the tiled floor with the sugary brown liquid. Katsuki titled his head innocently at you.

“Something I said?”

“N-No I just forgot I left our clothes in the washer last night. I should probably head downstairs now before some creep steals our stuff!” You spewd a last minute excuse and ran out the door before hearing anything from Katsuki.

“Was definitely something I said.”

-

The laundry mat downstairs was empty. The mornings were usually packed, having either you or bakugou to stand outside the door for an open machine. This time you wish there was people occupying the space.

You had propped yourself on the washing machine, feet dangling a few feet from the floor. He knows what you did last night. He absolutely knows. How stupid of you to not realize his bed was agasint the shared wall. It was agonizingly painful to imagine how Katsuki felt during that haunting hour. He probably threw up to the thought of you touching yourself, specifically to him getting you off. Tears started to threateningly leave your eyes. No matter how many times you tried not to cry during this whole ordeal, a single tear slid down your face. Next thing you knew a whole stream was pouring out both of your eyes. If a person were to come in at this exact moment, they’d think you were a lunatic.

That’s when you heard loud footsteps coming from the entrance of the laundry matt. Deep down you knew who it might be, but you couldn’t muster up the courage to look up. You kept your head down, eyes focusing on your bare feet swaying back and forth. A pair of feet came into view, your knees slightly touching their upper thigh. You lowered your head even more, not wanting to face Katsuki and his judgmental glare.

“Y/N? Look at me,” he demanded.

You shook your head, still keeping it down.

“I said,” he places his finger beneath your chin, raising it to where you were eye level with him. “Look at me.”

You gulped, noticing how angry he looks right now. Is he angry at you touching yourself to him? Or is he mad about something else?

“Listen, I know what you did last night-“

That’s it. You cringed hard at his confession. Nothing mattered right now anymore. Katsuki was just white noise at this point. Dying sounded more appealing than listening to your roomate spiel about how they caught you masturbating. Oh the horror.

“That’s why I think we should please each other for the time while being quarantined together”, he finished.

Wait what.

The look he gave you was unlike any other look you’ve received from him. He was pleading, almost begging, with his eyes. You barely noticed his grasp on your thigh. The grasp grew tighter each second you left him unanswered.

“We both need this. I haven’t had any relief from another person in months...” he admitted while simultaneously rubbing your thigh.

You wanted this more than anything, but you didn’t openly admit that to him. Especially not in an open space like a laundry matt, where someone could walk in at any moment.

“Katsuki...I don’t think we should-“ he caught you by surprise with the sudden impact of his lips. The contact made you both moan into each other’s mouths. The hand that was grasping your thigh earlier soon trailed higher to your inner thigh. His cold hand against your already flushed body was enough to make you climax. When he got courageous enough to place his hand on your waist, you scooted closer to his body, giving him an invitation to step inbetween your legs. He obliged and closed the space between the both of you, using his other hand to cup your cheek. Katsuki grew ansty and bit your lower lip, wanting to gain more access in your mouth. You surrender and let him kiss you tongue first. You closed your eyes in ecstasy, letting him explore your mouth with his expert tongue. Katsuki grabbed your hands and placed them on his head, implying for you to grab a handful of his hair. Once you ran your hands through his blonde locks, his whole entire body tensed up. He quickly detatched his lips from your mouth, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Keep...Keep doing that please.” He whined. You smiled at his approval and continued to rake through his hair.

His whimpers were angelic as you kept tugging on his hair while he kissed you open mouthed.

You both were at it for awhile, making out and touching places that needed attention from the other. When the two of you let go for some air, a string of saliva strewn from both of your mouths. Flustered at the sight, Katsuki licked your bottom lip and gave it a quick peck before lifting your body from the washer. You squeaked loudly due to the aruptness and wrapped your legs around his waist.

The trip back to the apartment wasn’t long. Katsuki was careful not to drop you as he treaded up the stair case. Your apartment door came into view and without hesitation Katsuki kicked it open, breaking the hinges along with it.

“Katsuki! How are we going to pay for that!” You scolded him, playfully hitting his chest.

He chuckled at that and closed what was left of the door with his foot.

“I’m not worried about that right now. Too busy on taking care of you,” he mumbled the last part before attaching his lips to yours again.

Clumsily, the pair of you made it to his bedroom without breaking anything else in the process. Katsuki practically threw you on his bed, your back landing on one of his pillows. He climbed on top of you and observed your whole entire body. Internally you were shaking uncontrollably, but externally you gave the facade that you were completely calm. Katsuki took this as a sign to move his hand under your shirt, still staring at you intently. You felt his fingers inches away from your perched nipple. His hand reached your breast, giving it a good squeeze before pinching it with his fingers. You voluntarily arched your back, wanting him to explore more of your body.

“You like that?” He questioned, still pinching your sensitive nipple.

Answering him by moaning, he used his other hand to trail a line leading up to your inner thigh. He moved up and down slowly in a teasing pace, careful not to touch your heat yet. He replaced his digits with his thumb to rub your nipple in place. His smirk grew wider seeing you squirm beneath his touch. Deep down he always wanted to see you like this. Flustered to the core and whimpering to his subtle touch. He couldn’t wait to see you screaming out in pleasure. He wanted nothing more than to hear you call out his name in pure ecstasy.

As much as you wanted Katsuki to worship your body, the desire for him to fill you was more important.

“Kasu-...Katsuki, please.” You urged on, bucking your hips to meet his.

“Please what dumbass? Hm? Use your words,” he traced the outline of your lips carefully, opening your mouth wider.

“I need you inside me. I want to feel you...” you pathetically begged out him to.

Katsuki saw the desperation in your body language and voice. Swiftly, he pulled your panties down to your ankles, letting you move them aside to the floor. The wetness from your heat was slowly dripping down your thighs. Prepped and ready for whatever Katsuki has in store for you. Your cunt throbbed painfully from the anticipation of his next move. 

“You want me now baby?” He seductively said, earning an earnest groan from you as a reply. He kept himself busy by pumping his member through his sweats. His eyes never left you as he thrusted aggressively, smiling during the process when you kept glancing at his actions below. “I can’t wait...to know how you feel...ngh...I bet you feel incredible wrapped around my cock”. A blush creeped its way to your cheeks. His crude comments are getting dirtier, and you low-key didn’t want him to stop speaking his mind. 

Never in a million years would you have ever thought of doing something this intimate with Katsuki. If you were to tell yourself, a little first UA student, that you and Katsuki Bakugou had sex, you’d never believe it. Even at this moment, you still couldn't comprehend this was happening. You broke out of your thoughts when you felt the tip of something hovering at your entrance. During your daze, Katsuki managed to get his fully erect member from the tight hold of his boxers and lined it perfectly at your aching hole. He nudges your hole a few times before rubbing against your clit. A fulfilling moan left your throat as he kept going with the tedious motion. You elavated your hips a little in hopes for his tip to enter. Katsuki growled at your impatient state and grounded your hips with hands. You whimpered at the harshness of his grip.

“Keep doing that idiot and I just might make you fuck yourself instead,” he lowered his head to your neck and started sucking on the sensitive area. “You’re lucky I'm going to go easy on you dumbass or else you’ll be begging for me to stop. So, just let me know and I’ll stop”.

Even when he’s about to go feral in your insides, he was still considerate of your feelings, which made your heart beat go bezerk. Thankfully he stopped kissing your neck and dropped his full attention to his cock. You mentally sighed to yourself once you felt his tip circle around your lips. The swelling sensation down below was becoming unbearable to the constant teasing. You couldn’t hold it in any longer, so you wrapped your hands around his torso and purposely shoved him forward. Both of you let out a choked moan once his cock finally entered you. Your walls instinctively clamped tightly around him, feeling the warm flesh inside of you. The action you did elicited a loud whine from Katskui, who was currently shoving his face into the crevice of your neck, shaking from entering your tight walls so abruptly. 

“Do I...Do I feel good Katsuki?” you asked, shifting uncomfortably to his stiffness. 

He lifted his head from his previous position and grinned from ear to ear. “You feel fucking amazing baby.” He wasted no time to move his hips to sheathe his cock deeper inside you. It didn’t hurt due to you being so aroused and wet. He then started to continuously thrust at a slow pace, making sure you were adjusting to his size. Mouth wide open, you threw your head onto his pillows while clutching the bedsheets. 

“Ugh, Katsuki. Please go faster,” you winced at how needy you sounded, but you wanted the relief right away. 

Katsuki listened to your command and thrashed himself more into your hole. Sounds of skin slapping on skin and sporadic moans filled the small room. You felt his cock twitch inside you, indicating that he was indeed close. He continued thrusting at a fast pace, occasionally reaching down to rub your clit. Without a doubt, he was hitting your g-spot repeatedly, never once missing it. To feel even more closer to you, Katsuki pushed your legs further towards you, allowing him a better angle to thrust deeper. 

“Fuck Y/N...I bet he never fucked you like this. He probably never had you making those cute faces you’re pulling right now, ngh...” he panted between thrusts. “I hated the thought of you being fucked by someone other than me. All the guys you’ve dated are nothing compared to me. I want you all to myself.”

The knot inside your cunt started pulsing by him mentioning his hatred toward your past partners. You screamed when he clamped his sharp teeth down onto your shoulder. For a spilt second, you thought you felt the trickle of your own blood. Next thing you knew, Katsuki’s thrusts became sloppier, indicating he’s on the verge of climaxing. 

“God yes Katsuki, please come. Come with me baby!” you cry out.

You being so oblivious, you don’t know how much your voice turns him on. So when you egged him on to come with him, that’s exactly what he did. With one last thrust, both you and Katsuki attach your lips together, moaning out your orgasms into each others mouths. He successfully fills your heat with his seed and freezes in place. He detaches his lips from yours and stares at your dripping core. He had to restrict himself to not shove his cock into you again. After composing himself, Katsuki released himself from you and rolled over onto his side, propping his elbow to get a good view of you. You still recovering from your orgasm. You were gasping for more air, trying to compose yourself. 

“Ya know...maybe you could use your energy restoration quirk on me for a round two?” he humorously suggested.

You shifted yourself into a comfortable position on his lap and jabbed a finger under his chin. “Only if this round involves me riding you.” 

Katsuki then pushed you roughly on your back again. His eyes were more dilated this time than during your previous intimate moment together. He leaned down and kissed you gently on the lips.

“I like that idea better don’t cha think, idiot.”

-

Everything after that event changed the course for both you and Katsuki. The mood and tension from before disappeared. Now the two of you couldn't keep your hands off each other. You caught yourself sleeping more in Katsuki’s bed than your own. What was the point of being separated if you two were practically having sex every day? Every hour, minute, and second. It didn’t bother you though. You’d rather jump his bones than read another boring book again. 

On day 30 of quarantine, you woke up naked in Katsuki’s arms. You stretched your arms and legs, popping them in the process. Katsuki grunted and pulled you closer to his body. You smiled into the crook of his neck and returned the favor by kissing him on the nose. He scrunched his face, obviously not favoring the random spot you pecked him at. 

The night before you two were going at it till 3 am. Not taking breaks for anything whatsoever. It was evident from the display of your clothes strewn everywhere. 

You relaxed more into his arms, but your heart stopped once you heard the front door opening. Katsuki was still passed out, oblivious to the disturbance inside your apartment. Your ears picked up footsteps padding their way towards Katsuki’s door. The door knob twisted ominously. Whoever was behind the door was surely taking their sweet time. Before you knew it, the door swung open revealing the last person you wanted see. There stood Kirishima, mouth agape seeing you in the same bed as Katsuki. He blinked a couple of times before raising a weak finger in your direction. 

“I guess I wasn’t the only one who got laid during this pandemic!” Kirishima bursted into laughter.

Katsuki unwrapped his arms around you and grabbed the nearest pillow, using his quirk to explode it right at Kiri’s face. The impact ricchoeted him out the threshold of the door, a loud crash coming along with him. 

“EVER HEARD OF KNOCKING FIRST SHITTY HAIR!” he yelled, small sparks ejecting from his hands.

You contently sigh. Maybe this whole quarantine thing wasn’t so bad after all. 

[heli0s-writes]

i need a forest fire*

My submission for @jalapenobarnes​‘s writing challenge. Congratulations on your milestone, Saran! Thank you for hosting! 🧡

Nomad Steve/Reader & the prompt is hiraeth- a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

The title is from James Blake’s song of the same name. 🧡

I'm also double-dipping in the smut prompts with talking dirty over the phone. 1.7k. Please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

“I miss you.”

“I know.”

“No… I miss you.”

He chuckles and leans his head onto the headboard of yet another motel dwelling-- their stay for the week before they continue to another city, another assignment. Can’t plant his feet anywhere yet. No roots to grow for a while. No sun to warm him.

“How’s it been?”

“Fine enough. Same as usual, gotta keep moving.”

You’re thousands of miles away—disembodied voice in his ear that reminds him of home and his bed. Reminds him of the imprint electrifying his nights—the briefness of a new thing. The wonder of a good thing. A love that sprang slow over time, caught fire overnight, burned to ashes too quick.

“How are you?”

“Mm. Fine enough.”

He hears the squeak of a door, the click of a deadbolt, and the extra chain latching on top. Then, a mattress too noisy to be yours. A familiar ritual now, when you want the little bits of him that he can afford to give. A motel some distance from the compound, always a new one with every call because you’re too careful to make mistakes. Too careful to accidentally give him away.

It makes him smile to pretend that the two of you might be in the same place, sharing the same creaky fucking bed. Maybe breaking it in—breaking it apart.

Steve grits his teeth. Hisses discreetly, but not discreet enough.

“What’s that sound for?”

“Just— in bed. In a bed.”

“Not my bed.”

“No,” he laughs, “Wish I was, though.”

“Remember the last time you were there?” Rustling as you settle down and Steve does so as well, slipping his legs beneath paper thin covers. Imitation—imagination—allowing a domestic fantasy.

