#and then D+ it's like ''hope you like black beige and white idiot''

[cappurrccino]

on the one hand, i get that companies won't make every flavor of their stuff in a decaf variety bc most people probably won't buy it, but on the other hand pls god i would love more options for decaf stuff that isn't just the most basic ass flavor

[katsukissleepybean]

Daichi’s Neighbor (1/2)

Yandere!Daichi Sawamura x M!Reader

Hii!! So- This turned out longer than i thought it would. But nonetheless I hope you enjoy! I'm sorry if it is boring or to long- ee i'm honestly really nervous lmao :D

Anyway- uhm ye enjoy?

- Do not copy or translate my work without permission please -

Keys:

[Y/n] - Your Name [L/n] - Last Name [G/n] - Guardian Name [E/c] - Eye Color [H/c] - Hair Color [S/t] - Skin Tone [R/s] - Random Sport

!!Warnings!!: blood - knives - murder (if I missed any please tell me asap! And I apologize in advance for if I did)

Daichi was pretty much used to his little walk to school. Having his earbuds in and listen to his favorite songs. The scenery was almost nonexistent, yet he never got tired of it.

School days, most of the time they were tiring, the practice was fine if the four idiots of Karasuno would act normal for once. and today was no different from the others. He opened his eyes slowly and blinked the sleepiness away. He shifted in his warm spot on his bed, kind of wanting to stay in a little longer. Only to remember that if he does, he would arrive late for morning practice. And he knew he wouldn’t hear the end of that from both Kōshi and his coach. And thus he sat up with a groan from the comforting warmth of the sheets.

The brunette teenager dragged his feet from the bed and onto the cold laminate flooring. Daichi rubbed his eyes and sat still for a minute, hoping that his body would wake up a little bit more so that he could get into the shower.

After sitting for what felt like two minutes the broad guy stood up from his bed and stumbled to his drawers. He swiftly grabbed some boxer shorts and shuffled out of his beige and brown room, which was decorated nicely with some pictures of his friends and teammates.

Daichi stumbled into the bathroom after greeting his mother with a grumbled ‘good morning’ and received a kiss on the cheek. A heavy sigh escaped the lips of the slightly less tired teen as he turned on the shower. His arm getting slightly wet with ice-cold water that spurted out of the showerhead. The broad brunette hissed in shock and quickly retreated his arm. A soft, quick chuckle ran through before he got undressed and got into the now warm stream of water.

It relaxed most of his muscles that have tensed up due to the stress of school, his Volleyball team, and lack of sleep. Just enjoying the water is what ran through his mind. But that was cut short as his mother knocked on the door, loudly telling him that he should hurry and make his own breakfast. Since she has to leave earlier than expected for her work. Daichi cursed under his breath before wishing his mother good luck with her job.

“To stay home...” Daichi mumbled dreamily, wishing he could lay in his warm, cozy bed again. His slightly tan hand reached out to the bottles of soaps and shampoos and grabbed a nice, vanilla-scented soap. Daichi adored vanilla, as well as he did coffee, and was kind of hoping that his mother could’ve made pancakes with vanilla cream and a little cup of coffee. He kind of felt old for liking coffee in the morning, but he couldn’t help but love the dark, bitter substance so much.

Daichi doused a little bit of shampoo on his palm and washed his short, spiky, hair. Some shampoo streamed down onto his face, causing him to squeeze his eyes very tightly, hoping that the nice scented substance doesn’t get in his chocolate-brown orbs.

After the nice warm, slightly hasted, shower, Daichi dried up and got dressed into his underwear. Quickly heading back to his room he put on his school uniform, which consisted of a classic black gakuran, a white collared shirt, and black plants. Daichi looked into the body mirror hanging on the wall next to his drawer and checked up and down. No stains, no weird pieces of fluffy pieces of dust, nothing was odd. He sighed in content and reached for a little pot of leave-in-conditioner for his hair and smeared it into his short, brown locks.

He automatically gave a quick nod to himself, satisfied with the way he looked. Daichi got a hold of his bag that was already packed with the books that he has to use for today's lessons and walked down the hall towards the kitchen. He quickly put together a sandwich, containing mascarpone, strawberries, and arugula and decided to eat in on his way to school. While having one hand full due to his sandwich, he struggled a bit with putting on his shoes at the front door. Tying his shoe while holding the bread with his mouth, hoping that the toppings wouldn’t fall out, though he succeeded and left out of the front door after grabbing his bag that was resting next to him.

Once outside the slightly cold breeze hit his slightly rosy cheeks and all the warmth from his house left his body. He took a quick bite of his small meal and was delighted that this was the first meal of his day. He sprung out of his daze when a shiver went down his spine whilst blindly attempting to lock the door, he couldn’t help but notice a few voices to the left of him. And so he turned towards the noise and spotted three entirely unfamiliar faces. He looked more around and noticed a big moving truck, that was annoyingly beeping as it drove slightly backward. The broad brunette glanced back at the three faces he didn’t recognize and made eye contact with gorgeous [E/c] orbs.

His breathing hitched in his throat and he couldn’t tear his coffee-colored eyes away from the [E/c] ones. He stood there stupidly gaping at the teenager, thinking of what to do next. Should he wave? Or just smile? Waving might seem so childish, right? Or would it make him look very friendly? Or creepy? Oh god, what does he need to do?!

The teenager laughed to themselves and waved at the brunette boy that was one front yard away from him. Daichi stupidly blinked out of his trance and waved back a bit too excitedly. A bit of a dopey smile made way on Daichi’s face as he turned around and headed towards his school.

---

Daichi couldn’t get the gorgeous teenager he just saw out of his head. As he was walking past the houses of his neighbors and little markets in the long street, he couldn’t help but get distracted by the thoughts of the unfamiliar teen with [E/c] eyes. Where did he come from? A different part of Japan? Maybe he came from a whole different country! That would be cool! Daichi felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and swiftly fished it out.

Suga!<3 >> Hey, where are you? The first years apparently have been waiting for an hour here >> I just arrived btw so yeah...

Daichi<3 >> Hey, I’m omw! >> Why are they so early?

Suga!<3 >> You forgot? Yesterday we decided to come earlier to morning practice!

Daichi<3 >> Oh shit! I totally forgot! I’ll walk faster, see you in a bit!

Suga!<3 >> Alrighty! Be safe alright?<3

Daichi<3 >> Will do!

Daichi took slightly bigger, and faster steps and hurried to his school. Walking past the bus stop hastily, remembering that once he reached the bus stop it’s only a 10-minute walk. He really wished he could’ve stayed home, to just watch a show, maybe read a book, or... Something with the new kid. Maybe strike up a conversation? What if he made a fool of himself though? Maybe he will just stick to observing for a while. Wait that sounds creepy. Perhaps not.

---

The broad brunette set foot once more in the gym. School had ended five minutes ago, and Daichi was more than glad that it was. It was a longsome day and he couldn’t wait till practice was over. He actually considered giving Suga the lead for today and go home, using the simple ‘I don’t feel so well’ excuse.

The broad brunette sighed as he opened the door of the locker room. “Ah! Oh- Hello Sawamura-San.” A voice chirped with slight surprise. Daichi glanced up and spotted Hinata who was dressing up in his exercise clothes. A tiny, polite smile crossed over Daichi’s lips and greeted the small, orange-haired, first year. The brunette teenager strutted to his locker and stuffed his bag inside and pulled out his clothes to practice in. Holding onto the fabric of the shirt for a short second, deep in thought about just leaving last minute.

He knew he shouldn’t do it. He is the team’s captain after all. Daichi would just have to pull through a little bit longer. Groaning internally he removed his clothes and replaced them with the other outfit. Which were just a simple brown tank-top and some black shorts.