He considers it-- maybe half a year ago now—and suddenly his cheeks light up. He could easily give out one of those noises again— have you catch him red-handed dreaming of splayed thighs at the edge of the mattress. Him on his knees, one hand in his lap, practically drooling and a mess from the cheek down.

“You’ve got a beard now, huh? What’ll that be like between my legs?”

Oh, hell.

“Baby…” Steve grinds his skull against the wood, shivering at prickles down his spine, “Baby… Christ. You can’t say that.”

“Are you sharing a room? Are you sharing a room?”

You fucking tease. You would like it if he was sharing a room, just so you could provoke him stupid. Jesus, Steve’s the criminal now but you’ve always been a goddamn minx if he’s ever known one. Whip fucking smart, though, and it broke his heart when you suggested that he’d need someone on the other side, that it’ll be okay, Steve, I won’t punch you too hard.

And he only loved you more when you did punch him too hard. Loved you harder when you gave him coordinates to the Raft, the codes, the blueprints lifted from Ross’ files.

He had one last night then, in your room, before it’d inevitably be ransacked and searched—bugged to hell because Ross only trusted you as far as he could throw you, even if you played all your cards right.

It’s why you catch the bus to motels with a burner phone inside the lining of your jacket. Create nonsensical rotations of locations. Schedule calls without a linear time frame. Sometimes a month, sometimes longer. It’s why he misses you so goddamn much.

“Steve…” A drawl of his name that lets him know exactly what you want of him.

“I’m not sharing a room,” he says cautiously, like a warning, “But Sam’s right next door. And it’s paper thin here.”

“You better be quiet then. You’re not Goody-Two-Shoes Cap anymore, are you? Don’t you wanna try phone sex with your girl?” His chest tightens, throat going dry at your tone, at the way you say your girl, at the possibility of phone sex—as daunting as it is exciting.

“Okay, yeah, sweetheart,” Steve shudders, reaching into his sweats because he can’t say no— he’s already half hard, anyway. Itching for it. “Yeah. You can have me. H-how do you want me?”

“Touching yourself, to start.” A sigh in your voice. He closes his eyes, swallows thickly, imagines your breath over his lips, imagines the way you pepper kisses across his chest. “I always liked watching you do that, pretty boy.”

Steve groans, stroking languidly, building himself up, focusing on the way he can just barely hear the hum in the back of your throat. “You’re pretty.”

A giggle then, snapping him out of his trance and heat overtakes the top of his head. Ugh. He’s not good at this. Being laughed at during sex—regardless of how disembodied—never a good sign. “Fuck,” He grumbles. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I like it, Steve; I like you.” Just like that, he’s breathless again. “Hm, wanna know what I’m doing, pretty boy?” And his breath may never come back.

“Remember those little satin panties I wore? Ribbon ties on the side… and you pulled them off with your teeth?”

Of course he does. Delicate lavender and shimmery soft. By the time he dropped to the floor they were already wet in the middle—pastel going rich purple. Your chest-- heaving as you leaned back on the sheets, his hands on the thin skin of your knees, stretching willing legs apart.

Steve catches his cockhead with the crook of his finger. Grunts quietly into the receiver.

“Baby, are you wearing those?”

“Uh-huh, just for you.”

“Are you touching yourself—ah—thinkin’ about me?”

“Every night.”

Fuck. Jesus Christ, you’re bad. He’s gonna blow his load and the call’s only been five minutes.

“What—” another shuddering breath when he grips a little too hard, “—what do you think about me doing?”

You sigh again, whimper like a little punctuation, sheets rustling. “I think about your tongue and how wet you make me,” and your voice is so low, so needy, “I wish you were here, Steve. Touching me all over.” And the picture in his mind of you, so pretty and open, wild at the mere memory of him—

“When you get back,” and there it is, egging his own fist on to match the pace of a subtle and steady sluiced-up rhythm, your fingers working over, inside, back out, twisting and turning. “When you get back, Steve. I’m gonna let you know just how much I miss you.”

He’s hot all over, chasing the ghost of your doting kisses, the phantom touch of your skillful hands. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

“Yeah? You gonna let me make you feel good when you get home?”

“Yes—yes.”

“Keep going. Think about me riding you, baby. Slow at first, how you like, taking you a little bit at a time. You’re always so hard.”

Always for you, yeah, he is. And as much as he loves tasting you—as much as he could spend eternity and a half blessed between your thighs, dedicated to those noises you make when his tongue slips over your clit—his fingers knuckle-deep inside—the way you move on top of him is another sacrament altogether.

Steve jams the phone between his ear and his shoulder—neck cramp tomorrow be damned—and uses both hands. Forgets for a little that you’re not quite there.

Slow, like you said, at first, listening to your recital, the chorus of his breath an applause.

“Now, faster.”

And he’s lost in the roll of your hips, one hand on his chest, the other gripped tight around his shoulder, nails carving crescents into his skin because you need an anchor. He’s lost in the way his heart pounds the sharper the cuts because it means you’ve let yourself go. How you scramble for his fingers next, lacing them through yours, squeezing him there and everywhere.

And oh, how exquisite you look with that sheen of sweat across your chest. Hovering over him like a goddess and fucking him like a wet dream.

“Baby,” red lip pulled pale between his teeth, hands working in tandem—imitation and imagination constructing a well-oiled machine in your absence. “Baby, fuck. Miss you on me—miss you fucking me. God--”

“Yeah? Gonna come?” You’re panting, too, noises high and obscene, the background echo of your hand growing more frantic and unrestrained. “Me too, pretty boy. I want to do everything with you—have all of you. Your hands, your mouth, your cock.”

“Yeah. Yes,” he babbles, “I wanna give you everything.”

“Come with me, Steve—come on, baby.”

And it’s all so fast. Your words. His words. Your hands. His hands. He’s barely finished rucking down his sweats, pulling up the hem of his shirt last minute before his eyes roll back behind his lids. He’s spilling out, over his fist, up his clenched abdomen, entire body tight, panting heavy and hard as he tugs at himself a few more times, breathing and listening, heart still clobbering against his ribcage when you whimper one last time.

The comedown is aching, then. His eyes flutter open. Heat smothered cold and lonesome like those ashes. His neck hurts. His heart hurts.

“Steve,” and he hears it in you, too—the same ache, the same want. Like at the end of every call you’ve made to him in the past six months. 

“Steve,” you say again, “It’s okay. You’ll be back soon enough. You’ll have me then. Every night if you’d like.”

Of course he would, but he can’t voice it now, not in all this dark, not when the pain is bubbling up in his throat, not when he loves you so much he can’t stand to worry you with its sound.

“Look on the bright side, you lawless fugitive. Least you know how to have phone sex now. Cap would never.” He laughs at that, happiness like tinder sparking fast from a flame. “You’ll be home soon.”

Home. Home. A place with his bed and his girl. Planting his feet down safely. Growing roots in that rich, soft soil, sprinkled with ash. Tended to by the warmth of your touch.  

“Yeah. I will,” he says, and the fire chases away the dark.

[tybaku]

Aches and Pains (bkdk drabble):

Izuku tears up when Kacchan turns his back to him without another word.

He feels stupid about it though, and a bit silly, since he’s acting almost like a little kid again, ever so possessive over his favorite toy. He tears up, and then stuff his face into his own shoulder in reddened embarrassment all while slipping into the beating aches in his body—the gentle and persistent thrum of a overworking machine.

“Kacchan,” he whines and mewls like it’s going to make any difference, as if Kacchan was just going to spin on his heel and keep him company in his early grave.

Kacchan isn’t like that though. Kacchan is stubborn.

So Izuku wiggles in place and take his own arms into his scarred hands, kneading the straining muscles weakly. “Kacchan, please. I’m dying,” he announces to the empty room, just loud enough to carry out through the open door and to the hallway, where Kacchan was loitering about and probably doing absolutely nothing of importance.

“Tough shit,” Kacchan calls back not nearly as loud, gruff if anything. It’s a fake bothered tone, Izuku knows, because he’s had years to become acquainted with Kacchan’s manner of speech. What kind of fiancé would he be if he couldn’t tell the difference? (Oh, that sounds nice. He’s a fiancé now. He’s so very blessed.) “Deal with it.”

Izuku throws his head back into their pillows, more so on Kacchan’s side of the bed (the right) and groans dramatically, hair spilling everywhere. He vaguely hopes Kacchan has fun picking out Izuku’s green strands from his pillowcase.

“Kacchan is so mean! Do you want me to cry?” Izuku asks, continuing to run his hands over his arms and shoulders. It’s nowhere near as soothing enough, and nowhere near close of a mimic of Kacchan’s warm, soft palms. “Kacchan, I’m going to cry. I’m crying, Kacchan. You made me cry.”

Miraculously, Kacchan appears in his beautiful, scowling glory. “Stop manipulating me,” he says flatly, glaring a hole into Izuku’s head on his precious pillow as he steps into their shared bedroom. “I already said no.”

Izuku huffs and puffs and then juts his lip out. “You’re so mean! Just rub my arms already, Kacchan! I have brittle old man bones!” Izuku squeezes the meat of his arms as some sort of evidence to the claim.

Kacchan however only blinks at him, not the least bit amused. “And who’s fault is that?” he asks in mild disinterest to his moaning and groaning, far too used to the entire spiel. Blah, blah, blah, rub my arms and something, something, you’re so mean.

“Villains!” Izuku says, still squirming. Kacchan rolls his eyes. “Evildoers and criminals! I feel so old. Just a small old man. My arms hurt. My back hurts. Give me massages,”

Kacchan walks over finally, but just to lean over Izuku’s frame, grab a pillow, and smack his chest with it. “You’re twenty five. And no means no. It’s not even your turn, asshole.”

Izuku makes big, sweet eyes at him as he grabs the hem of his tank top. “Kacchan,” he starts seriously before the eyes start to narrow darkly. “It’s my turn.”

Kacchan looks down on him, eyes just as narrow. He leans down slowly, easily dwarfing Izuku despite all the muscle the latter has packed on. Izuku instantly goes into hyperdrive, nearly every one of his senses honing in on Kacchan’s everything. He almost whimpers for two very different reasons.

“No, the fuck, it isn’t.” Kacchan declares sternly before pouncing on his prey, jumping right into bed and encasing Izuku’s hips between his thighs. Izuku’s breath gets knocked out of him, and he screams as Kacchan starts thwacking his pillow across his face repeatedly with no finesse.

“Kacchan! Stop! It’s my turn!” Izuku yells between the cushioned assault on his face. He’s had worse.

“Like hell it is! Give me a massage, you damn nerd!” Kacchan yells in separate syllables as he continues to attack. The grapple for the pillow back and forth, but the straining in Izuku’s arms leaves him on the losing side of their impromptu battle.

“No! Go away! Fuck off!” Izuku protests as he tries to cover his face.

Kacchan growls above him. “Watch your fucking mouth!”

“No!” Izuku screams again before sticking out his hands and pushing Kacchan back with all of his unquirked might. Kacchan topples to the end of the bed, disoriented in its sheets, and Izuku grabs one of the other pillows on their bed in his pause of confusion, welding it like a weapon.

“You give me a massage, Kacchan!” Izuku cries out, and then smacks his fiancé in the face.

This, understandably, was considered an outrage to Kacchan, and it leads to both of them having a full blown out pillow war, complete with loud battle cries, flailing limbs, and knocking stuff over. It goes on for about ten solid minutes, but Izuku gets kneed in the groin twice and Kacchan’s lip starts bleeding so they both call it off without a clear winner.

They both lie panting in their shared bed of shame dejectedly, Izuku crying and Kacchan halfway there.

Everything hurt, even worse than it did before. There was a worn sort of pain shooting up Izuku’s arms, and curling around his shoulders and thighs. He knew it must’ve been the same for Kacchan, since they both held similar symptoms for their chronic pain. Just another thing they bond over.

“Okay,” Izuku sniffles, hurting a bit too much to move properly, “how about we both give each other massages. And then we sleep forever,”

Kacchan breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to relax into the bed despite all the hurt grating into his muscle tissue all the way to the bone marrow. “Sounds good.”

Izuku gives a nod and then shifts around a bit to face Kacchan, despite his upper body screaming at him not to, and stretches his out his arms. “Me first? Please?” he asks in a small voice as he sets his hands on Kacchan’s shoulders. Kacchan lets out a long huff from his nose but nods minutely and gets to work.

Kacchan’s hands are amazing. They’re soft, but heavy and rough in just the right places. His palms are smooth against his aching muscles, but his fingertips are calloused and are able to expertly dig into any knots they come across. Izuku loves it.

“Mm,” he hums in mind numbing content, fluttering his eyes closed. “Do the thing, Kacchan. Please?”

And Izuku doesn’t see it, but he knows Kacchan rolled his eyes at the question. “You only want me for my quirk,” he says in a low, fake annoyed grumble.

“What else is there?” Izuku jokes in a soft voice, tone round and sweet in a tease. Kacchan doesn’t laugh, but he huffs with his entire chest and that’s as good as he gets when he’s in pain.

“You would know,” Kacchan throws back before taking his hands off Izuku’s skin and reaching out to the tired air around them. A small, staticky crackle of light then bursts in his palms, and the familiar scent of a pleasant, but mind-numbing sweetness wraps around them. Izuku’s eyes stay transfixed on the little firework-like explosions popping hotly in his fiancé’s strong, gentle hands. He does indeed love his quirk.

Kacchan stops the crackling after a few seconds and touches Izuku’s arms again.

Kacchan’s hands are magic. They feel like heaven. They’re so warm, and loving, and Izuku melts into them like a pat of butter to a hot knife. Kacchan is made of the sun and every star in the sky, surely.

Izuku purrs and hums and murmurs thank you’s and I love you’s over and over as Kacchan rubs out all the aches and pains of his weary body with his sweet and soothing quirk. His hot massages were the best.

“Mm…Thank you, Kacchan.” Izuku says one last time, already feeling a thousand times better.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kacchan says as he sits himself up with more effort than should be needed. “Shoulders now, please.” He rolls one half in emphasis, half in discomfort. Izuku smiles gently and sits up himself, quickly getting to work on his part of the deal. If Kacchan says please, Izuku can’t refuse him.

“Of course, Kacchan!” he chirps as he kneads his taut shoulders as heavily as he could, knowing Kacchan liked the roughness and weight. When he presses the into any knots he finds with his knuckles, Kacchan sighs in relief. “You’re tense,”

“No shit,” Kacchan mutters as he rolls his neck side to side, “Put your back into it.”

“I’m trying,” Izuku says, because he is indeed trying to do his best without any extra strength from his quirk. “What about your arms? Or your back? Want me to walk on your spine again?”

Kacchan just snorts and then shakes his head. “This is fine for now. Maybe later.” He hums in delight when Izuku’s thumbs knead the sorest spot between his shoulder blades. Izuku laughs quietly and can’t help but lean in to press a small kiss behind Kacchan’s ear, right over a little freckle.

“Love you, Kacchan.” Izuku murmurs kindly, loving the way Kacchan’s skin begins to glow a pretty pink.

“Love ya too, Deku.” Kacchan mumbles back with a sort of pout, eyes closed and breath slow but steady.

Izuku smiles.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Taking Chances (spicyhoney, standalone)

Summary:   It was stupid. Idiotic, really, to gamble everything on one kiss.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, First Times, Angst, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Lemons, Standalone

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was stupid. Idiotic, really, to gamble everything on one kiss.

But that isn’t now. First, there’s this.

A Human came to Underswap, came and went, right through the barrier, shattering it behind them to lead Monsters out of the mountain, and now the Swap brothers were moving to the surface world. They deserved the chance, earned it through the weight of a child’s soul and Edge did not begrudge them that. Not that.

Two days after the Human came and went, Edge went to Underswap, walked from the machine in their basement right into the house through the unlocked front door. Once, he would have complained about their lack of security, but no longer. The living room was empty and so was the kitchen, there was little left to protect, only ragged carpet and a single sock lying close to a wall, surrounded by the falling tatters of post-it notes.

Edge ignored that. He went upstairs to the room at the end of the hallway where the usually locked door was standing open. He stood in the doorway and looked inside.

Most of the normal clutter was missing, the trash tornado dwindled to a mere vaguely swirling gust. There were boxes scattered about in various stages of being filled and the owner of both room and its contents was standing by the bed. The mattress was already stripped bare and the balled-up blankets tossed into another carton, the corner of a sheet dangling out like a flag of surrender.

“came to say goodbye, edgelord?” Stretch didn’t look up from the box he was packing with what looked like a collection of socks without partners. “surprised you’ve got the time, isn’t there anything in underfell that needs your oh, so superior mind?”

Edge said nothing. Two years ago, accidental fate brought them all together, skeleton brothers from Undertale, Underswap, and Underfell crossing the barriers between universes with the help of a strange machine. Six months ago, the Undertale brothers crossed another barrier, the Barrier. They were living their well-earned lives on the surface and without Monsters in the vicinity to power it, their machine went offline within a week. Yesterday was the first day Edge had seen Papyrus and Sans since then, here in this ‘verse to help with packing, and beneath the mountain it seemed there were many Monster-filled worlds, but the surface only held one.

Today was the Swap brothers’ chance to join it and perhaps someday the opportunity would come to Underfell, perhaps not.

Two years ago was when they’d first met. Two years’ worth of arguments and insults, of sniping at Stretch for his laziness and taking a verbal battering of his own for everything from his LV to his fashion sense. Endless banter between him and Stretch, or seemingly endless. Edge hadn’t realized there was a time limit until it was right in front of him, staring at him from out of cardboard boxes.

Unspoken chances were dwindling away with every moment Stretch spent packing. This was his last possible moment with the two of them alone, and Edge wasn’t one to gamble. His brother was the one who liked playing the odds.

There were no odds here, he was going to lose. The only question was how much.

Edge stepped into the room and took the shirt Stretch was pretending to fold away from him, ignored his startled “what the fuck--?” for the opportunity to shove him back onto the mattress and kiss him.

This was his chance, his one single chance to spread out on top of him, press their bodies together and feel Stretch's warmth even through two layers of clothing, one of which was a thick sweatshirt. Stretch was practically bleeding warmth and his mouth was no different. His teeth were closed against Edge's and he didn't care. He’d been awake all night, sitting sleeplessly on his own still-made bed as he considered and rejected strategies and, in the end, the only one that had any possibilities at all was this. This was his chance, his one chance, and if it was all he could get then Edge was taking it. If he could have nothing else, then he wanted this one kiss.

None of his hasty calculations included Stretch's hands suddenly sliding up underneath his shirt, warm against his spine, sandwiched between bare bone and his thin cloth. None of his strategies reckoned on Stretch pulling his legs up, knees on either side of Edge's hips, giving him a valley to rest in.

None of them even approached the idea of Stretch opening his mouth, sighing into the kiss and deepening it. Delicately tracing Edge's jagged teeth with his tongue, edging past them to coax his own tongue into movement.

It was the unaccustomed sensation of bewilderment that had Edge drawing back, ignoring the way Stretch followed him with a protesting murmur, until he could look down on him.

Stretch was rumpled, his clothes pulled off-kilter by such a brief kiss as though it had sent tremors through his entire body. His teeth were parted, soft pants exhaled between them like an instinctive invitation to another kiss.

This close the paleness of his eye lights was stark, but his gaze was languid, questioning. "you stopped."

"Stretch—" Edge murmured, hesitating. His gamble was a success, he was right and yet, in this one instant, once, he hadn't expected to be right. It left him floundering; these past few days had been hell on his equilibrium.

Stretch wasn't one to wait and consider; he rushed in hell-bent as often as Edge did, although for entirely different reasons. He was already drawing one hand out from beneath Edge's shirt, rising up on his elbow and pressing their mouths together again.

Such a hot mouth, Edge thought hazily. Pressed firmly against his own, wetter as Stretch again traced his teeth with his tongue, pressing coaxingly against the seam of his mouth until Edge opened it again and this time, he let their tongues dance together eagerly, pushing Stretch back against the bare mattress.

He was already rumpled. Edge wanted to see him devastated, wanted to destroy his arrogant calm and leave him in the same turmoil Edge felt when he’d heard they were moving to the surface.

Edge fumbled between them, catching up at the hem of Stretch's sweatshirt as he pulled and tugged it up, dragging the worn garment over his head and tossing it aside.

There was a button-up beneath it, of course. Stretch dressed in layers for warmth, a habit from years of living in snow and ice and one that didn't bother Edge in the slightest. He was more than content to peel this particular fruit slowly, to learn its segments from the peel to the pith until he discovered the sweetness within.

He did not, could not, have guessed that Stretch would sprawl back on the mattress and let him. No hints lingered anywhere of his supposed dislike of Edge, that façade burned away beneath shared desire. He tipped his head back with an appreciative moan when Edge carefully unbuttoned his shirt and slid both hands inside it to caress the delicate rib bones through the thin barrier of his undershirt.

Then even that obstacle was too much. Edge growled low and yanked both shirts over Stretch’s head in a wild tangle, both of them muttering curses as he struggled free. Once it was cast to the floor alongside his sweatshirt, Stretch fell back to the mattress, long legs wrapping around Edge as he dragged his socked feet up the back of Edge's calves to hook his ankles behind Edge's knees and hold him in.

No barbed taunts now. Stretch sighed deeply when Edge drew his hands down his ribcage, caressing delicate bone and cartilage as he made his way deeper inside to the intricate line of his spine. Fondling the ridges and joints, drawing out gasps and groans as he petted his way downward until his hands were thwarted by a belt buckle.

Stretch opened his sockets, Edge didn't remember him closing them and their sleepy droop was a match to his lazy grin. "don't let that stop you. you’ve already knocked, go on in."

Edge pressed his teeth together and took him at his word, loosening the buckle and tugging his belt loose with a slithery hiss.

The button and zipper were easily dealt with and beneath that, Stretch was wearing nothing at all, bare bones greeted Edge's exploring hand.

It was not a surprise, or it shouldn't have been. Edge was well aware that Stretch eschewed underclothing.

It was a surprise to feel the hard, damp line of his cock grazing Edge's unsuspecting fingertips.

"ohhhh," Stretch breathed, clearly as startled as Edge. Ridiculous, the both of them. There were a limited number of things Stretch could have been expecting from Edge opening up his trousers. Sliding a hand gingerly around his cock was certainly on the list.

Hot, damp ectoflesh against his bony palm and an inquisitive thumb discovered the tip was wet, a warm bead of moisture that Edge rubbed over the head slickly, entranced by Stretch's stuttering moan. The curl of his tongue was bright against his teeth before he bit the tip, obviously trying to stifle any further sounds.

Oh, that wouldn't do at all.

"Stretch," Edge said, drawing it out in a deep, baritone drawl, one that he had observed before pulling a reaction from Stretch. He was not disappointed with the results, not at all, the way Stretch's hips tried to hitch up despite Edge's weight atop him, the way he ground his teeth together to hold back whatever moans might be trying to escape.

"Stretch," he whispered again, a low, thick sound. "Stretch, should I stop? Do you want me to stop?"

Clearly the answer would be no.

However, he didn't anticipate the strength of his reaction, Stretch's eyes flying open, his hands scrabbling up Edge's arms and clutching at his elbows, holding him in position.

"no, i don't want you to stop, you idiot," Stretch gritted out and the flush of perspiration on his face was fascinatingly enticing, drawing Edge down to lick a stripe up Stretch's cheek bone to taste the salt-sweet of his sweat.

He made a sound that was part protest and mostly a plea for more, dropping his head to the side to allow for better access. Edge put a single finger on his chin and tipped his head the other way, giving the neglected side of his face a long, wet lick. Faintly salty and beneath it was a tinge of the soap Blue made, delicately floral.

"You don't want me to stop?" Edge murmured, muffling it into his cheekbone. Not that he was doing much at the moment, his hand was still tight around Stretch's cock, but Stretch was doing the work, rocking up into his grip in short, stilted little thrusts.

"no," Stretch panted, "no, don't stop. don't you stop, don't you dare stop."

"And so I won't," Edge agreed softly. "Is this what you want?”

It was a surprise to hear him suddenly say, “no, actually. it’s not.”

Long, thin fingers scrabbled at his own belt, tugging it open and Edge let them, his own breath hissing out as Stretch reached inside and took him in hand. Drew the hard length of his cock out and lined it up against his own.

The first rock of their hips together was an uncoordinated, stuttering slide and Edge groaned aloud, reaching down to hold their shafts together with an unsteady grip. Both of them gripping, stroking with hasty, chaotic desperation, breathing in each other’s gasps and groans in the small space between them.

Edge was the first to lose the struggle, his pleasure rising to an uncontrolled peak that left him coming with a disappointed groan. His shame had no chance to take hold, melting into sated pleasure when he opened his sockets to see the deeply satisfied look on Stretch’s face in the moment before he arched up and came himself, and the sound he made, a single soft cry, stirred something in the depths of Edge’s soul.

They collapsed together on the bare mattress and long minutes passed before Edge’s blurry senses told him that the rattling quiver of Stretch’s bones was not from the lingering aftershocks of pleasure but grief. He drew back, looking down at Stretch who glared back.

“you bastard.” Almost a sob but his eye sockets were dry and hot. “why now, why the fuck would you do this to me now?!”

Edge leaned down to press a soft kiss against Stretch’s cheekbone, teeth grazing softly. He said, honestly, “Because we ran out of time.”

“the fuck we did!” Stretch sat up, shoving Edge off him, but he didn’t go far. He straddled Edge’s hips, his open pants sagging as he pinned Edge to the mattress, their faces inches apart as he snarled. “i am going to the surface with my bro and i’ll be waiting there for you, you bastard.”

“No.” Edge shook his head, trying to pull away, but Stretch’s grip was surprisingly strong, thin fingers wrapped like wire around his wrists. “No, that isn’t what I want for you—”

“what makes you think you get a vote?” Stretch retorted. “i’m gonna be waiting for you and i’m gonna kick your ass for making me fall in love with you five minutes before i left the underground. asshole.”

Edge gave up trying to get loose. He sagged back on the bare mattress and closed his sockets. “You may be waiting a very long time.”

“maybe. maybe not. i’m leaning towards not. you get to the surface and you come find me.” His mouth was suddenly hot against Edge’s, teeth scraping painfully and words blurred between them. “you come find me, you hear? you find me!”

Edge said nothing. He only nodded and held Stretch close, taking each desperate kiss as it was offered to him, uncaring of any hurts. Soon enough he would go back to his own world to wait for a Human child that might never come, but that was then.

For now, he was here, and he was taking everything he could get.

-finis

[tiny-slasher]

Billy Lenz x Reader | Coffee Shop AU

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

“U already know who this is... Coffee shop au but there's a competing coffee shop that sells holiday themed drinks depending on the day of the week (B I L L Y L E N Z I D E M A N D H I M)” - anon

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Billy was pissed.

Stupid Coffee Shop with their stupid snowflakes- and who the hell painted that sorry excuse for a snowman on the front window?! It wasn't even December, and they already had decorations up and Holiday Specials advertised in big, bold lettering

Billy blew a stray strand of hair from his face, glaring out the window at the coffee shop across the street. Two years after they opened there, and he still couldn't believe they'd had the audacity to choose that location - maybe less that thirty feet away from the location of his shop. There he'd been, finally settled after years of therapy, content with the stability of his life, when they showed up.

Them and their hair...their clothes...their stupid face- stupid eyes-

They came and opened their shop, selling coffee a dollar cheaper than him and attracting half of his customers like moths to a flame. When Billy put up a sign advertising cookies, they advertised two-for-one deals. When he offered special holiday sales, they offered free cookies with any purchase on Tuesdays. When he advertised limited time coffee flavors, they advertised seasonal baked goods. Those with fewer tastebuds and lighter wallets began to switch to the other, lesser coffee shop within a couple of months, and Billy was left to suffer the consequences.