Daichi left the locker room with a focused expression and quickly took the steps down the stairs and slowly dragged his feet towards the gym. ‘I want to leave. I want to leave. I want to leave. I-‘ “Aichi! Daichi!” “Hmm? What?” Daichi questioned a bit dazed. “Are you feeling alright? You’ve been acting odd all day today..” Sugawara questioned and placed his pale hand on the shoulder of the brunette. Daichi fell silent for a second but quickly nodded with a sweet smile. “Yeah, I am alright Kōshi, thank you.” Daichi thanked his best friend and opened the door to the gym and quickly hurried off to help set things up.

Kōshi stood behind and glanced at the retreating form of his broad best friend in worry. At morning practice Kōshi already spotted that Daichi was off, in class Daichi didn’t even pay attention to the lecture of the teachers! At lunch, he was quiet, lost in thought, and silently ate the meal that Asahi gave him because Daichi forgot his at home. And nowhere, again sensing that something was off with the brunette. A sigh left the dove-grey-haired male and followed his friend into the gym.

Kōshi wanted to help his friend. What was going on in his head? Maybe Kōshi was just overthinking. Yeah, that might be it. If something was really bad, surely Daichi would’ve said something to him. Nodding to himself, Kōshi rolled his shoulders back and helped Ennoshita and Yamaguchi set up the net.

---

“..Good work today everybody!” The faux blond coach stated and clapped his hand together. “I’ll see you all tomorrow in the morning,” Ukai stated and watched the students leave towards the doors of the gym, though before the entire team left he quickly called out to one student.

“Daichi, we’ve got to talk for a second. You have some time to spare?” The blond asked and signaled Daichi to come over with his finger. Takeda took notice and remembered the conversation he had with Kōshi and Ukai. Thus the dark-haired adult briskly stood up from the bench he was resting on and stood next to Ukai, observing Daichi aimlessly walking over.

“Are you feeling well Sawamura-san?” Ukai questioned and crossed his arms with a concerned expression. Daichi sighed with slight annoyance, yes, he is doing perfectly fine, why is everyone asking the same question today? “I am feeling fine coach..” Daichi stated a bit monotone, “Just a bit... Preoccupied... Is all..” Daichi stated with a lovely-dovely dazed expression.

Both the coaches caught on and smiled. “Ah, alright then.” Takeda stated softly, “Well, go on ahead, change and go home. Be careful on your way back, alright?” Daichi nodded, bid his goodbyes to the two coaches, and quickly scurried off to the locker room to get dressed.

‘Finally.’ Is all that ran through his mind. In the locker room everyone, besides Tsukishima, was chatting amongst each other. All getting kind of spooked by Daichi’s sudden entrance, but quickly returning to their conversations. Daichi paid no mind to the others, hurriedly switching his attire and tying up his discolored-white shoe lases. “Daichi-sa-“ Tanaka started but the broad brunette didn’t notice it as he was already out the door.

“What’s up with him?” A short boy with brown hair styled up questioned. “No idea Nishinoya. I tried asking him but he just said he was feeling fine. This entire day he has been acting like this, though he may have gotten a bad start this morning. I’m sure he would be his old self tomorrow again!” Kōshi stated and ended his sentence with a big, gentle grin.

Daichi ran to his home. The fifteen-minute walk turned into a thirteen-minute sprint. The sky was a dark blue with hints of purple, pink, and the tiniest bit of orange. But Daichi paid no mind. He wanted to get home. He wanted to see the boy with [E/c] eyes again. His house slowly came into view with every step on the pavement he made. His breath was quick and slightly uneven, the sprint was kind of unnecessary but he was waiting for this all day. His pace slowed down with each step till he reached the fence of his front yard. He glanced over to the front yard of his new neighbors and smiled at the decorations. Some flowers in big pots, some plants. There was a tiny little rainbow flag, swaying in the find while hanging against the wall a little bit next to the window beside the sapphire-blue, front door.

The light from the windows was a nice shade of yellow and he couldn’t help but look a little bit inside. Though there was not much use as there was a white curtain, decorated with lace, blocking his view. The brunette shook his head and shuffled to his own front door that carried a pretty shade of emerald-green. He stuffed the key in and opened it, getting hit with a warmer temperature than outside. A content huff made its way through the teen's nose and swiftly Daichi made his way inside. “Mom? I’m home!” Daichi called out, in hopes that his mother is already home. “Hi sweetie! How was school?” His mother called back, but before he could answer he noticed another voice. After kicking off his shoes he confusedly headed to where the voices rang from. Daichi walked into the kitchen and saw his mother at the little round table together with another lady and man.

The adults at the table looked up at the teenager in the doorway. Daichi’s mother had a very big smile on her face was seeing her son stand there with a tad bit of a confused face. “Daichi, dear, these are our new neighbors. I invited them over for dinner!” His mother excitedly stated and stood up from her chair and stood next to her taller son. The chocolate-eyed teen mouthed an ‘oh’ and politely introduced himself to the two adults.

Daichi was disappointed that he didn’t see the teen from this morning. Daichi believed that these two adults would’ve been the guardians of the other. After a very short conversation with the two adults, Daichi excused himself and headed to his room. Daichi walked up the stairs and stumbled into the room. Tossing his bag to the corner of his room and he sat down on his bed. Sighing deep once again this day he laid down onto the sheets, closing his eyes. Seeing a flash of [H/c] and [E/c].

Daichi couldn’t really rest well. His mind was clogged up with the thoughts of the boy he spotted in the morning. Was he not his new neighbor? Why not? Why was he in Daichi’s mind anyway? The sudden sound of the doorbell ran and Daichi rose from his bed in curiosity and slight hope. He heard some voices and the sound of the front door closing after opening for a brief moment.

Daichi slumped back down onto his bed and paid no mind to anything that was happening. That was until footsteps boomed a little on the stairs and neared his bedroom door. Opening one eye he glanced at the door that got knocked on. “Come in?” Daichi invited the other confusedly.

The chocolate orbs widened. It was as if the morning replaced the moment. Staring into the beautiful shade of [E/c] that twinkled slightly from the desk lamp that was turned on. “Ah, hi..!” The soft voice of the teenager before Daichi spoke. If the brunette didn’t hold his composure, he would’ve succumbed to adoration and asked if the teenager could talk to him for years and years on end. “Hey.” Daichi greeted just as soft once he finally found his voice. The [E/c] orbed boy chuckled and held his hand out, “My name is [L/n] [Y/n], nice to meet you!” Daichi gripped onto the extended [S/t] and shook it while giving a small smile. Still being a bit confused he stuttered out ‘I’m Sawamura Daichi.’, getting a stunning smile in return.

“I would love to have a long-lasting conversation, but your mother sends me upstairs to tell you that dinner is ready.” [L/n] confessed softly. Daichi nodded his head, awkwardly retreated his hand, and stood up from his nice bed. Both the teens trotted down the stairs and sat down at the dining table.

---

Dinner was long over. Daichi now laying wide awake in bed. Pining about everything he learned from [L/n]. At the table both the teens didn’t even acknowledge the adults, having them muted and talking amongst themselves. Sharing interests, school subjects they couldn’t stand, favorite foods, and snacks.

They clicked in an instant. Both had a good time getting to know one and other. After dinner they both decided to chat more in the backyard, stumbling upon the topic of sports. Daichi learned that [L/n] used to play [R/s], but wanted to play volleyball instead. But his guardians didn’t allow him, so he decided to also stop playing [R/s] and stuck to drawing and writing.

The evening came to a close not much later and they bid their goodbyes. Thinking about the day Daichi felt his eyes droop a little, fantasizing when he could see [L/n] again. And not soon after the brunette drifted off to his upcoming dream.

Days had past and both [Y/n] and Daichi got along well together. They spotted one another sometimes outside, in the cold morning when they both head to their own schools. And if Daichi was lucky he would also spot the handsome [e/c] eyed boy in the cute bakery that was not that far away from their street.

Daichi has been skipping his afternoon classes and practices more often lately. Daichi felt lost. He felt a heavyweight on his shoulders but didn’t know the cause. His teammates and teacher growing concerned. Never had Daichi missed his classes without saying at least something for the three years he had been attending the school. Calls were being made to his mother, lots of arguments happened together with Daichi and his mother. But this said evening took the toll on him, he hadn’t seen [Y/n] at all today, making him go nuts. He couldn’t stand the shrilly, annoying sound of his mother’s yelling that night.