Granted, he still got good business, his coffee shop was unique, and obviously quite superior. Not only was he skilled in the art of coffee making, and served everything in ceramic cups unless otherwise specified, his shop was themed. 

Each day was a different holiday, with different options for coffee. He had 'plain' options for those who just wanted a caffeine fix, but he had alternating holiday flavors for the more adventurous. And damn it, if someone wanted a Leprechaun Cappuccino on Thursday then too fucking bad! They’d have to show up on Monday like everyone else!

It had started off with just Christmas themed brews all year 'round, but he'd expanded after the first year. He hated having to explain the menu to new customers every single time they showed up, but he did enjoy messing around with different types of latte art. That is, if everyone stopped ordering the iced coffee...

Glancing back at his rival, he snarled.

Billy hated them. He hated their coffee shop, he hated their smile, he hated their dumb laugh-

He'd often see them through the window, putting a sign out front, or sweeping off the front step before they opened. They looked dumber and dumber each time he saw them. Sometimes they had the nerve to wave at him and yell out a greeting like they had no idea they were rivals, and Billy hated it. He wanted to get rid of them. He wanted to dump boiling coffee over their head. He wanted to rip out their intestines and-

Bad Billy! Bad for having bad thoughts again! Stupid, nasty Billy! Stupid-

Billy took in a long, deep breath, just like his therapist taught him to, focusing on the way his lungs filled with air and collapsed when he exhaled. He played with the hem of his sweater, worn from years of doing so, feeling the way the fibers ran across his fingertips. He sighed, wishing for just one day without intrusive thoughts, but knowing he'd never be granted that sort of reprieve. No, it wasn't something he'd ever be cured from...but it was something he was learning to manage better as the years went by.

He glanced around the shop, hoping none of the customers noticed his little episode. Thankfully, they all seemed absorbed in their activities and conversations.

Billy sighed, a bit relieved. He wiped off some glitter that had fallen onto the counter from the tinsel hanging above him, hoping none had gotten into his hair again, when the front door of the shop opened. Glancing up he saw a woman and a young boy walk in and make their way over to the counter. They were regulars, coming every single Tuesday for the Valentine's Day special.

"Welcome to ‘Fa-la-latte’, what can I get'cha?" Billy asked with a smile plastered on his face.

"I'd like a Sweetheart iced coffee," she gestured towards the boy. "And he just wants a strawberry muffin. To go, please."

Billy nodded and spun around to get to work, withholding the eye roll he nearly gave her. If he had one more customer order the iced coffee he was going to take it off the menu.

He didn't notice the bell on the door ring, too focused on his internal dialogue and making a damn good iced coffee (or, as good as iced coffee is going to get). Even if he had to make the same damn thing every Tuesday, he wasn't one to disappoint. 

Shoving the lid of the coffee with one hand, he grabbed a muffin in the other, putting it in a bag and setting them both on the counter. The boy, like any child would, grabbed the muffin almost immediately, and Billy rang up the price on the cash register. While the woman pulled out her card, Billy saw the person behind them.

Billy's eye twitched and his pupils narrowed at the sight before him.

It was them.

The absolute nerve this person had was astonishing. They thought it'd be okay to just show up whenever they wanted? In his shop? The shop they were practically stealing money from by simply existing? With their little stupid, ugly smile, and their stupid-

"Thank you!" the woman's loud voice broke Billy out of his thoughts, taking her coffee and exiting the shop with the boy in tow.

Billy's knuckles were white as they walked up to him, a smile on their face. He saw through their facade. He wasn't falling for that sweet demeanor.

"Wow, they weren't kidding when they said you had a lot of options!" they said, eyes wide as they looked at the signs above Billy's head. "It must be exhausting having to have a different menu for each day!"

Billy's jaw began to hurt from clenching, eyes raking over their form as they rattled on about things he didn't care about.

"So, Tuesday is Valentine's Day, huh? What would you recommend for a newcomer?"

Billy blinked, "What?"

"I came to try it out myself! Everybody keeps raving about how good your stuff is, and I wanted firsthand experience!"

Oh. Oh this sneaky- They wanted to taste it so they could copy him! They wanted to steal his ideas and sell it for half price! He was so close to just leaning over the counter and grabbing them by the throat-

But, he couldn't just cause a scene in front of his loyal customers! This coffee shop was supposed to be their quiet space, where everyone could just relax and enjoy themselves. He wasn't about to ruin it for them, and risk losing business.

Gathering himself, Billy gave them a sickly sweet smile, "Well, everyone orders the Sweetheart Iced Coffee."

They shifted on their feet, "Is that what you would order?"

Oh they were good...

"No," Billy leaned on the counter. "I'd order the latte."

They glanced up to the sign, "Just a regular latte?"

"Yup."

Seemingly dumbfounded, they shrugged and said, "Alright. One medium latte, please!"

Sending them one last smile before he turned around, Billy scowled and got to work.

Who'd they fucking think they were? 'oNe MeDiUm LaTtE pLeAsE!' Like he was gonna make them one of his specialty drinks anyway! Still...if they were out for his recipe, they would've been more insistent to order a specialty drink, wouldn't they? He glanced back at them, watching the way they looked around the shop with an awed expression. Their acting skills were top notch, he'd give them that.

Billy shook his head, trying to stop himself from mumbling. A few phrases escaped his lips despite his efforts. He heard them laugh softly, and he nearly burst a blood vessel trying not to scream at them to get out. An image of stabbing them in the eyes with a candy cane abruptly took over his thoughts, and he couldn't help but muse over it with a satisfied hum. He'd watch as their blood warmed the candy in his hands, mixing into a sugary, sticky mess-

NO! Bad Billy! Bad, bad, BAD BILLY! Naughty, NASTY-

Billy closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the way the coffee machine hummed.

"You have her father's love, Demetrius. Let me have Hermia's. Do you marry him?" Billy muttered in a low voice, steaming some milk with an iron grip. "Scornful, Lysander! True, he hath my love-"

"Are you quoting Shakespeare?"

Billy pointedly ignored them, trying not to break the handle on his coffee machine as he turned the steamer off while he murmured to himself, a bit softer than before, "And what is mine my love shall render him. And she is mine, and all my right of her, I do estate unto Demetrius."

He poured the milk into the coffee, swirling it into a neat, but not overly exotic heart. It was Valentine's Day themed, after all, and he wasn't about to get ridiculed for a sloppy job. Turning to set it down in front of them, he was briefly stunned to find they'd moved to sit over at the bar near him. His fingers twitched as he inhaled sharply, plastering a smile back on his face as he shakily set the cup down in front of them.

Their eyes scanned him for a long moment before falling to the latte in front of them, sending him a small smile and a thanks. Billy gave them a sickening "You're welcome" before turning to clean up, ignoring the pleased hum they gave after their first sip. He was mumbling to himself again while he washed out some used cups when they spoke.

"So, are you in a play?"

Billy paused for a moment, confused, "What?"

"Oh, you were just reciting lines, so I thought maybe you were trying to keep them memorized," they shrugged, and then lifted their cup of coffee. "This is really good, by the way!"

"Were you expecting it to be bad?" he bit out, a bit more harshly than intended.

"No, no! I'm just used to coffee that's not so great," they shrugged.

"If you wanted bad coffee, you should've ordered the Americano," Billy mumbled.

The laugh he earned stunned him, his thoughts pausing for a moment to take in the sight of their smile. Despite his suspicions, the twinkle in their eyes seemed genuine enough... It would be so easy to put that light out...make their eyes as dull as his own can be. Turn the whites into a scarlet-stained-

A cup shattered in Billy's grasp, slicing the silence like a knife through butter. A curse escaped his lips before he thought better of it, echoing throughout the room. Some of the customers looked in his direction. Billy wanted to apologize, but his voice wouldn't cooperate. He lowered his head a bit, hiding his face behind a curtain of hair, and shakily gathered the broken ceramic from the sink. Thankfully, he hadn't cut himself.

You should have, stupid, stupid Billy! You deserve it! Bad Billy! Bad-

"Are you alright?"

Billy turned to them, eyes manic. He relished in the way they tried to hide their discomfort.

"I'm fine," he bit out.

Billy seized the opportunity for a bathroom break, escaping the hellscape that was his coffee shop. Standing in the middle of the small bathroom, he spent the next few minutes trying to even his breathing. In, and out. In, and out. The breathing technique left a lot to be desired, and didn't do much for his racing thoughts...but it was better than nothing. If anything, at least he could tell his therapist he'd put in the effort. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, unsurprised to see a murderous gaze looking back at him.

"If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended," Billy muttered, hands gripping the sink. "That you have but slumbered here, while these visions did appear. Heh! Dramatic."

Shaking himself off, Billy inhaled and exited the restroom. 

They were still there, sipping their coffee and eyeing him as he walked back behind the counter. He sent them a smile, as though nothing had happened less than five minutes before. They blinked at him, confused, but Billy paid them no mind. Instead, he decided to make himself a latte. His hands were still quite shaky, and his heart had yet to really calm itself down. He fumbled with the steamer a bit, but managed to complete the drink with no mishaps.

"So...which holiday is your favorite?"

Billy stared at them as he sipped his latte.

"Mine is Halloween! I'm curious to know what the Death Brew tastes like," they smiled. "Is it bitter?"

Billy's eyes were glued to them as they patiently awaited his answer, and he took his time swallowing his coffee. They wanted to know what his brew tasted like, huh? They were definitely out to steal his recipe.

"It tastes like death," he replied. "Hints the name."

He jumped when they laughed out loud, apparently finding his sarcasm amusing. Billy hated the little butterfly that flew around in his tummy, and promptly squashed it with an eye roll and a huff.

Billy watched as they continued to look around at all the different decorations adorning the coffee shop, seemingly in admiration, but he couldn't be too sure. This person was crafty, and he had to be ready for anything. They were clearly looking for some way to ridicule him, or one-up him, and he would not allow it.

Still...the twinkle in their eyes...and the soft smile that settled on their lips...

"Christmas."

Their sparkling eyes turned back to Billy, "What?"

"My favorite holiday is Christmas," Billy said.

They smiled at him, "I should've known...there's a lot of tinsel hanging around in here."

Billy looked down at his latte, trying to sort through his racing thoughts. He hadn't felt this unsettled in a while, and it was a feeling he hadn't wished to relive.

"Your place is a lot calmer than mine," they said airily. "It's nice..."

Billy's eye twitched. He couldn't tell if that was a compliment, or a well-hidden insult. He just hummed in reply, trying not to appear as frazzled as he felt. However, he was sure the trembling in his hands was giving him away.

"Christmas is on Saturday, right?" they asked.

He nodded and they gave him a sweet smile.

"Well, I might have to come back in a few days, then," they replied, hopping off of the bar stool. "I'll see you around! Thanks for the coffee!"

Baffled, Billy watched them leave with his mouth hanging open. He stared until he saw them disappear behind the door of their own coffee shop. 

Everything about that interaction had gone strangely, in his mind, and he wasn't sure if it was because it had been strange or if it was just him who found it odd. They'd seemed genuinely curious about everything, not with ill intentions in mind. However, they'd left so abruptly...almost like they did it on purpose.

They were probably scared of Billy. They probably heard him mumbling nasty things under his breath and ran away- T-they knew Billy is bad! They knew Billy has bad thoughts! Bad, bad thoughts! They- They...

They didn't fucking pay for their coffee.

Billy nearly saw red, glaring at the empty cup that sat on the counter. With shaking hands he grabbed it, doing his best not to toss it across the room in frustration. He froze, however, when he saw a small slip of paper flutter on the table where the cup had been sitting. Curiosity peaked, Billy set the cup in the sink and then picked the paper up between in fingers.

"Feel free to stop by my shop any time for a free coffee! We've got lattes ;)"

Billy didn't enjoy the way his face felt as it flushed, and he really didn't enjoy this new feeling of butterflies in his stomach. And yet, a grin split on his face, and a cackle escaped his lips, earning a few glances. He turned to see them staring at him through their own window. They grinned and waved at him, and he choked.

If they were so insistent on stealing his recipes, he'd just have to return the favor. He wanted to see what all those customers saw in their stupid coffee shop. They probably batted their stupid eyelashes at people, and smiled their stupid smile-

Their stupid, goofy smile... Made their eyes crinkle at the corners... He could think of many different ways they could use that mouth of theirs-

No! Bad, naughty Billy! Having naughty thoughts at work! Bad! Bad! BAD!

[blxwjobsforclones]

Bad - Rex x Reader x Wolffe

Warnings: Smut, dirty Talk, phone sex, double penetration, unprotected sex.

Tags: @littlevodika @hxldmxdxwn @maulieber i promised, babies.

Words: 4680 (BROO)

Requests are open

Please, reblog c:

.....................

It was late. An insane hour for you to be awake and thinking the thoughts that were wedged into your brain. But there you were, laying in bed, willing away the scandalous thoughts of the things you would do to your boyfriend if he were home with you. As luck would have it, he was away on a mission, lone wolfing it and leaving Rex and Wolffe to look after you while the others were working on their own separate jobs. You assured him that you'd be fine and didn't need 'looking after'.

"You never know when you might need something, Y/N." He warned you. So instead of dragging it out and making a big deal out of nothing, you let it roll off of your back.

You hated when Fives made you stay home instead of assisting him on cases. He undermined your abilities and babied you. Even though you knew his intentions were good, it still irked you. But above all, what you hated most was the agreement that he constructed.

"Tell it to me one more time, baby doll." He requested. You rolled your eyes and sighed before reciting the one rule you couldn't bend or break.

"No touching myself while you're gone." Fives smiled, clearly satisfied with your reply. He bent down to kiss you on the forehead and stroke your hair.

"These two weeks will be over before you know it. Be good."

The sound of your holocommunicator buzzing on your nightstand shook you from the memory.

Speak of the Devil.

"Hey there, stranger."