---

Clutching his skull, the teenager tried to muffle out the angry yelling of his mother while leaning on the kitchen counter with his two elbows. “Why aren’t you attending your classes?! Your future is at risk you know that!” Future? The only future Daichi had in his head for the past days had been visions together with [Y/n] in a little cute cottage in a forest far, far away from all their responsibilities. The now horse yelling stopped out of a sudden.

The sharp kitchen knife now adorned his mother's chest. Crimson oozing out of the exact spot. Struggled gasps left the mouth of Daichi’s mother, trying to gain strength to look up at her son, who was right on top of her with the same shocked expression. But Daichi’s expression quickly changed to one of glee and yanked the knife out of his mother. “The only future I want is the one together with [Y/n]..” The teen heaved out.

Blood has started to rise up and out of Daichi’s mother her mouth. “Leave.. t-that boy.. alone..!” She managed to choke out. The eyes of Daichi widened. His body was stiff from shock. How could she say something like that? “How..- How very dare you..- you…” Daichi couldn’t get his words out as his breath quickened. “You bitch!” He screamed out and stabbed his mother in between her collarbones. Twisting the knife around, he made sure it hurt, he made sure she would be dead.

Blood splattered onto his hands, onto the cute yellow dress with decorated flowers his mom wore. The once cute dress was now partly stained with a metallic, crimson liquid. Tiredly Daichi rose to his feet, dumping the knife into the sink behind him, noticing that the curtains exposed a bit of the inside with a tiny slit. Calmly closing the small curtain he dazedly smiled.

The heavyweight he had been feeling for days is now gone. The relief and satisfaction he felt were more than pleasing. Glancing over his shoulder, looking down at the corpse of his mother he grinned and admired the view. A content sigh flew out of his mouth and he got to work cleaning and getting rid of the now going cold body.

Daichi simply dumped his mother's body in a nearby dumpster in some alley close by. In a big trash bag, just tossed it into the dumpster at night. Knowing that his neighborhood was always eerily silent, almost as if it was abandoned.

Coming back home he saw the stains on the carpet and chuckled. “What a messy bunch we are..” He mumbled to himself and grabbed some bleach and started to clean it up. A very, very light stain was left behind. It was barely noticeable, but a simple lie could cover it up, a washing machine could also do wonders. But as of right now he was tired of cleaning and just wanted to sit down and watch some TV. However, before he did he decided to get some clean clothes. He kind of forgot they had little splatters of blood here and there.

Quickly dressing in and out of clothes he stuffed them in the clothing bin to wash later and headed back downstairs to flick through boring TV channels. While doing so he couldn’t help but snort at how bad some shows were, and how dumb most advertisements were. He stopped flicking through TV channels when his ears picked up the familiar notification sound of his phone. Curiosity took him away from the TV screen and onto his phone screen.

[Y/n]<333 >> Sup, im bored- what r u up to?

Daichi<3 >> Hey! >> Same here to be honest. Just flicking through dumb tv channels.

[Y/n]<333 >> Oh- Can’t sleep? >> I honestly didn’t expect you would respond so fast at this time

Daichi<3 >> Sort of- >> How so?

[Y/n]<333 >> Idk.. I just figured u would be sleeping..

Daichi<3 >> Ohhw >> Anyway, do you think you can facetime?

[Y/n]<333 >> I mean.. I get kinda nervous with facetime and I look like a fucked up gremlin right now but.. sure???

Daichi<3 >> What are you talking about? You always look so good!

[Y/n]<333 >> Your funny Daichi, tell me another joke!

Though before Daichi could write down an entire paragraph he got called. A big smile was plastered on his face and quickly accepted it.

3861 words

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

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

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

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

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

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

word count: 24.2k

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

///

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

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

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

Harry still hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from it, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It felt really nice.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

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

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

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

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

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

I’ll see you there, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

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

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

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

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

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

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

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

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

“Shut up.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

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

“Ask for permission.” 

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

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need interior design advice. 

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

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

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

Genuinely? 

Yup!

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

Alright, shoot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Immature? 

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

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touché.

Exactly. 

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

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

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

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

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

Maybe.

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

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You read my mind.

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

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

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

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

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

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

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

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

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m going to call you.

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

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

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

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

[mmand0]

Back To You // F!Reader - Javi

Quantico

05:00

You groaned and tossed in your bed as your watched beeped at you, the light blinking rapidly signaling the start of a new day. Your roommate Wanda was still asleep, but you could hear her protest as her alarm went off. Slowly, you got out of bed and began your routine: grab a towel, your plastic basket filled with shower items, fresh underwear and a bra, and slipped into your rubber flip flops. You braced yourself before opening the door to the living area where another one of your roommates, Marie, was already heading out the door to shower as well. The two of you exchanged a sleepy greeting before heading to the communal showers together. As usual the morning folks were already nearly done with their showers and chatting with one another as they moisturized and got ready for the day. This part of the day was always your least favorite, but you were almost done with the mundane routine of Quantico. You found your way through the steamy room and found favorite shower stall. There was nothing special about it really, but it was tucked in the back and it was the darkest part of the shower room. After your shower, you quickly dried down and slipped into your undergarments before heading to the benches to get ready. Sitting in your underwear with a towel wrapped around your hair, you continued your routine of getting ready- lotion, moisturizer, sunscreen, and minimal make up. You always felt like you weren't much to look at, so there was no point in making much efforts in looking "pretty." Some of the girls put more effort, but you weren't here to mingle.

"Almost done, Y/N?" You looked up to see Marie already dressed with her make up and hair done. She was the pretty one. The men always stole glances at her when they would walk down the hallways. She was bubbly brunette with such a bright smile. Marie was sweet- truly, but she had a ferocity hidden beneath that million dollar smile. There was one incident at a bar once; as you and the other girls were drinking, a man walked by and placed his hand on her rear. Within seconds, Marie had turned and slapped him across the face. This kind of behavior typically gets you eighty-sixed from any establishment, but luckily you were regulars. The man was kicked out immediately, and the crowd cheered.

"Yeah, just need to put on my clothes and dry my hair." You slipped into your khakis, white tennis shoes, shirt, and a grey sweater with your last name printed on the back. Not cute, but very convenient to wear such bland clothes. You do like to keep up with fashion, though you never ventured out to wear outside of certain colors- earth tones, grey, black, white, blue, and beige. Timeless and effortless. You unwrapped your towel from your hair and began to dry it.

"You know you should really just borrow my hair dryer," Marie said as she fussed over your wet hair. You rolled your eyes and began to put your hair in a braid.

"Yeah, yeah."

"No, really! You'd look so gorgeous with a little more volume and-"

"Marie."

"Alright, fine. But just keep that in mind... You never know who might be checking you out." She smirked at you with a twinkle in her eye.

The second eye roll of the morning.

"You're still going with that Javi thing?"

Marie shrugged and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "I don't know, maybe? I mean you guys have some sexual tension every time we do any training together."

"No, I'm just competitive. That's all, Marie. Besides, doesn't he have a fiancé?"

"I'm just competitive- right. You've convinced no one, sweetie. The two of you just need to do the deed before we all get separated. And yeah, that's what I heard, but I haven't seen a fiancé." You sighed and slipped out of Marie's half embrace.

"Come on, let's get breakfast..."

She was right though. You couldn't deny that sexual tension between you and Javier Peña, but the man was a flirt. He was easy on the eyes, smart, athletic, and charismatic. The girls were always smirking and giving him bedroom eyes. Of course, you had no idea if the tension was one sided, nevertheless, you were attracted to him. Were you going to do anything about it? No, of course not. There two things on your mind: excel and get hired. There was no time for romancing, especially not a flirty hunk (who might have a girl waiting for him) everyone is already swooning over. Despite the attraction and competition between the two of you, you can admit that Javi was a nice guy from time to time. In fact, he does consider you a friend in the academy. Even with the constant bickering and one-upping one another, the two of you would study together every now and then. Sometimes he even worked out or ate meals with you. You always wondered why that was- perhaps just to show he's not all bad? To avoid getting your heart broken and to kill what little hope for a deeper relationship, you have convinced yourself that Javi was just trying to get close to you to ruin your chances on becoming the top student in Quantico. That had to be it.

You and Marie found your usual table in the cafeteria and was soon joined by your other roommates, Eleanor and Wanda. Breakfast was simple today: oatmeal, fruit cup, coffee, and a boiled egg. The girls chatted with one another about the upcoming exams as they ate.

"Can you believe Wilson's giving us another test? That's what? Twice this month already?" Eleanor grumbled with a mouthful of oatmeal.

"Yeah, but it's just behavioral science. Not that bad, right, Y/N?" Wanda turned to you. "Besides, if you need help, you know you can ask Y/N for-"

"Unless she's going to ditch us to study with Peña again," Eleanor sneered. You turned bright pink. "Oh my god. You are studying with Peña!"

"Well, he asked, and-"

"Oh my god, you minx! You said you didn't like him!"

"No, I don't, but-"

"No but's! You totally have a thing for him! Look, Y/N, I am in total support of you sleeping with Peña, but just be aware that I will need-"

"Okay, that's enough Eleanor," Marie interjected, a finger pointing at her. "If Y/N says she's not into him, she's not. Besides, they're two very talented agents and they're always in competition with one another. Honestly, it makes sense." Despite the teasing earlier, Marie was always good at defending you when you needed it. Eleanor was always into her gossip and frankly, she needs to keep her cool more often when it comes down to academy rumors. "And Y/N should keep her enemies close, right, Y/N?"

You nodded and laughed. "Exactly. Think of it as like... a real life case- Peña is enemy number one, and I gotta keep my eye on him before he takes my number one spot."

"Speaking of which..." Wanda whispered. Her eyes were looking straight past you, and you didn't need to ask what- or rather who- she was looking at. You felt a familiar presence behind you before he slid to sit at the table.

"Well good morning, ladies!" Javier Peña flashed a smile and sipped some black coffee. "What are we talking about this morning?"

"Peña." Wanda responded, raising a brow. "What makes you think you're invited at our table? Don't you usually eat with your roommates?"

Javi frowned. "Aw, don't be like that, Wanda. Can't I visit my favorite ladies in the academy this fine morning?"

"You mean visit Y/N?" Eleanor smirked and nodded towards you. Javi put his hands in the air and chuckled. "You got me. Just here to check in with you for studying later. Still good at 17:30?"

"Yes, now go away and let me eat in peace, Javi," you respond before drinking your coffee.

"Ouch, alright, alright. Kind of cold this morning, Y/N. Maybe you and I could go for a run to heat things up?" You turned your head to Javi and rolled your eyes. Third eye roll of the morning. Javi laughed and stood, "See you ladies later." The other three ladies Eleanor was about to open her mouth, but you raised your hand to stop her.

"Don't, Eleanor. Stop fantasizing. Let's just get to the tracks before it gets crowded."

The rest of the morning and afternoon was calm. After breakfast you went straight to do physical training, then a short break before forensic science, another larger break, then communications, lunch with the girls, then the last two classes. You headed straight to your room to get out of your clothes, take a quick shower, then get into jeans and a clean shirt before heading to study with Javi. The shower room was quiet this evening, and you were grateful for that. You needed to think without everyone else making comments. This morning's exchange was curious. Javi never really came to check on you when you set up study time together. You always showed up, and he would always be there waiting. There was never a question whether you would be there or not, so why did he "check" with you?

"Whatever," you told yourself. You turned the knob off and quickly got ready before heading to the library. You grabbed your backpack and a stack of study materials, and started the short walk towards the library. Javi was already outside leaning against a pillar smoking a cigarette. You approached him and sighed as he put his cigarette out on the ground. "I know, I know, I should stop."

"It doesn't help your lungs, idiot."

"Yeah, I know. That's why you're so much smarter than me. Anyway, let's get going. I want to get to sleep earlier for once."

Studying with Javi wasn't as bad as you made it seem with the girls. He was a pleasant study partner and he did work hard on understanding the material. There were times when the two of you had opposing answers, and instead of getting frustrated, he went straight to the books to check. Most of the times you were right, and he would admit defeat. Honestly, he made you a better student despite the constant competition and snarky remarks with one another. As the two of you studied a particularly confusing case, you noticed Javi seemed to be on edge. You never really saw him this rigid or nervous before, and decided to take action.

"Want to take a break?" you asked, closing the folder.

"Hm? Why? We're almost done."

"Let's just take a break. Ten minutes."

Javi pursed his lips and admitted defeat. "Fine. Let's go take a walk."

The two of you headed back outside to take a couple laps around the campus. The moon was shining brightly already, and people were heading back to their dorms. A few of them waved or bid the two of you goodnight as they disappeared into the buildings. "So... Are you doing alright?" you asked after a few excruciating seconds of silence.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, Javi, you tell me. You came up to check on me this morning and you're body language right now doesn't exactly convince me that you're fine."

Javi reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and his zippo. "Alright, fine. I'm just nervous about what comes after the academy."

"Why?"

Javi stopped walking, unlit cigarette nearly falling out of his lips. "W-well, I..." He paused, placed the cigarette back into the pack, and stared down at his feet. "I don't know. I'm just attached, I guess."

"To the academy?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"You know for someone so fucking smart, you're clueless."

You raised a brow and placed your hands on your hips. "What is this about, Javi?" Without another word, his lips were on yours. You didn't do that right? He did? You were frozen, but you let yourself give in, arms falling down at your sides while his hands found your face. It felt like an eternity before he pulled away.

"I don't know if I'll see you again after this, and I just wanted a chance to do that before we go our separate ways."

"Javi, this is just going to-"

"Complicate things, I know, but I'd rather do it than not do it at all. Didn't you know how I felt this whole time?"

"I mean... people talked, but I wasn't entirely sure. You flirted with everyone," you responded, waving your arms around. "How was I supposed to know?! Besides don't you have a-"

"Fiancé? I did." You could hear the hint of sadness in his voice. You wanted to pry and ask more about it, but perhaps this wasn't the best time. "I had a fiancé. It didn't work out. Look-" He took your hand in his, and squeezed it gently. "I'm leaving the country after the exit exams. Whatever happens, I just wanted to at least have this before we lose contact."

"Alright, I get it... I wish you would have just told me sooner, Javi." He tucked your hair behind your ear and leaned in for another soft kiss. It was odd kissing someone you've been in constant competition with, but it felt... good, you suppose. It was not a great feeling. You weren't exactly happy, but you weren't angry or sad either. It just felt confusing and you didn't know this at the time, but this memory would haunt you in the future. For know you were going to savor the moment before it ended. Javi led you towards a more secluded area where the two of you devoured one another for a good twenty minutes before heading back to the library. The rest of the evening was more tense than before, but the two of you were professionals. After finishing your studies, he walked you to your dorm, kissed you goodnight, and went on his way. As soon as Javi disappeared, you opened the door to find the girls sitting around with mouths agape.

"Are you kidding me?!" Marie exclaimed, eyes wide with shock.

"WE SAW THAT!" Wanda squealed. "NO DENYING NOW, Y/N!!!"

Eleanor sat smugly, pretending to check her nails. "Told you!" You sighed and dropped your bag on the floor. They were right, you couldn't pretend and deny it anymore. They saw it from the peephole on the door, and there was no point in hiding when your face was as red as the apple Marie was holding. "Tell us everything!!" Marie said between the crunching of the apple in her mouth. "You have to!!! Roommate rules!"

Although you usually avoided discussions of romance and gossip, you couldn't help but retell everything to them. You never had a lot of encounters with men even before Quantico, and this one was a little more special than that of the few boys you have dated. The delight and squeals of joy from your friends made you laugh. It was a nice little jovial exchange that you desperately needed before heading to bed where you knew you were going to analyze everything that just happened. After an exciting discussion and the number of congratulatory hugs from them, you bid them goodnight. As you lay in bed that night, you couldn't help but caress your lips. He kissed you. Whatever happens after the academy, you at least had the chance to experience some sort of romance with Javier Peña.