You heard him chuckle softly on the other end of the call. "Hey, sweetheart. How's my girl holding up?"

You played with hem of your t-shirt and sighed. "Bored. Horny. Missing my boyfriend. All in all, I could be better."

The smile Fives wore was heard though the words that he spoke, "That's a dangerous combo you got going there. Have you been good, Y/N?"

His presumptuous tone made you roll your eyes. "Yes, Fiv. I'm fighting with every bone in my body, but I've been a good girl."

"I know it's hard, doll. But I promise, you'll get a reward for following the rules so well." You could hear the shuffling on the other end and you knew Fives was back in his quarters and undressing for the night. You pictured him loosening his belt and unbuttoning his pants before removing his shirt. The image of your half naked boyfriend made you ache.

"Fives, baby, please tell me you're coming home soon. I'm dying over here." You didn't care how desperate and pathetic you sounded.

The bed creaked under Fives weight and you knew he was laying down now. "Mmm, my girl just wants to cum so bad, doesn't she?" Good god, he was just toying with you now. You groaned and closed your eyes, replaying the last time you and Fives had sex - just before he left. You could still hear the slapping of his skin against yours echoing through your ears. "You want my cock buried so deep inside of your tight little pussy, don't you, Y/N? Want me hitting that sweet spot so hard and fast, huh?"

You gripped the sheets in your hands and twisted your legs to alleviate some of the pressure between them. "Fives," You warned.

"Or do you want me in your mouth? You know how I love looking into those gorgeous eyes while I have my hand caught in your hair and watching my dick disappear past those pretty lips." His breath was becoming ragged and you could hear the faint lather from the lotion he squeezed into his hand. Fuck.

"Goddammit, Fives, you're killing me," You whined into the receiver. It would be so easy to just snake your hand between your thighs. He wouldn't even know-

"Don't even think about it, Y/N. You won't get your reward if you do that." What, did he have surveillance set up in your room or something? "Come on, be a good girl and help me out..."

He was torturing you already, and now he wanted assistance while jacking himself off. Phone sex isn't the most fun when only one person is able to please themselves, but you knew better than to go against his wishes. If he wants a cock tease, then you were gonna give him hell. He deserved it.

"Mmm, yes, daddy. I want you in my mouth so bad. It's so warm and wet and ready for you." You rolled your tongue around in your mouth and licked your lips. You were only teasing yourself more.

"That's more like it. Tell me more, Y/N." He urged you on in a gruff voice.

"I wanna feel your cum fill my mouth and slide down my throat. Wanna suck you off until you're all nice and clean again." Using your finger, you made a popping sound with your mouth for emphasis. "Then I wanna kiss back up your body, graze my teeth against your nipples just the way you like, making my way to that spot just below your ear, you know, the one that makes you go crazy."

Grunts and groans were your only replies besides whispered curses under Fives's breath. You could picture him perfectly. Naked. Skin glistening with sweat, glowing under the dim lighting. Muscles tense as he pumped himself into his slick hand. But still, you continued with your torment. "Then I wanna feel your hands all over me. Pulling my hair and gripping my skin. Mmm, I want you to slowly reach down between my thighs and play with my clit." You smiled upon hearing Fives whimper at the thought.

"Y/N, I'm close baby, just a little—ah—more," He could barely speak above a whisper at the pace he was going.

"I wanna throw you on the bed and have my way with you. Wanna ride you for everything you're worth. Feel that big cock stretching me. Grind against you while you rub my tits. Come on baby, cum for me." You moaned, begging for his release so you could end your own torture. A strangled groan and shortened breaths signaled that his orgasm struck. Your mouth watered at the thought of his chest and stomach painted with the white stickiness.

Fives took a minute to compose himself and slow his heart rate, clearing his throat before speaking again. "Fuck, darlin'. I love it when you talk dirty like that." He was smirking. You could tell.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." Whining usually wasn't your thing, but you craved the relief you had just granted for him.

"Don't worry. I promise, I'll make it up to you. Get some rest, I'll call in again tomorrow. Sweet dreams, Y/N." And with that, he hung up.

Tossing your phone aside, you slid down the headboard and laid on your back with an unfulfilled groan. But you did as told, letting sleep take over your deprived body until morning came.

You had slept in a little later than usual due to your late night antics. The smell of coffee had awakened your senses and it called out to you. Stretching your limbs as you walked down the halls and into the kitchen, you offered Rex a sleepy smile when he handed you a steaming mug.

He laughed softly and matted your hair down a bit. "Looks like you had a rough night, huh kid?"

You rolled your eyes at the memory and sipped your drink. "Your best friend is an asshole." You spoke from behind the cup.

Rex wore a smirk that you couldn't quite read. The look in his eyes made a chill run down your spine and his stare was lasting longer than usual. "Come on, Y/N, he's not all that bad. In fact, sometimes he can be pretty damn great."

Okay, now that was weird. Rex rarely ever shows appreciation towards Fives like this. You didn't get to think too hard on his strange behavior before he spoke again. "Just let me know if you need anything. Anything at all, okay, Y/N?" He walked behind you to exit the room. What surprised you was that he spanked your ass softly before leaving.

What the hell?

"What the hell do you mean you're not leaving until tomorrow, Fives?" There you go whining again. He was supposed to have been almost home by now.

"Turns out I didn't finish the job as well as I thought. I'm pretty sure I just made this thing angrier than before." The speeder's engine shut off and you heard the footprints on the ground.

"I told you to let one of us go with you, but God forbid you listen to me." The irritation in your voice was evident.

 "Doll, I'll be fine. I'm actually meeting up with Echo for reinforcement. We'll kill this son of a bitch and I'll race my ass back home to you, okay?"

Sighing, you ran your hand through your hair and shrugged. "Okay, Fives. Be careful. I love you."

"I love you, too, Y/N. I'll call after the job is done. Be good." He gave his usual warning before ending the call.

Tossing your phone on the bed, you left your room in search of a distraction.

Great. Now I'm boyfriendless and horny beyond belief. Stupid fucking rule. Hey, maybe if I sit on the washing machine naked, it won't count against me because I'm not technically touching myself...

Your thoughts were interrupted by hushed voices talking in the living room. The only ones here besides you were Rex and Wolffe. They were obviously talking about something serious, and you didn't want to disturb their conversation, so you did the only thing you could do. Hide behind the wall and eavesdrop.

"Yeah, he called me last night and told me the same thing." You heard Rex say.

"Do you think we should take him up on his offer?" Wolffe asked.

Rex chuckled. "I mean, have you looked at Y/N? We'd be crazy not to at least ask her."

Your brows furrowed at the sound of your name. What the hell were they talking about?

"And we have his consent..." Wolffe lingered on that statement. "You're right, this is too good of a proposal to let go to waste. Let's go talk to Lady Y/N."

Rounding the corner as if you hadn't been standing there for the entire conversation, you walked down the steps and repeated Wolffe. "Talk to Lady Y/N about what?"

When their eyes met yours, it sent a chill down your spine. They shared a look of curiosity trying to disguise itself as something else. Lust. You'd know the look of lust anywhere. But why it was directed at you from someone other than Fives, you didn't have a clue. Wolffe licked his lips and stepped closer to you, extending his hand for you take and follow him over to where Rex was leaning casually against the back of the couch.

"You seem so tense, Y/N." Rex spoke softly from behind you as his hands started to rub the knots out of your neck. Instantly, you relaxed into his touch. You didn't know if it was his warmth, or that you were craving contact, but you let your eyes fall shut as he continued his decent to your shoulders.

Without having to open your eyes, you felt Wolffe's presence close the space between your bodies. His breath fanned over your face as he pushed your hair behind your ear and out of your face. "Why are you so tense, Y/N?" His voice was no higher than a gruff whisper.

"Tell us, littlu'n." Rex urged from behind you, his fingers now sliding down your arms.

"I haven't had sex in over two weeks. Fives doesn't let me touch myself when he's away." You don't know why you confessed as easily as you did. Rex and Wolffe were some of your best friends, and you talked about everything under the sun. But you all usually kept your sex lives under wraps. "All I want is to be touched. I want release so bad and I can't have it."

Rex's warm breath hitting the back of your neck made you shiver as Wolffe glided his fingers across the hem of your shirt. "You know, we would be more than happy to help you, Y/N. Give you what you crave most." Wolffe said as his knuckles lightly brushed against your hipbones.

"Honored." Rex corrected him.

At this admittance, your eyes shot open. You didn't know who too look at. Both Wolffe and Rex shared the same calm look that didn't show any sign of joking. Before you could start bombarding them with questions and accusations, you were silenced.

"Fives told us to assist you while he's on his mission. He said to do whatever you asked of us." Wolffe informed you.

"Said it was your reward for being such a good little girl." Rex continued.

That's when you knew it had to be true. Only Fives would say something like that to you. Although, it sounded wonderful coming from his best friend's mouth. You were already getting off on how close they were to you. Like they said, you'd be crazy not to take him up on his offer. So you let yourself relax back into Rex's chest, bringing one of your arms up to rest on Wolffe's shoulder while the other snaked around the back of Rex's neck.

"So, how is this gonna work boys?" You asked, looking from one man to the other.

Wolffe and Rex looked up at each other, silently asking each other if you had really just agreed to this. After letting the realization set in, they couldn't help the grin that played on their lips. "How ever you want it to work, Y/N. You call the shots." Wolffe slowly dragged his lips up your arm, grazing his teeth along your shoulder. "We've been instructed to do whatever you like, my lady. Your wish, is our command."

Both of them coaxing you from each end was stimulating your senses. Your body was already on fire and they had hardly even done anything yet. And it dawned on you that you didn't have to be Fives's good little girl for the night. Being good all of the time was exhausting. You wanted to rebel. You wanted to be bad. The beast inside of you was awakening at the thought of all the possibilities.

You reached for both of their hands and smirked at them, leading them to your bedroom. Once inside, you closed the door and rested your back against it. Your tongue darted out to lick your lips slowly, drawing their attention to your mouth. They closed the space between your bodies when you beckoned them over. One of your hands slid up and down Wolffe's chest, while the other mimicked the same action to Rex. "Did Fives give you any rules that you have to abide by?"

They both shook their heads no. "He said anything you want, goes." Rex breathed out.

You smiled and pulled him closer by his collar, bringing his mouth to yours. Your lips ghosted over his gently. "Good." Pulling Wolffe closer as well, you tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth. "Because I wanna feel, taste, every inch of the two of you." Your words earned a moan from both men. "So get comfortable boys," You squeezed past them, peeling your shirt off as you sauntered over to your bed. "It's gonna be a long night."

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

Kneeling on your mattress, you silently used your finger to beckon them over to you. They sat at each side, Rex to your right and Wolffe to your left, eagerly awaiting your next move. You crawled behind Wolffe and slid your hands down his chest, latching your mouth to the back of his ear and sucking a soft bruise there while you gathered the hem of his shirt and pulled it off of his frame. He tilted his head to the side and exhaled slowly, shuddering when your fingers trailed over his pectorals and left goosebumps in their wake. Then, you moved over to Rex, pulling his t-shirt over his head and discarding it with the rest of the clothes.

"Kneel." You motioned for Rex to mirror your stance on the bed. He did as told, kneeling behind you. Wolffe watched and waited for you to give him an order.

"Come here, Wolffe." Relishing in the way you said his name, he shivered, his eyes slowly hazing over as he too came to a kneeling position in front of you.

The two men sandwiched you between them, giving you little to no space to move. You backed your ass into Rex's crotch, grinding slowly. His jeans grew tighter as he grunted and rested his hands on your hips. Your hands slid up and down Wolffe's toned chest, enjoying the feeling of his abs underneath your fingertips. When your eyes met, you smirked and leaned into him, crashing your lips against his. Wolffe cupped your face in his hands, deepening the kiss. His lips parted just enough for you to slip your tongue past them, making him groan at the feeling of your tongue massaging his. Your hips never stopped moving against Rex's as you occupied Wolffe with your mouth. When you pulled away from Wolffe, one of your arms slipped around the back of Rex's neck, tugging on the ends of his hair until his head was forced back to give you access to his neck. You sucked on his pulse point until your name fell from his lips.

Wolffe watched in amazement for a moment until he noticed your half bare chest being unattended to. He palmed your breasts through your bra roughly, to which your responded with a moan against Rex's skin. Rex's hands gripped you tighter as the vibrations from your mouth beat against his throat..

"You know, Fives always handles me like I'm made of glass. Always so gentle with me. Calls me his good little girl," You tilted your head up so that your mouth brushed against Rex's fervently as you arched into Wolffe's touch. Wolffe leaned down to your chest and nipped at your skin, sucking over the marks he made with his teeth. One of Rex's hands pushed into the back of your shorts, squeezing your ass harshly. "But not you." You breathed out, leaning your head on Rex's chest. "You take me for what I really am."

Wolffe glided his hands up your sides and looked up at you from where his face was buried between your breasts. "And what are you really, Y/N?"

A slap to the back of your thigh stopped you from answering. Instead, you moaned through a bitten lip. "A bad girl." Rex replied for you. You could hear the grin on his lips without having to look at him. "Mmm, I bet you're a naughty little thing in bed, aren't you, littlu'n?" His voice was beautifully gruff. All you could do was nod.

"I bet you like it nice and rough, don't you, Y/N?" Wolffe mumbled into the crook of your neck as he kissed his way upward. Again, you nodded. "Tell us. Let us know what you like. We want to pleasure you to the fullest of our abilities, my lady."

Just thinking of all the possibilities that the two of them could do to your body was enough to surrender you useless. But you weren't about to roll over and play the good little girl role again. They were going to do what you wanted, alright.

Taking the wrist of each man, you led their hands to each side of your ass. "I like to be spanked."

Rex and Wolffe shared a look and smiled before drawing back and slapping your skin. You knew your ass was blushed from the sting without having to look back at it. The men kneaded your flesh in the palms of their hands to soothe the sweet ache.