Los Angeles, One year later

06:00

The aroma of coffee filled your apartment as your boyfriend busied himself with making breakfast as you showered and got ready. It has been a year since graduation, and you haven't heard from Javier Peña since then. There was no denying that it broke your heart a little, but you managed. Two months after graduating, you and Marie were immediately hired to be part of the FBI team in Los Angeles. It wasn't an easy transition, but you were grateful for the job that would distract you from the heartbreak, and even more grateful to be close to your family who lived in San Diego. After a few transitional months, you ended up meeting Adam, an LAPD officer. He was nice, but not as motivated as Javi. It was a little annoying at times... Adam preferred to do the desk work and slacked off a little often to your taste, and you would try to push him to get more motivated which only caused him to be irritable. After the few times you pushed, you decided to pick your battles better and here you are, six months later, living together in your apartment.

"Breakfast is ready!" Adam said, poking his head in the bathroom.

"Thanks, I'll be out there."

You stared at the mirror and inspected your image. After being around these LA folks, you began to learn how to do your hair and make up a tiny bit better, but still kept it minimal. Marie taught you techniques with your hair, and on your days off you would go over to Marie's apartment and the two of you would venture to the shopping malls to take a look at make up. It was nice to have a normal life for once- no studying, no Javi messing with your thoughts, and no shower time being shared. You headed into the kitchen and sat at the pub table where your breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast was already there waiting for you.

"I'll be late today, by the way," you said between bites. "I have a meeting with the director later."

"Oh. Okay... no problem," Adam responded. He sounded sad, but you were too busy to notice. Your attention was on the radio that was playing in the background. They were talking about Colombia and the cartels again. The war on drugs was becoming a prominent talk of the town, and the DEA agents were swamped with arrests and cases, particularly with the cocaine epidemic. Although it wasn't your branch, the FBI was becoming more and more involved with the cartel cases. Too many dead bodies were being reported, and not to mention the issues with communism. You seldom discussed these things with Adam, mostly because it was classified, but also he didn't seem to care too much about it. Often times he just wanted you to "relax" and "take it easy for once." It made you cringe the way he looked at the growing problems in the country- it was like he truly didn't care. You often found yourself devising a plan to break up with him, but never had the courage to pull the trigger. You needed an excuse- it'll be easier that way.

"What time do you think you'll be home?" he asked. "Don't you remember what today is?"

You looked up, a look of confusion and guilt on your face. Suddenly, it hit you- it was date night. The two of you had promised to do date nights once a week, and you've managed to skip out on it for the past three weeks. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, Adam. This is really-"

"Important. I understand. Don't worry, we have the weekend!" He always had an optimistic attitude despite the constant rainchecks you've been giving him. "I know you, Y/N. You're a hard working agent, and I know you can't really talk to me about what's going on in the FBI, but just please take some time off once in a while..."

You finished your cup of coffee, nodding to avoid any more conversations about taking the time off. This routine with Adam was beginning to get on your nerves. You stood from the table and planted a kiss on Adam's cheek before saying goodbye. On the way to the office, you picked up Marie who had a cup of coffee ready for the two of you.

"Jeez, what's with that face?" she asked as she handed you your cup. "Looks like you're off to a rough start already."

"Huh? Do I look that bad today?"

"No, make up looks great- it's your face. Did Adam do something?" You glanced at the side mirror and saw what she was talking about- you looked drained and annoyed. Perhaps this relationship was taking a much bigger toll than you expected. "No, he didn't. I'm just annoyed from the reports in the news this morning. They're not accurate, that's all." Marie shrugged and flipped the radio on to the FM radio. The commute to work with Marie always began with some music on the FM radio. This was a rule the two of you made- no news, no reports, no work talk in the morning. It was a great rule, really. It relaxed you guys before you entered the stressful lives as FBI agents. Marie worked mostly with missing persons, and you tend to get assigned to terrorism and surveillance. The past month you were teamed up with DEA. The Colombian cartels have wreaked havoc in California, and it was a blood bath. Your day consisted of lots of digging up files today. Reports, some interrogation (though thankfully you didn't need to do the interrogation yourself), and lots of calls. By the end of the day, you were looked absolutely exhausted. You sat behind your desk reading some files when the director appeared seemingly out of nowhere- or you were just not paying attention.

"Evening, Y/LN," he greeted. The director was a proper looking man in his mid fifties. Mr. Smith always wore a black suit, and his black and pepper hair was always slicked back with pomade and even his mustache was incredibly clean and trimmed. He never came to work with stubble, and he always seemed to smell like leather and aftershave.

"Evening, sir," you respond, closing the file and standing to shake his hand.

"This is urgent. We need to talk now." Smith led you to his office, letting you in first before closing the door. You took a seat and folded your hands on your lap, attempting to control your nervousness. He took his seat behind the large oak desk that was as neat as the way he looked.

"Let's cut to the chase, kid. You're getting transferred."

"I'm sorry? Did... Did I do something wrong?" Your mind always went straight to the worst case scenario- anxiety does that to you.

"No, christ, Y/N, absolutely not. You've been one of our best agents, but your intellect and skills have been requested elsewhere. We're taking a huge loss, but this is an opportunity of a lifetime." Smith paused and leaned back in his leather chair. He furrowed his thick brows and placed his hand on the side of his face. He was studying your body language- from what he could see, you were confused. You didn't show it physically, but your eyebrows made a small twitch. It was enough for him to know you were concerned.

"How would you like to go to Colombia?"

[ironstarker]

Highschool au where Popular football player tony stark has a crush on peter parker, the guy who his tutor for physics and math

Notes: Meant for this to be cute. I think it’s painful instead? I promise I didn’t mean to. I kind of want to write another 100k for this. Thank you for (unintentionally) giving me this sweet enemies to lovers prompt. I hope you enjoy it and it isn’t too far off of what you expected!

Warning(s): Bullying, Soft/Fluff, Surprise!Angst, Tony is a teenage dick (you know the boy in the class who likes you but pulls your hair?), Peter wears glasses, Perspective swap partway through

_______________________________________________________________________

“Hey, Penis! Heads up!”

Peter reacted in perfect time to receive a football square to the eye. His glasses went flying off his face. The force of the ball knocked him backwards on the bleachers, where he’d been doing his homework, sending papers flying all over. Peter groaned, looking to the football wobbling next to him. His legs were bent over the bleachers. They hadn’t quite made it over from the force of his fall.

He was reaching a hand up to his eye, half afraid he’d gone blind, when he heard thudding against the bleachers. Peter squinted with his good eye, but the sun was blocking the figure from view. “Shit. I thought that knocked you out, pipsqueak.” At first, Peter thought the hand stretching out towards him was meant to help him up. His hand left his eye and he reached out, only to be rebuffed by an elbow. “Whoa, whoa. Don’t get any wise ideas. I gotta get the ball back for the boys.” The voice was familiar to Peter, and then the face of its owner swam into view: Tony Stark. Hair matted to his forehead, sweat dripping down his brow, his jersey stained with grass and mud. Peter wanted to roll his eyes at the stubble that dotted the jock’s jaw. The other boy was so proud of it.

Tony swiped up his ball, leaving Peter to push and heave himself back into an upright position. Tony turned away from him and launched the ball back towards the field, “This one’s for you, lover!” He stuck his tongue out and pointed at one James Rhodes, number 85.

“You say that again and I’m gonna tell Coach that you were the one who swapped his mouthwash out for cologne!”

Tony stood there a moment, a roguish grin on his lips. Peter was too busy trying to collect his stray papers to notice when the other boy turned to face him. “Watch yourself, pipsqueak.” He reached out and tousled Peter’s hair, earning an annoyed grumble as Peter tried to bat his hand away.

Peter’s eye opened, and he was gentle as he pressed two fingertips to the spot where the football struck him. It was sore and was sure to leave a bruise that Aunt May would worry about later.