"Go on, cyare." Rex nuzzled his nose against the shell of your ear as he pushed your shorts down your legs. Wolffe held you while Rex pulled them the rest of the way off.

Your breath was shaky as you sighed. "Bitten. I like to be bitten. Clawed at. I want bruises in the form of your fingertips scattered all over my body." Your chest was heaving and you had to choke down a moan at the thought of it all.

The smirk that was plastered on Wolffe's lips sent a shiver down your spine. He trailed his fingers down your sides, his nails digging into your skin and leaving marks that led to your panties. You sighed contently, resting your head on Rex's shoulder as he unhooked your bra and discarded it. Wolffe hunched over on his knees, propping himself up on his elbows as his fingers massaged your thighs harshly. His thumb slowly brushed against your clothed clit, making you whimper.

Rex wrapped your hair around his hand and tugged your head back to look at him. Your bottom lip was held captive by your teeth as another moan escaped the back of your throat from his aggressiveness. His free hand traveled down your neck, to your chest, and finally to your ample breast. He took your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, twisting and teasing the bud.

"Look at me." Rex's demand was met. Your mouth was gaped and your eyes clouded with lust. Rex's tongue traced your bottom lip as Wolffe peppered kisses along your inner thigh.

Although you loved the attention being paid to you, you felt as if you were losing control. You carded your fingers though Wolffe's hair and pulled until he was at eye level with you. "Lay. Now." He obliged, laying back on the pillows and watching for your next order. You peeled off your panties, tossing them away carelessly. "Bare down, fellas. We've got work to do."

They did as instructed, stripping down and waiting for your next command. After telling Rex to wait at the foot of the bed, you crawled over to Wolffe, leaving open mouthed kisses up the path of his body until you reached his lips. His throbbing hard on brushed against your leg, emitting a hiss from the Maker beneath you. "You know, I'd be more than happy to help you out with that," You whispered softly into his ear. He groaned in response. "But only if you return the favor."

Before he could speak, you pecked his lips and moved up to straddle his face. You faced Rex, grinning at the sight of his slack jaw as he watched Wolffe tease your already soaked folds. You never took your eyes off of him as you leaned down and took Wolffe's cock into your hand. When your grip tightened around Wolffe's tip, he licked a long, hard strip along your cunt. A strangled groan sounded from deep inside of your throat and you licked your lips, looking back and forth between Rex's eyes and his unattended to length. He got the hint and made his way over to you.

Rex pumped himself in his hand a few times while you retrieved the lube from your bedside table and squirted some into your palm, slicking Wolffe's dick with it. You smiled at Rex and crashed your lips to his passionately before showering his skin with kisses, trailing down his stomach. Your tongue licked along his shaft before you sucked him into your mouth. His hand tangled into your hair, guiding your head back and forth on him.

"Harder." Your command was muffled due to your full mouth, but obliged. Rex tightened his grasp and pulled your head back, thrusting his hips in sync with you.

Your motions never let up on Wolffe. You continued to pump him tight in your clutch, twisting your wrist and rubbing your thumb along the vein under his tip. When he began to suck on your clit, it was the beginning of your downfall. He snaked his arms around your thighs as you rode his mouth for all it was worth until you came. Moans and straggled breaths were the only sounds echoing around the room as he helped you ride it out.

You knew it was only a matter of time before they followed suit. With a flick of the wrist and hollowed cheeks, you got what you wanted. Rex's load filled your mouth as Wolffe's spewed over your chest and stomach.

After swallowing Rex's cum, you licked up Wolffe's until he was clean of the sticky substance. You fell to your back and smiled to yourself, still in bliss from what had just happened. Rex kissed your temple and Wolffe moved the hair away from your face. You let your eyes fall shut and hummed softly.

"Anything else we can do for you, cyary'ika?" Wolffe asked.

"Anything at all?" Rex pressed.

You could lie, you were already warn out. A certain amount of time without sexual exertion can feel like running a marathon once you finally get back in the game. But it had been too long, and the craving for it only grew stronger. There was no chance in hell that this opportunity was going to happen again, so why not take full advantage of it?

Rex and Wolffe were laying on their sides, waiting for your answer. They knew from your grin that you weren't finished with them. Their calm gentleness was replaced with dominate roughness as they each took a leg and spread you open. Rex's teeth nipped at your throat while Wolffe clawed his way up your thigh. They each took a nipple into their mouths, taunting and teasing in such a delicious fashion that you felt the room spin.

You ran your hands through their hair and pulled them up to look at you. "Enough teasing. Fuck me already." You half pleaded, half commanded.

Both men helped you up and positioned you between them, Rex in front of you and Wolffe behind. You ground your hips into Rex's and pulled Wolffe in for a bruising kiss. Both of them were hesitant, not wanting to hurt you in any way, but you quickly assured them.

"I'm fine, I can take it. Just please, I can't wait any more. I need you, please, I need both of you." You didn't care how pathetic you sounded. All the teasing had you more turned on than ever and you longed to be filled to the highest extent.

Wolffe slowly eased himself into you after coating himself with the lubricant. You sighed and rested your head in the crook of his neck as he rubbed circles into your hips to soothe you.

"Come on, Cap. Can't get this party started without you." Despite your approval, Rex was still timid. You stroked his cheek and pulled him close until your lips brushed against his. "Please, Rex. You don't know how bad I need this. How bad I need you. " You whispered against his mouth.

He whimpered, nodding and readying himself before sliding into you with ease. Groans and sighs emitted from each of you as they allowed you time to adjust to their lengths. After signaling that it was okay to move, they rocked their hips back and forth, switching speeds and going in and out of sync with each other.

There wasn't much you could do besides help spring them on. Your hands caressed every inch of Rex while your mouth took care of Wolffe. You felt Wolffe twitch inside of you, which in turn made your walls tense around him and Rex. They were trying their damnedest to hold back until you came first. Sloppy thrusts and hot mouths all deemed you to your end.

You came hard, feeling your slickness slide down your thighs as Rex and Wolffe continued until their orgasms hit. You were filled to the hilt. Their actions slowed to a complete stop and they slowly pulled out of you, laying you down gently.

You all were still fighting to regulate your breathing as you lay tangled up in one another. Rex rolled over to his side and nuzzled his face into your neck. "Fives is one lucky motherfucker."

You laughed softly and pushed his hair out of his face. Rex's communicator rang from the back of his jean pocket. As he got up to answer it, Wolffe pulled you closer and kissed your lips sweetly. Rex's voice was muffled for the most part, but he turned around to look at you and Wolffe as he spoke.

"Yeah, Fives. She was a very good girl."

(masterlist)

[whynotwinnie]

Timida part 3: Roger Taylor x OC

sorry it took so long college is kicking my ass rn but thank you for all the support y’all have given me i’m going to start writing the next part rn thank y’all - bennie <3

T/w: body dysmorphia, talks of anxiety and depression, cussing

MICKEY

Throughout the night you woke up a total of 4 times getting frustrated you sat up and stared at the clock 4:13 in the afternoon. You flopped back on the bed, you should’ve gone to bed earlier.

You swung your legs to the edge of your bed and hopped down popping your back as you made your way to your shower. You turned on the hot water and let it run while you stripped yourself of your clothes. You turned yourself toward the mirror staring at your body, oh it was going to be one of those days. You turned from side to side checking your figure and felt the tears start to form in your eyes. 

You stepped into your shower and started to cry while the hot water hit your back. You always got these weird mood swings where you felt like shit and wanted to hide from the world, you would say these mood swings happened at least once a week. You know you probably needed some type of help for it but as of right now you didn’t have the time or the funds to deal with that. 

You spent a little extra time in the shower resulting in the hot water running out and turning freezing cold. You groaned and turned it off grabbing a towel to dry your body, when you were leaving the restroom you made sure to avoid looking in the mirror. 

You grabbed a different big t-shirt to use as pajamas and threw on a random pair of house shorts and headed to your work area to finish whatever orders you didn’t start on last night.

Making quick work with the simple alterations you sat bored after folding the last article of clothing nicely. You got up from your desk and walked around your small apartment trying to find something to keep you occupied until it was time to call Roger.

Deciding you should make an early dinner you went to your kitchen area in your flat. The flat itself was small and the only way you could describe it was tolerable. It was one bed, one bathroom flat the only reason why you ended up signing your lease was that it was cheap and had an open living room area so you can set up all your work stuff there. But that also meant that your living room was always a mess with scrap fabric on the floor, 2 working mannequins plus the broken one being propped up by the wall, your huge old sewing machine that was way too loud, and a wardrobe that you found on the street that you cleaned and kept some spare fabric and clothes in.

You decided that you were going to make chicken and rice, you would’ve had beans but you ran out a week ago and never got the time to go get groceries. As you seasoned your chicken you made a promise to yourself that you would go get groceries tomorrow. 

Then your phone rang.

“Shit,” you said while you left your chicken on the stove, quickly checking the time before you answered 6:05 it seemed too early for it to be Roger.

“Hello?” you said to the phone wondering who it could be.

“Mickey?”

“Oh hey Roger, I wasn’t expecting you to call this early,” 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” he signed into the receiver “Remember when I told you yesterday how we had a really good practice, well today was shit.”

“I’m sorry about that Roger, what happened?”

“Well, Brian and I couldn’t get on the same page to save our lives he kept insisting that there needed to be a guitar solo in every fucking song when there really shouldn’t.” 

He kept his rant going for a few minutes talking about solos and songs you just tried to keep up with the names and strange vocabulary he was using. It wasn’t until you started to smell burning when you remembered your chicken on the stove.

“Fucking shit hold on Roger.” you dropped the phone and ran to the chicken taking the pan off the burner. The chicken was black on the bottom and stuck to the pan.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you did your best to scrape the chicken in the trash but some stayed stuck you would have to deal with that later. You turned your rice off before that could burn too, you guess rice for dinner would do.

You threw the pan in the sink and turned on the water and watched the steam come off the pan, you never had this happen before you were a pretty good cook it came naturally after your mother made you help her cook for your whole family. But burning something if she could see you now she would be so disappointed, well she’s always disappointed in you nothing you could do to change that.

You turned off the water and went back to the phone.

“Hey sorry about that.” you sighed into the phone

“Is everything okay Mickey? You really had me worried.”

“Everything is fine now I had started making chicken right before you called and I didn’t keep an eye on it but now it’s burnt.” 

“This is all my fault, I bored you with all my stupid problems.”

“No, you didn’t! I should’ve known better.”

“You have to let me make it up to you.” 

You paused for a second. “Don’t be silly it’s just chicken.”

“Let me take you for dinner.”

“I- When?” you said softly

“Right now.”

You didn’t say anything, you weren’t ready or anything like that.

“Unless you don’t want to go that’s okay too.”

You panicked “No, I would love to it’s just that I look like a mess right now.”

“I bet you’re lying, I want to see you Mickey please let me take you for dinner. If not for me then for the poor chicken you just burned.”

You laughed. “Okay then.”

“Great, what’s your address I’ll pick you up.”

You stopped, was it smart to give him your address? No. 

“Or we can meet there Mickey. I’m fine with either.” 

You didn’t have a car, you knew how to drive and all that but after one time where your mom yelled at you for making too sharp of a turn you always got nervous when you got behind the wheel. So you walked or biked everywhere now. 

You decided to give him your address and in the worst-case scenario maybe Dayla would tell the police it was Roger who murdered you. But you doubt that would happen. He said he’ll be there in fifteen and that you didn’t live far from each other.

You rushed to get ready putting on black jeans and another t-shirt much like the same outfit you first saw him in except this time you decided to put on a little mascara and to fill in your eyebrows.

While you were tying your shoes you heard the buzzer “Hey Mick it’s Roger can you buzz me in?”

Your heart fluttered at the new nickname he had for you “Yeah Roger, I’ll meet you down there.” as you buzzed him in.

You practically ran to the elevator cursing it for taking so long and once it opened at the lobby you saw him there looking extremely good and with flowers in hand.

“Roger!” You called him over.

“Hey Mick, these are for you,” he said as he handed you a bouquet of carnation flowers.

“Thank you so much!” you said as you grabbed them he looked down at you and you leaned into him for a short embrace. 

“Would you like to come up for a bit so I can put these in water,” you asked hoping he wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

“Yeah of course.”

You both took the elevator back to your floor in comfortable silence and then you walked him to your door.

“It’s a bit of mess right now and it still smells burnt.” You said as you opened the door.

He took a look around as he walked in “I like it.”

“You don’t have to lie Roger.” you laughed as you filled a vase with water.

“I’m not I like it, it’s cozy even with the burnt smell,” he said as he grinned at you.

“Please don’t remind me.” You groaned as you set the flower vase on the small dining table you had.

He laughed and walked toward your living room “Oh wow.”

“Yeah, that was the mess I was talking about.” you cringed at how it must look.

“This is where you work?” 

You shook your head yes.

He walked to the dress you made last night hanging on the mannequin.

“Did you do this?” he asked eyes wide. 

“Yeah.”

“Like you made it made it, not like hemmed it or anything,” he said not believing you.

“Yeah, look.” you flipped the back of the dress to show the custom made tags your aunt had made for you when you lived with her. The tag said “Luci’s Attire” it was the best idea you had at the time.

“Wow, this is really good Mickey like for real.”

You grinned at him it felt good being seen. 

“Thank you, Roger.” You smiled at him.

“Hey, before we go is it okay if I use your bathroom before we go?”

“Yeah of course.” You led him to the bathroom and told him you would be in the living room.

You decided to crack open a window to help get rid of the burnt smell feeling less nervous about hanging out with Roger. 

You both left your apartment building shoulders touching feeling the cool September air blow through your hair. He opened the door to his car with a huge smile on his face. You gave a soft thanks and sat in his car. 

The car itself was really nice probably the nicest car you have ever been in. The outside was painted in a sleek black and the inside leather was all red. You were honestly scared to touch anything so you kept your hands on your lap. Roger got in the driver’s seat and turned to you.

“Is it okay if we go to this place I know they serve the best Italian food.”