He didn’t take his eyes off of Tony, though. Instead, Peter watched the boy skip a few steps here and there as he made his way down to the field. The boy’s shoulder pads moved beneath his blue jersey as he jogged back to his teammates. Peter worried his bottom lip between his teeth, staring at the yellow 39 emblazoned on the back of his jersey. Peter had its counterpart, a white jersey, tucked away in his backpack.

Peter tried not to think too hard about the cruel way Tony handled the whole situation. But tears blurred his vision as he scrambled to stuff papers into his beige Jansport. They were supposed to have a tutoring session after practice. It was the only reason Peter hung around so late. Everybody knew how Peter felt about athletics: the meathead jocks ran the school, and kids like him were bullied. Kids like him got called “Penis Parker” by the likes of Clint Barton and the rest of them. The minute he’d joined the mathletes to compete on behalf of their school, the bullying had intensified. It went from name calling to kids shoving his face in a toilet bowl on the regular during his lunch hour. 

For a couple hours every day, Tony Stark was different.

He got to see the side of the jock that most didn’t. Stark was all Cheshire cat smiles with a cocky, New York accent to boot. It was irresistible to most, and Peter was embarrassed to say that included him. The boy ducked his head, shouldering his backpack so he could make his way down beneath the bleachers to find his glasses. It was his own fault for falling for the other teen. He knew what guys like Stark thought about. But Tony had said — Peter thought it childish to even remember, but the other boy had said he liked Peter. That he thought it was cute, how Peter bit down on his lip when he was watching Tony scribble his work down on his physics homework. Peter had gone beet red when the teen had tucked a curl behind his ear and smiled at him, leaning against the side of his locker at the end of the day when the halls were empty.

But that was the problem. The halls were empty, and nobody was around to see it. In those moments, Peter was certain Tony liked him. He could see it plain as day, written all over the other’s face. Times like these? Peter spared a glance towards the field. He saw Tony’s head turned towards him, that the boy was watching him. Peter looked away. 

It was hard telling that he gave a damn when he let his friends walk all over Peter the way that they did.

From across the field, Tony stared at the boy with the slumped shoulders. Even from where he was standing, he could see the way Peter was touching his eye. As soon as the football had snapped off in that direction, straight out of Clint’s hand and for the other boy’s face, Tony had felt a vein pop on his forehead. He whipped around towards the laughing jock, about to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing, when he heard a groan from the bleachers.

He rushed over there, heart pounding, taking the steps two at a time. He felt the eyes of the entire team on his back as he peered over to where Peter was sprawled on his back, his legs swung over the metal stands from where they hadn’t made the fall. Tony breathed a sigh of relief, then slapped a stupid smile on his face and said, “Shit, I thought that knocked you out, pipsqueak.”

So maybe he was a little hard on Peter. Maybe he kept it to business as he snagged the football and lobbed it back towards the field. Tony made his quips and his taunts, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. The football sailed right into Rhodes’ arms. Tony grinned, said a few parting words to Peter, touched his hair because god, he loved those curls, and then he was darting away, taking the stairs two at a time all over again. He felt eyes on him, but this time there was only a set. A set of dark brown, a pair that looked almost hazel in the right kind of light. Tony knew them well. He’d spent hours memorizing every detail of Peter’s face as the boy went through problem after problem with him. Tony didn’t need to pay attention. He didn’t struggle in math, nor did he struggle with physics. Maybe he didn’t want to apply himself, but that was a whole other story.

He’d rather apply himself to Peter Parker.

It was why, that day after he’d stuck around while Peter put his things in his locker, Tony had given him his away jersey. He’d pulled it out of his backpack, freshly laundered, and handed it to the smaller teen. The second half to a jersey was sacred to a jock, and he was pretty sure Peter’s fingers had quivered when he’d reached out to take it.

Peter had thanked him, the sweet kid that he was. The boy had gone redder than the folder tucked beneath his arm, and he was avoiding Tony’s eyes, staring instead down at the white Converse on his own feet. 

“Wear it Friday night.”

The boy’s head snapped up, his jaw going slack. “I — what?”

Tony rocked back on his heels and shrugged his shoulders. He adjusted the strap of his backpack, suddenly unable to meet Peter’s eyes this time. Instead, he stared at a faded sticker on one of the lockers across the hall. “You know. If you want, you should wear it to the game.” He snuck a look in Peter’s direction.

Peter had his eyes set on the yellow letters on the back of his jersey. Tony grimaced, fearing the worst, but then Peter flung himself into the taller teen’s arms, squeezing him in what was the tightest hug of his life. Tony wheezed out a laugh as the boy mumbled his thanks into the collar of his shirt. Tony’s arm slid around his back, where he could feel Peter’s jean jacket riding up to reveal the soft cotton of his t-shirt (a fucking Pythagorean theorem joke, the damn nerd). When Tony glanced down, he saw Peter was standing on the tips of his toes to give him the hug.

He couldn’t get it out of his head.

“ —th to Tony. Are you on this planet, idiot?” Rhodes was in his face, waving the football around. 

Tony scoffed. “Of course I am. What’s the next play?”

His best friend scoffed and shook his head, jerking his thumb in the direction of the rest of the team. They were roaming off towards the showers. Rogers was walking backwards with his hands up, almost as though he was asking what the hell was wrong with the other boy. Tony flipped him off, enjoying the satisfaction he got when Rogers rolled his eyes and turned around.

“We’re hitting the showers, dumbass. And then we’re all heading to Bucky’s for a cookout. Foster parents aren’t home. Said there’s gonna be beer. You in?”

“You know if you want beer all I have to do is wave my — ”

“If you say you’re gonna wave your dick around, I’m kicking you off the team myself. I don’t give a shit what Rogers says.”

Tony smirked, reaching out to give his friend a punch to his shoulder pads. “I was going to say my black card. But whatever floats your boat, man. I get it. No questions asked.”

Rhodes scoffed, tossing the football into Tony’s hands. “You coming?”

“In a second, I’ve got — ”

“ — A nerd to seduce? Yeah, I noticed.” Rhodes spared him a glance that told Tony his best friend knew all about his dirty little secret (Peter wasn’t, but damn it was hard with high school pecking orders). He turned on his heel and headed off the field. Tony stood there, lingering, and then he dropped the ball and headed in the opposite direction, jogging back towards the bleachers.

He ducked around behind them, heart sinking when he realized Peter wasn’t there. He was sure that he’d seen the other teen duck behind the bleachers after the football incident. Tony went to pull his phone out of his pocket, but he groaned when he realized it was tucked away in his jeans, which were in his locker. He was wearing his football gear. “Fuck,” he complained, and he spared a look at the locker room before he sprinted off for the bike racks.

Tony was sure that Peter would be there.

How many times had Tony offered to give the boy a ride? Too many. He wasn’t sure if Peter was afraid of the double entendre or what, but the other boy always refused. “My bike’s too big for your car,” Peter would say, and Tony thought that was a bullshit excuse, “and I need it in the morning to get to school.” Less bullshit, still an excuse.

When he rounded the corner, he saw Peter unchaining the lock on his bike. “Pete!” he shouted, but instead of looking at him, the kid continued fiddling with his lock. Tony jogged over to him, full of boundless energy despite the sweat he felt dripping down his spine from the team’s impromptu scrimmage. “Hey, I was looking for you — ”

“What do you want, Tony?”

Okay, that made him stop in his tracks. His cleats scuffed the pavement. Tony’s hands came up to grip the inside of the shoulder pads, tugging them a little further down, away from his neck. “I thought that we were on for tutoring this afternoon,” he said, resisting the urge to toe at the pavement. “The guys and I are heading to Bucky’s, so — ”

“Great. Sounds like tutoring’s cancelled.” Peter got to his feet, the bike lock in his hands. He snapped the lock back into place and slid his backpack around to the front of his body so he could tuck it away. The boy’s fingers froze once it was unzipped, and Tony shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“What? Did someone put a snake in your backpack?”

Instead, the boy pulled out his jersey. Tony bit his bottom lip to keep from grinning. Peter was just carrying it around with him? Yeah, maybe it was a little dangerous. If he opened it and somebody saw, there would be a lot of questions asked about it. Tony had this whole thing planned for the game, he was going to ask Peter out and —

He grunted as the fabric was pushed unceremoniously into his chest. “Hey, what’re you — I told you to wear it on Friday.”

“I’m not going to.”

There was a beat of silence, and Peter let go of the jersey. It dropped to the ground down between them, the white fabric dirtied by the pavement. Tony inhaled. “What?”

Peter raised his head, finally, and met Tony’s eyes. The taller boy was startled to see a tear streaking down Peter’s cheek. His eyes were rimmed red. The spot where he’d been struck by the football was already forming a dark bruise. Tony didn’t know where Peter’s glasses were. “I said that I’m not going to wear it.” He brought a hand up and roughly wiped at his cheek.

Tony lurched forward, grabbing Peter’s wrist as the boy made to turn away from him and climb onto his bike. “Why not?” 

“Ask your friends.”

“Come on, Peter. That’s fucking unfair and you — ”

“Unfair?” Peter yanked his hand out of Tony’s grasp, and the jock’s hand fell uselessly to his side. He stared at the other boy, bewildered. “What’s unfair is the way you treat me in front of them. Like I’m some — some secret you’re so ashamed of. What is this? A game?” Peter sniffled, his bottom lip wobbling. He whispered, “A bet?”

“What? No, of course it’s not — Jesus, Pete. It’s not like that.” Tony bent to swipe the shirt off of the ground, ignoring the dirt that smeared across the back of it. He gripped the fabric tight in his hand. 

There were so many things he wanted to tell Peter. He wanted to tell the boy that Tony had stared at the back of his head all semester last year, right before the summer. How he was the one who had written those stupid notes and stuffed them in Peter’s locker. Tony was sure the kid thought they were from MJ. What a load of crap. The confessions were there, on the tip of Tony’s tongue, but Peter shook his head.

“Find someone else to tutor you.”

Too stunned to do anything else but stand there, Tony watched Peter swing a leg over his bike. He stared after Peter as the boy pedaled away, his beige backpack swinging back and forth as he went. Tony looked down at the jersey in his hands. A flash of anger came over him and his head snapped up. He wadded the jersey into a ball and chucked it down the sidewalk.

“Fine! Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Parker!” The shouted words echoed throughout the empty parking lot. 

Peter didn’t turn around.

[storytellingfae]

The Exiles - Heart In Thirds

Working at Queen Caffeine had become almost therapeutic for Darius. Even on slow days, there was always plenty to do, as the café was so understaffed it was basically only him and Lawrence working most days. Still, it never seemed stressful, as the place had a natural chill atmosphere. Nice, muted colors in its décor, wallpaper, and wooden floors, with comfortable seating. People had options between cozy booths, simple small tables, or even a few beanbag chairs. He enjoyed knowing that in a way, he was helping others relax early in the morning, even if it was something as simple as serving them drinks or remembering a regular’s name. Outside, socializing didn’t come easily to him. But working here, seeing familiar faces every day, with the occasional new one, it felt easier. Greetings and small talk came more naturally to him. In-between filling drink orders and cleaning tables, he’d gotten to know a few townies he otherwise never would have spoken to. “Yes, Ms. Sherry, I have grown since you saw me last week!” “Sade, how’d you do on your finals?” “Gia, you didn’t pull another all-nighter, did you?” The patrons came and went, though most usually felt more than welcome to linger, if they bought something. It was this homey environment that made working here so much different from an average job to him. And as embarrassing as it was to admit, maybe there was one other reason he didn’t mind there not being many other employees around. As Darius returned to the counter from fulfilling another order, he couldn’t help his eyes drifting towards his co-worker, washing dishes in the back. Darius wouldn’t have ever mustered the courage to talk to Lawrence himself, if Caleb hadn’t introduced them to each other. Leave it to his brother to casually befriend someone Darius could barely look at without getting all flustered. His carelessly messy brown hair, the way he radiated confidence, the way his muscles filled out the uniform’s shirt... Darius caught his face warming up and was about to look away, to focus on anything or anyone else, when Lawrence’s eyes met his. Shock and embarrassment froze him in his spot, as Lawrence smiled up at him. Lawrence dried his hands and approached the counter as Darius felt his mouth dry. He was all too aware of Lawrence’s lips moving, but he couldn’t process the sounds coming out of them. He was too focused on forcing his blood away from his cheeks. “D? You hear me?” Lawrence asked, a bit of amusement in his tone. “I, um, no,” Darius stammered. “C-could you repeat that?” “I asked if you wanted to come to a block party this weekend,” he said. A smirk crossed his face as he saw Darius’s taken aback expression. “It’ll just be a small thing, nothin’ too big, nothin’ to get intimidated by. I’ll look out for you. Caleb’ll probably be there too.” ‘I’ll look out for you.’ Darius had never known five words could make him melt so fast. “Yes,” his mouth said before his brain could stop it. “Y-yeah, I’d like that. Sounds like fun.” Forget that just the thought of partying with complete strangers gave him anxiety, this could be his chance for… For what? He couldn’t honestly think anything would stem from this, could he? Not when Lawrence had… “Ay, Kiki!” Lawrence’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, as Darius noticed him looking past him towards the café’s entrance. The bell chimed, and in walked a young woman with a commanding presence. Long black hair fell like silk over her shoulders, her ruby red lips stood out against her beige skin. She wore a black jacket over her shoulders like a cape, and a black bodycon dress that threatened to take Darius’s breath away as he forced his eyes to stare at the floor instead. She lifted the sunglasses from her dark brown eyes, and it was like a hush had fallen over the café, because all he could hear was the click-clacking of her heels against the hardwood floor. Kikyo Miura. From one of the richest families in Concordia, if not the richest. Kikyo Miura. Practically a legend among the young socialites around town. She smiled, flashing flawlessly white teeth, as she leaned over the counter. “Lawrence,” she greeted in a tone that sent shivers down Darius’s spine. Lawrence didn’t flinch, just smirked as he tucked a strand of her hair out of her face. Darius closed his eyes just in time to avoid seeing them kiss. His jaw tightened, as he hugged himself to stop from shaking. Kikyo Miura. Lawrence Vendez’s girlfriend. Darius felt so stupid. Idiotic. Why did he keep getting his hopes up like this? He didn’t bother excusing himself, just walked away to pretend like he was going to check on a customer. When it was clear no one needed his assistance, he went in the back and started cleaning, avoiding Lawrence’s eyes for the rest of his shift. At the end of the day, he waited outside the shop, looking for a car that wasn’t coming. He called Caleb’s phone. No reply. “D,” Darius started at the sound of Lawrence’s voice, but he didn’t dare glance back at him. “Me and Kiki were just leaving, we can take you...” “I’m fine,” Darius’s voice cracked in a way that was decidedly not fine. Before either of them could say anything more, Darius started walking away, as fast as he could without it turning into a run. Looked like he was walking all the way home. Again. Idiot. By the time he made it back, his legs were sore, it was getting dark, and Caleb still wasn’t home. He unlocked the door to their apartment and considered not even bothering turning the lights on, but why suffer in the dark? The apartment was messier than he’d remembered when they left that morning. There wasn’t much to look at to begin with, so it made every little thing that was out of place stand out more. It was for the best; cleaning helped him think. He started in the kitchen, the monotone colors on the counters and linoleum floor matched his mood as he got to work washing the dishes and heating up leftovers for dinner. He moved on to the living room, making sure that the bookshelf was arranged in alphabetical order by author, the television was dusted, and the couch was vacuumed of any and all food crumbs. What next? He already knew his room was the cleanest in the apartment, but he also knew Caleb would know, and promptly flip out, if he so much as touched anything in his room. Same with their respective bathrooms. Darius sighed, and slumped down onto the couch. He needed something to keep himself busy. Something to keep him from thinking about… He already felt the tears coming on. He’d known about Lawrence’s relationship with Kikyo, so why was he still acting so disappointed? Probably because it was the first time that he’d felt so strongly towards someone since Tye. The moment the name entered his thoughts, he winced. He pushed it away. He resigned himself to turning on his laptop, booting up the game he’d been trying to beat for weeks, and losing himself in the moment as the minutes ticked by. He ignored the sound of his phone’s insistent ringing, no matter how many times it went off. Eventually, the front door opened, startling Darius as he was taken out of his zone. Caleb walked in. As he closed the door behind him, his eyes met Darius’s, and they lit up with anger. “Why haven’t you been answering me?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to call you for an hour! LV told me you walked home by yourself. You know how worried I was?” Darius knew the question was obviously rhetorical, so he didn’t bother answering it. Though, he did open his mouth to defend himself. “I’m not a kid. I know my way home.” “That’s not my point! Why didn’t you just ride with him? I would’ve thought you’d jump at the opportunity to spend a car ride getting all giggly around LV.” Darius moved his laptop beside him on the couch and curled his knees up against his chin. He stared ahead and couldn’t help the pathetic pout on his lips. He didn’t spare a glance at Caleb as his brother sighed and sat down next to him. “I know that look. What happened?” Caleb asked. “Kikyo,” Darius mumbled. “Oh,” he paused. “I’m sorry, D. You never had a problem with Kiki before.” “It’s not her,” he said, quickly. “Well, it is. But, not for the reason you think. I don’t mind that her and Lawrence are together, that’s their business. I hate that I…” “…That you have feelings for him too?” “That I think I might…have feelings for…both of them?” Darius screwed his eyes shut as he waited for a response from Caleb. His anxiety grew the longer the silence between them stretched. “Why don’t you tell them?” Caleb finally said. Darius’s eyes opened wide with shock. “I can’t just-! That would be-!” he sputtered as he blushed. “H-how would I even go about that? What would I say?” “’Want a threes-“ “I’m not saying that.” Caleb chuckled. “Okay, fine.” “I’m being serious!” Darius said, as he glared over at his twin. “I know you are,” he said, a more thoughtful tone in his voice. “And so am I. You know LV. Just explain how you feel, and at worst, he says no and you share a brief awkward moment where you just confessed to wanting a poly relationship between you, him and his girlfriend.” “Worst case scenario he’s disgusted and offended, and thinks I’m a pervert, and never wants to talk to me again, and-“ Darius groaned, frustration and sadness in his eyes as he sulked. “Trust me, LV wouldn’t do that. He likes you! And if I’m reading the signs correctly, and I always do, he has it bad for you too. Maybe he’d be more open to becoming a trio than you think.” Darius found himself blushing again. He looked down at his phone for the first time. There were missed calls from Caleb, yes, but also a few from Lawrence. He had been worried about him. Of course, after Darius had a complete mood change at the café, how couldn’t he have been? Just the thought of talking to him again after that embarrassing display made Darius’s stomach turn with fear. He looked over at Caleb, who just nodded back at him. Darius took a deep breath, held it, let it out, and pressed call. It didn’t take long before he picked up. “D? What’s up with you?” Darius had never heard such concern in Lawrence’s voice before. It made it hard to breathe. In an oddly good way. “Hey, Lawrence.” He had no idea where to go from here, so he went with, “I have something to tell you.”        