“The best?” you said with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, the best I had, actually maybe we should go somewhere else.” He said while reversing.

“No, I would like to go actually.” You said laughing

“I don’t think it’s a good idea now Mick-”

“Please Roger.” You said with a pleading voice.

He did a quick double-take at you and gave a small smile.

He turned the dial of his radio to change the channel.

“What kind of music do you like listening to?” he asked

“Can I be honest?” you said low

“Yes please.”

“I like American music.” You said laughing.

“AMERICAN MUSIC! Mickey you have got to be kidding me!”

“I’m sorry Roger I don’t know why I’m just obsessed with America for some reason.”

“Mickey we are probably living in the best era of music in Great Britain and you choose America. It’s simply not patriotic of you.” 

“Well, I’m not from the UK Roger! Also, I could’ve sworn you put on more of an accent than you really have on ” you said laughing

“I did not! Don’t change the subject either!”

“Yes, you did you said ‘Amerikah’ like you were the Queen herself.”

“Ok maybe but come on Mickey!”

“I like music from here too, the first song I heard that was in English was the Beatles.”

“And you think American music is better?!”

“Just purely because I have this fascination with America. And I do like music from here and Spain and Italy it has nothing to do with-”

“Alright alright alright, but I’ll show you some real music.”

He pulled into the Italian restaurant and of course, it was named “Giovanni’s Italian Restaurant” You almost rolled your eyes. 

“Let’s go,” he said with a smile as he opened your door for you.

Taglist <3: @johnricharddeacy

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Hate on me [Sam Winchester x Reader] - Requested 16+

Title: Hate on me Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader  Word count: 3.2k Published: 18 July, 2020 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warning: Swearing, Intimate scenes (16+) Notes: I got this little one requested by an Anon reader of mine. As requested it's a bit smutty, but I did not specify the exact act, so I would say anyone 14+ can read it. I love smut, however I like to write for all ages and if I wrote an actual smut, it would not be available for underage readers. Maybe in the future I will write, but for now, I hope this will be enough. Summary: You have been having rather explicit dreams about Sam, confusing your already hateful relationship. But then things turn south when you lose it and the closest place to solve things is your bedroom. Request: [x]

May I request a smutty Sam x reader where they despise each other but frequently have wet dreams about one another and Dean knows and is always like “Yeah, you ToTaLlY hate him/her. I hear you moaning his/her name in your sleep, bitch.” Please. Also...I love Love LOVE your work! - Anonymous

Supernatural Masterlist | Masterlists

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Sam Winchester was your worst nightmare. Even the thought of being under the same roof with him was making you agitated. Unfortunately for you, you both lived in the bunker and tried to stop yourselves from killing each other daily.

Whatever what you have done, it was always wrong. You left a can of beer on the kitchen table? Two minutes later he was banging on your door furiously, giving you a lesson on how to clean up after yourself.

Did you decide to sit down on the couch and relax after a big hunt? He appeared out of nowhere to tell you off for being lazy and unproductive.

If you have forgotten to do your shopping, he was on your case about it for a whole week, if not more, for being irresponsible and forgetful. Then he would go onto how he could never trust you on a hunt when you are clearly unable to do a simple supply run.

You were more than fed up with him.

You hated the way he he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, whilst he bit into his bottom lip, trying to concentrate even more. You hated the way he rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed scoff when Dean was being his usual idiotic self. You despised the cologne he used as you were having trouble getting his scent out of your nostrils.

His mere presence annoyed you.

You were beyond confused. You hated everything about him, but most of all, your dreams that you had of him more and more frequently. You could recall them so clearly as if they happened in reality. His harsh fingers running through your side, down to your hips, squeezing them firmly. His hands playing with the hem of your shirt as they eagerly caressed your stomach. The way his plump lips sucked on that particularly sensitive spot on your neck, making you moan his name, pulling him closer to you as if you were unable to breath without him.

Waking up in a pool of sweat whether it be in your room or the couch of the living room, irritated you to no end. You didn't want to have these dreams, you didn't even want to think about Sam. He was your worst nightmare both in your dreams and in reality.

You despised him!

You hated him!

His mere existence irritated you.

You didn't want to think of him in any way, let alone sexually. But you were endlessly struggling against your own mind. The worst part wasn't even the dreams anymore, but the fact that you felt like losing control around him. Every time you had a fight, your dreams appeared unexpectedly in your mind, forcing you to wander onto paths that you wished to never walk.

Just like this time.

He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, right in front of you, harshly gesturing as if it helped him to make you understand how important of a task you have been given.

"I have told you the ingredients for the spell. I have written them down for you. I have repeated it on numerous occasions to get it into that stupid little head of yours." Sam raised his voice in agitation, running his fingers through his rich, soft hair. Your eyes involuntarily followed his movements, before you realised how obviously you have been staring at him. "Still, you forgot the only ingredient which we needed the most." He scoffed as he shook his head.

"So I forgot. I can go back and buy it. It's not the end of the world, Sam." You tried to save the situation, but once again your eyes didn't concentrate on him, but his tongue running across his lips.

"That's not the point. I have clearly asked you to do something simple and you are incapable of doing it. I just can't get it through my mind how you can be so useless." He threw his arms in the air in frustration and this time it was your turn to get pissed off.

"Useless? Now listen, Winchester. If you have a go at me for forgetting something, that's fine. Although I think you have forgotten things in the past too, Mr. Perfect. But I will not let you insult me." You stepped closer to him, your chest almost touching his, your eyes looking firmly into his green orbs. You cursed him for wearing that stupid, sweet, but woody cologne of his, which you were unable to forget. You composed yourself quickly and continued. "I will not stand here and listen to you trying to bring me down for such a small mistake. If you don't like that I forgot something then go and fucking get it yourself." You hissed in anger, before you span around and headed to your room. Or that was the plan, before Sam got hold of your wrist. You could feel his strong hold, making you wonder if he would be that dominant in bed as well, before you forced yourself to let those silly thoughts go.

"I'm not finished." He scoffed in frustration.

"I don't care. You can have a conversation with yourself as far as I'm concerned." You spit in anger and pulled your arm out of his grip to head to your room.

Instead, however you saw Dean sitting in the hall, legs up on the table, laptop on his lap, watching some old movies. You dropped yourself into one of the chairs across the table and huffed in annoyance. Sam was officially your worst nightmare.

"Let me guess. You fought again." Dean spoke in a bored tone, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Of course we did. It's like he has something against me. Whatever I do is always wrong. Why does he feel the need to attack me for anything I do?" You asked desperately, but he just smiled, before he closed down the lid of his laptop.

"Why do you feel the need to always have a go at him?" He asked with a mischievous look.

"What?" You asked dumbfounded.

"You think it's only him? Oh, please. I clearly remember you starting a fight when he left his laundry in the washing machine for 5 minutes longer or when he wanted to help you carrying the groceries down to the kitchen, but instead you gave him a lecture. You two are constantly fighting over stupid little things. It's not you starting, it's not Sam starting. You are doing it at the same time and honestly, I have a feeling, that deep down both of you enjoy it like some kind of a kink." He chuckled playfully as if he had said the smartest thing.

"That's bullshit. I hate your brother. I despise his mere presence." You argued as you shot up from your seat. He pursed his lips and raised his brows while a cheeky grin appeared across his face as if he knew something you didn't.

"Yeah, totally. The way you keep moaning his name in your sleep tells me otherwise though." He let out a wholehearted laughter, making you turn crimson red.

"What... how..." You tried to talk, but you weren't sure what you wanted to ask.

"I can hear things, you know?" He chuckled. "But hey, I am not judging. Whatever makes you feel good." He shrugged with a cheeky grin, before he stood up from his seat and left you to your thoughts. You hid your face in your palm, your ears still burning from his embarrassing words. Were you really attracted to Sam? You wanted to believe it was just frustration and nothing else. But your dreams... your dreams were telling you something completely different.

All three of you were sitting in the kitchen, munching on your dinner in complete silence. It was rather awkward and you wanted nothing, but to finish your food and run away.

Luckily the awkward silence didn't last long. You could hear the metallic door of the bunker open and close loudly, before the angel in his usual trench coat appeared in the entrance of the kitchen.

"Castiel!" You exclaimed happily and ran over to him to give him a hug. He returned it with a warm smile. "I missed you. You have been gone for quite a while." You spoke happily, but your smile quickly disappeared as you heard an annoyed scoff. You span around to look at Sam with a deadly expression across your face. "Do you have something to say?" You asked, arms crossed in front of your chest.

"Nope." He shrugged and shook his head, filling his mouth with another fork full of his food.

"I thought so too." You stated, before you turned back to your favourite angel.

"Excuse me?" Sam shot up from his seat, clearly agitated.

"You are excused. Now, if you don't mind I am having a conversation and you are rudely interrupting." You spit in anger, barely turning your head to see him.

"You started it. I didn't even say anything." Sam continued.

"You scoffed." You shrugged your shoulders as if you have already concluded this conversation.

"I can't even let out a noise without you trying to make it out to be the start of an argument?" He questioned you with an eye roll.

"No, you can't. Whenever I do something, you scoff at me, you start huffing and puffing like a child or you growl at me for no reason whatsoever. It's like, everything I do is plain wrong." You argued this time, trying to make him understand your point as you stepped closer. You tried to turn around to ask Dean and Cas to give you a minute to talk, but they were nowhere to be found anymore.

"Oh really? Even when I offered to help, you just shrugged it off and started an argument about how you are more than capable of doing things on your own. Can you just say, 'No, thank you' for once, instead of starting a fight?" He raised his voice.

"I wouldn't have to start a fight if I didn't feel like you are never happy with what I do." You confessed, but you sounded irritated.

"I wouldn't start an argument if you finally just accepted that I never wanted to argue in the first place. It's like even when I'm nice, even when I'm rude, you are just not happy with anything. When I sent you to get the ingredients for the spell, I simply asked you if you forgot the lamb blood, because I couldn't find it. I didn't attack you or argue with you. I just asked a question." He stood in front of you, towering over your body, his breath fanning your face. His presence made your head fuzzy and you needed extra energy to collect your thoughts or even to hear his words. "But then you got upset and I didn't know what to do and by the time you started throwing words at me, I was beyond pissed off and thought if you can insult me, so can I." He threw his arms in the air as he was showing you that he was giving up. He was right though. Now that you thought about it, you were frustrated with him because of your dreams. You thought if you hate on each other, it would be easier to ignore how much your dreams made you crave for him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Look, I am tired of fighting." He started this time in a clam tone. "If we can't live together, at least let's try to ignore each other."

Your eyes widened, your brows ran high. You weren't sure if he meant that, but you were certain that you didn't want to be any farther from him. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and shook your head. "I don't want that." You whispered before you attached your lips to his forcefully. For a second he was frozen and you started to realise what you have done might have been a very stupid idea. But you didn't have to think for long before his lips returned your kisses and pushed your back against the edge of the kitchen counter.

His kiss was rough and aggressive. It wasn't something you expected, but enjoyed more than you thought you would. He licked across your lower lip, making you moan, letting his tongue enter your mouth to pleasure yours. However instead of letting him dominate, you fought against him, whilst running your fingers through his soft locks, tugging on its ends firmly, forcing a growling sound to leave his lungs.

His hands wondered down your side, gently caressing your waist before, going lower and firmly grabbing your hips to pull you closer. You could feel his bulge through the thin material of his sweatpants, making you moan at the thought of him filling you up.

His lips wondered down to your neck line, sucking hard on your sweet spot, forcing you to breathe out his name in pleasure. He grabbed your thighs and forced you to jump, as he pulled your legs around his waist. He attached his lips to yours once again and you voluntarily locked your arms around his neck to support a part of your weight. He firmly squeezed your butt, before he decided to move towards your bedroom, not wanting anyone to interrupt you. He didn't leave your mouth for a second, whilst he walked to your door.

With one hand he kept your weight around him, with the other he turned the doorknob to your room, before kicking it in harshly and shutting it behind himself. He shoved your back against the closed door, making you wince at the hard impact, but quickly made you forget about it as he pushed his groin further between your legs, leaving your lips agape. You heaved a deep sigh as you felt his growing bulge, wanting to feel him finally.

You looked into his eyes to see his once bright green irises taking on a darker shade, completely filled with lust.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asked, his voice breathless, whilst struggling to control himself. You didn't answer though, you slightly nodded and attached your lips to his, getting rid of the gap between you.

He walked over to the edge of your bed, laying you down on the top of your duvet as he impatiently started kissing your neck, making you feel like a hot mess. Your thoughts were all about him. Wherever he touched you, he left your skin burning for more. His gentle bites on your inner thighs made you feel dizzy in anticipation. His head between your legs, forced you to scream his name in euphoria. You wanted to get on top of him to return his sweet touches, his passionate kisses, all the head-spinning attention his has given you, but he didn't let you.

"Not this time, sweetheart." He breathed into your ear, forcing your breath to hitch as he finally entered you. He was everything you wished for. You dug your nails into his back, as you felt pleasure take over you, the knot in your stomach forcing your back to arch as you finally came undone, screaming his name in pleasure. Soon he followed you with a deep growl leaving his lips, before he attached them to yours, sealing the moment.

Sam laid across your bed, pulling you onto his chest, kissing the top of your head as you both tried to organise your breathing. You looked up at him, trying to find answers to what just happened. His eyes were closed, his long lashes gracefully laid across his cheekbones. He was beautiful. The way he licked across his lips, made you feel dizzy. Was it a one time thing. Was it just to release the obvious tension? You didn't want any of that. You wanted more. You wanted him. You just fit so perfectly with him, you didn't want this to end there.

You didn't know what to do. You could feel the tears collecting in the corner of your eyes, feeling uncertain about what anything meant. You sat up, pulling your cover over you, your legs hanging off your bed as you took a deep breath.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, worry clear in his voice.

"Yeah." You breathed. "I just..." You didn't know what to say, not to make yourself look like a naive little teenager.

"What is it?" He asked softly.

"I just... I'm not sure..." You growled in frustration, running your hands through your hair. "I don't know what this was." You finally let it out.

"We had sex." Sam chuckled, stating the obvious. You turned around giving him a sceptical look.

"Oh right, I didn't realise that." You rolled your eyes.

"By the voices you made, sounded like you did." He smirked at you knowingly.

"Oh shut up." You grabbed your pillow and threw it at him, making him laugh harder. He removed the pillow from his face and pulled you back into his arms, completely ignoring your resistance.

"Look Y/N, if this is how you hate on me, I am perfectly fine dealing with your hateful ass." He laughed. You slapped his chest playfully, but you couldn't hide the ever growing grin across your face. "We don't have to label it, we don't have to decide what it is between us. Let's just get along and if we can't get along, we can just hate on each other. I am more than happy with both" He chuckled, making you go bright red as you hid your face, pulling the cover over your head.

"I hate you." You spoke, your duvet muffling your voice.

"I'm sure you do." He laughed as he pulled your cover down and gave a small peck on your lips.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to like and/or reblog the fic. Thank you :) 

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

[wontlastimokwiththat]

Dehydration [L.H.]

WARNINGS: Swearing; Mentions of alcohol; Depression (Not exactly addressed but if you’ve been there, you can see it);

You have been friends with Luke, Calum, and Michael since childhood. Before 5SOS was a thought in their mind. Back when Michael and Calum couldn’t stand Luke. Back when your biggest fear was not passing that exam you studied so hard for.

When 5SOS formed, you were there and you welcomed Ashton into the friend group with open arms when he joined the band. You’ve always been close with all of them, but you and Luke were inseparable.

You’ve always been in love with Luke, but knew he never felt the same. How could he? He was Luke Hemmings and you were just his best friend.

Luke’s girlfriend, whom he’d been dating for a month, hates you and is very vocal about it. You’ve went home and cried more than once because of her. However, nothing she said measured to what she made him do.

“Y/N, can we talk?” Luke asked.

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled, following him into the kitchen of his house where you were all hanging out. It didn’t take a second for you to know something was wrong. “What’s up?”

“You should leave,” he told you.

“What?” you quizzed, tilting your head slightly. “Why would I leave?” He took a deep, shakey breath.

“You’re not welcome here anymore,” he said quietly. You felt your heart break, not in two, but into a billion pieces.

“W-What?” you asked.

“You heard me,” he said louder. “You’re not welcome in my house or my life anymore.” You didn’t respond, just managed a quick nod before grabbing your purse as you walked out the door.

Three days later, you were curled up on your couch, the tears had stopped long ago. You knew you were dehydrated by the pain every time you moved and the weakness in your body but you really didn’t care. You hadn’t ate in three days and the only thing you’d drank was all of the liquor in your liquor cabinet.

Any type of movement caused you pain so you only moved to go to the bathroom. You had no plan to get up as you stared at the ring you wore on your right index finger.

It had been a gift from Luke a few years ago and you hadn’t taken it off since he gave it to you.

~“Y/N, close your eyes and hold out your hand,” Luke instructed. You laughed as your best friend bounced on the balls of his feet but did as he said, holding your right hand out palm side up. He flipped your hand over and you felt him slide something cool onto your index finger. “Okay, open them.”

You opened your eyes and looked down at the silver band he had placed on your hand. The band had his name engraved on the top side. When you flipped your hand over, you noticed the word ‘Always’ was engraved on the other.

“What’s this for?” you asked quietly.

“To remind you that no matter what happens, no matter how famous we get or where we go, I’ll always be here for you. Nothing and no one will change how much you mean to me, Y/N.” You smiled at your best friend, throwing your arms around his neck as you hugged him tightly. He laughed, wrapping his arms around you waist and hugging you back. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too, Luke.”~

That was before the One Direction tours started, which you had accompanied them on. You and Luke hadn’t been separated since then, always seemingly an arm’s length away. Of course, he had girlfriends that weren’t the fondest of you but once you talked to them about how you were just friends and that you had no interest in Luke in that way, they were fine. You had lied, you’d always loved him as more than a friend, but you weren’t stupid enough to risk your friendship.

This girl, Melissa, was different. She hated you, no matter what you said or how many times you said it. And now, she’s convinced Luke to do the same. The one person you could always rely on had left you for a girl, something he’d swore would never happen.

~“So, what happens when you date a girl that doesn’t like me?” you asked as you played with Luke’s hair. He was sprawled out on the couch with his head in your lap. His eyes were closed and his breathing was deep and even. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was asleep.

“What do you mean?” he quizzed.

“I mean, some girls don’t like their boyfriends to have female best friends,” you explained. He opened his eyes and looked at you, grabbing your right hand as the other still played with his hair.

“You see this?” He fiddled with the ring on my hand. “I made a promise. No one is going to come between us, Y/N. Not a girlfriend of mine or a boyfriend of yours. You’re stuck with me. Always.”~

How you wished he’d meant what he said that day we you were 18. Hell, maybe you wished he’d never said it at all. At least, then, you wouldn’t have expected him to stand up for you. It would’ve saved you so much pain.

A knock on your apartment door pulled you from your thoughts. You weren’t thinking as you stood up to answer it and everything went black.

When you woke up in the hospital, there was a tight grip on your hand. You could tell who it was just by how he was holding you.

“Ash?” you mumbled, turning your head slightly. You noticed an IV in you arm and you were hooked up to a few machines.

“Y/N,” he smiled as your eyes landed on him. “How are you feeling?”

“Weak,” you admitted. “What happened?”

“I came over to check on you last night and you never answered the door or your phone. I let myself in and found you in the floor, passed out. You were dehydrated, but the doctors are fixing you up,” he explained.

“You didn’t tell-“ He cut you off.

“Cal, Mike, and Crystal are in the waiting room. We didn’t tell him,” he assured. You nodded, closing your eyes again. “Cal did call Liz and let her know everything that was happening. We know how much you mean to her. She said she’d let your parents know.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled. “You’re too good to me, Ash.” He laughed quietly.

“I think it’s the other way around, sweetheart.” He squeezed your hand slightly. “Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

When you were released from the hospital, Ashton insisted you stay with him until you were back to full strength. A few days at his house watching movies and eating whatever he decided to cook sounded nice, so you’d agreed, which is why you were sitting comfortably on his couch. You were curled up under a blanket, dozing in and out of consciousness.

The ringing of a door bell woke you up slightly. You heard Ashton answer it before hearing a voice you really didn’t want to hear.

“Where is she?” Luke demanded.

“Who?” Ashton asked innocently.

“Y/N.”

“Not sure, mate,” Ashton lied.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was in the hospital?” Luke all but growled. “I had to find out from fans.”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea,” Ashton told him.

“Why do you get to make that call?” Luke yelled. “She’s my best friend, my responsibility! I should’ve been the first person you told!”

“You’re responsibility?” Ashton laughed. “That’s funny, mate, considering you’re the reason she was in the fucking hospital to begin with!” His sentence had started normal but he was yelling by the end. “You chose a slut over the girl you claim to love! She’s a fucking mess because of you! You don’t have a right to know anything going on with her because it’s your damn fault!”

“I do love her,” Luke mumbled so that you could barely hear it from your spot in the living room. “You know I love her.”

“Do I?” Ashton quizzed. “You don’t tell someone you love that they aren’t welcome in your life, Luke. You don’t date other girls for the sheer purpose of getting her attention. You don’t love her, Luke, you just don’t want her to realize how awful you’ve really been to her.”

“Ash, how do you tell your best friend you love her when there’s no possible way she loves you back? I couldn’t do it because I didn’t want to risk our friendship. I made a mistake by telling her to leave and I don’t know how to live without her. I broke up with Melissa as soon as I heard about what happened and I’m here now to fix it,” Luke told him.

You sighed and stood up from the couch. Wrapping the blanket around you and letting it drag on the floor as you walked to the door, peaking at Luke over Ashton’s shoulder. Ashton sensed you, reaching his hand behind him and grabbing your hand.

“Hi, darling,” Luke greeted softly, his eyes scanning your face to try and judge your reaction to him.

“Hi,” you mumbled.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“I guess. Ash, can you give us a minute?” Ashton turned to look at you with an unspoken question in his eyes. You nodded slightly. He gave your hand a squeeze before walking back to the kitchen. You led Luke to the living room, where you sat down on the couch. Luke sat on the coffee table in front of you.

“How are you?” he asked. You fiddled with your fingers as you stared at the floor.

“I’m okay. Ash isn’t letting me out of his sight,” you told him. “You?”

“I’ve been better,” he admitted. “The guys aren’t telling me anything. I only know you were in the hospital because fans were messaging me and asking me what happened.”

“I asked them not to tell you,” you told him. “It was just severe dehydration. Alcohol and tears don’t mix.” You laughed weakly.

“I’m such an idiot,” he mumbled.

“I know,” you nodded, still keeping your eyes on the floor.

“Y/N, would you look at me?” he asked. You sensed him lean forward before he took your hands in his. “I-“ You felt him stiffen. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

“Why would I?” you quizzed. “I mean, you broke your promise, Luke.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know and I’m so, so sorry.” You didn’t say anything for a minute, contemplating your response.

“Did you really date all of those girls to get my attention?” you asked, looking up and locking eyes with him.

“I thought, eventually, you’d realize it,” he nodded. “This one got me side tracked, though, and I never meant for that to happen. I was giving up on the idea of us and Melissa used that to her advantage because she didn’t like you.”

“Really? I had no idea,” you said sarcastically. He smiled slightly. “But, if we’re being honest with each other-“

“We’re always honest with each other,” he pointed out.

“Almost always,” you corrected. “Anyways, what we have can’t be ruined with one stupid mistake or we’d never have made it this far. And, for the record, I’ve always loved you, Luke. Like, really loved you.”

“Thank God,” he grinned before leaning forward and crashing his lips to yours.

You immediately kissed him back, tangling your fingers in his hair as he moved between your legs. He had one hand gripping your hip and the other grabbed your thigh, pulling you closer to him.

“DO NOT HAVE SEX ON MY COUCH!” Ashton yelled, causing Luke to pull away and the both of you to laugh.

“I love you, Y/N,” Luke smiled, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you, too, Luke.”

[heli0s-writes]

cdr’s thoughts on bucky’s blue henley

how dare you come for me with these six fucking words 

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

- 

Bucky’s trying to do laundry. He hates it when the compound crew does it because frankly, all he’s got is time most days and it makes him feel a little funny when other people wash his clothes. They shouldn’t have to do that-- paid for it or not. Anyway, he’s trying to do laundry, but of course-- who decides to fuck up his perfectly domestic day? 

Yeah.

On top of an empty dryer, you swing your legs uselessly. Your own clothes are in another washer with ten minutes left-- a whole mountain spinning in the industrial size machine. You’re the type of person who puts off chores until the very last minute so all you have is what’s currently on-- old pajama shorts and a ratty shirt from some fictional summer camp.

“Barnes,” you instruct seriously, “don’t put the red sock in with the white stuff.”

“No shit.” He retorts, sifting through his hamper, placing darks in one pile and lighter colors in the other. He doesn’t have a lot of whites anyway, so your help is, like usual, useless. Your foot pokes his side, toes pinching him here and there.

“Can’t you go do something?” Bucky mutters, dodging out of the way with a jerk before you snag his skin again. He digs into the bottom of his basket, fishing out the last item and throwing it over his shoulder.

“You’re such a grump-- Oh!” Those long finger-toes of yours catch the shirt and you fling it into your hands, “Blue?”

“Least we know you’re not colorblind.”

“Fucker,” You stick your arms in, turning it right side out, looking at it with interest. Thin, but well-made. Cerulean. Quarter-sleeved. Very new. “It’s really nice.”

He really likes that shirt. Got it a few days ago because the stacks of black and grey and maroon were getting a bit monotonous and it reminded him of his old jacket, anyway. Sentimental of him, but when he looks at it, he feels a little bit more like himself.

Bucky leans over to pick up a wayward sock with a grin. Upon standing upright, the sight of you makes him freeze. Two seconds was all it took. You’d put the damn thing on.

Over your chest, the blue dips, stretches, and drops until its hem reaches the tops of your thighs. Your bare legs stick out, bottoms obscured by its larger size. You’re intrigued, completely distracted by the material and the fit, fingers tugging on the collar and sleeves, rubbing at the fabric, admiring the shade. 

Bucky’s brow furrows. Something feels weird. Kind of funny like how a jab to the side tickles and hurts at the same time. Shock? Relief? Confusion, at the very least. He catches himself staring. 

“It’s super comfy--” your hand strokes your sternum, snapping him out of it, “What kind of witchcraft? Where did you get this? Can I borrow it?”

Bucky grunts stiffly, “No.”

“Dude.” You gesture to yourself, “This is my color. Look.”

He doesn’t. “No. That’s my shirt.” His shirt. His shirt and why is it that even though he’s purposely not looking he can still see your afterimage wearing his shirt? And why is this stupid shirt the thing that is fucking up his day in the first place.

“You’re such a grump,” you repeat, shrugging it off and slipping out from underneath before tossing it back at him. The buzzer of the timer goes off and you dutifully follow, bounding away, the fake summer camp logo of your tee going along with you. Bucky breathes a quiet sigh of relief that this conversation is over.

He turns around distractedly when you screech from across the room, watching you pick up item after item in panic. Everything is rosy and blush. All dyed pink, splat after splat, landing on the floor until finally, a tiny little red sock from deep inside the tub is ripped out with an indignant cry.

You rattle off a string of curses, gesturing wildly, kicking the pile, overall throwing an enormous fit, but Bucky hardly hears a thing. 

In his hands, the warmth of your skin seeps through the soft fabric. He bundles it up gently, fingers vaguely mimicking the way you touched it earlier, and catches himself staring again.

With a quiet grumble, Bucky shoves it back into the hamper, making sure it’s out of his sight. 

It’ll be a while before he looks at it the same way again.