[captainsaltypear]

Groovin’ Crusaders

Here’s my first TWRP fic, I hope you enjoy!

It’s about the boys™ dancing :D

Phobos sighed in relief as he sunk into the couch before him, feeling a sense of security when he felt the soft cushions surround him.

The Doctor and Meouch had gone out of their shared living space to investigate this new human eatery called something along the lines of “Tacky Bella” while Phobos was gardening. With Hogan still in his room upstairs re-charging, this left Phobos with the house all to himself.

Sitting alone in the living room, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

Finally, some peace and quiet.

…

Too quiet.

Phobos thought to himself immediately, being surrounded by silence instead of the usual chatter of Sung or the background noises of a reality television show playing make him feel uncomfortable.

Instinctively, the alien reached out to turn on the radio on the side table next to him to fill out the white noise.

A soft tune filled the silence, moments later a gentle accented voice from the radio sang,

There were beggars and kings

In a magical sky

There were wings in the air and I learnt how to fly

Phobos smiled under his visor as rested his head on the palm on his hand and laid on the couch on an attempt to get some rest.

There was me, there was you

In a world made of two

Then you were gone~

In came a soothing drumbeat and a bass, along with synth instrumental. Phobos look up from his sleeping position, listening to the now more upbeat version of the song. In came the gentle vocals again,

Moonlight lady,

Come along with me

To the bright city lights,

It’s all right because tonight’s on me

Phobos quietly bobbed his head to the song, as the song progressed, he soon found himself swaying to the rhythm of the beat.

This song reminded him of his childhood where he used to dance with his brothers and sisters as a group of musicians played a slow and calming melody. His parents would watch them with a small smile upon their thin lips, eyes full of pride.

Phobos felt a warm sensation filled his upper body, around his heart.

He couldn’t resist. He jumped up from the couch and began to dance just like he did when he was a young alien.

His traditional dance was similar to what humans would call “ballroom dancing”, but this was slightly different. This dance could be done with two people, but that is not necessarily important as we can see from Phobos’ case right now.

Not only that, this type of dancing is more fluid and relaxed, much like a flowing river, involving frequently movements of the arms, a bit like ballet.

Phobos swayed his hips to the bass line of the song as he moved his wrists in a circular motion. He began to move around, following the timing of the drums, shifting the weight of his foot to the other, dancing around the living room as he cautiously avoided hazards like the chairs of the dining table or the sharp edges of the coffee table.

Taking a deep breath, he began using more lively actions, with his left arm curved in front of his chest and right arm at the side, with his right foot sticking out pointed, applying all of his weight onto his foot. He started moving in a square shape, right foot, connect the feet together, step to the left, connect, step back, connect. As he moved to the beat, his arms changed positions quickly but smoothly with his feet.

He was having the time of his life, just him alone dancing to a beautiful jazz song, letting out a soft sigh. He spun in a circle, keeping his eyes focused on the clock on the wall as he twirled,

before accidentally slamming into a black wall.

Wait.

The walls their house were painted a light beige, why was there a bla-

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

If Phobos hadn’t been mute, he would be giving the most unholy scream to be heard on the planet. Regaining his posture, he looked at the cyborg standing before him, before quickly signing an apology.

I was dancing, Havve.

“DANCING? LIKE WHAT THE DOCTOR DOES ON STAGE WHEN WE’RE PERFORMING FOR THE HUMAN?”

Remembering how the Sung would dance on stage with no shame as the crowd screamed and cheered made Phobos cringe under the helmet. After thinking for a few seconds, he responded,

Technically it is, but it’s not as idiotic, it’s more…graceful, and fluid.

Havve tilted his head as he stared back at Phobos with his cold LED eyes, much like a confused puppy, but scarier.

I can’t really give you the correct definitions of “dancing” but- just come here, I’ll show you.

With that, he dragged the cyborg by his wrists into the new dance area that was once known as the living room, a squeak came from the robot’s translator, showing his surprise at this sudden action.

All right this is how I would dance when I was back on my planet, it may be different from the normal human dances you see on the television, but just follow for now.

As he held Hogan’s hand, one of the only human parts of the cyborg’s body left, Phobos gracefully pointed his right foot outwards, motioning for Havve to follow. He did the same, but due to his mechanical parts, the movement came out a bit more stiff. Phobos shifted his left foot and connected it to his right, moving a step forward. Havve followed suit.

Now we move in a squarish formation, move your left foot to the left side and take a step, your right leg follows. And after that we move backwards, left foot first and then the right again.

Phobos showed the robot the steps with the music in the background, and looked back at the Havve, hoping he wasn’t being too confusing. Havve, following Phobos’ instructions, did the same thing without hesitation, earning him an applause from the very elated alien.

This is good! Pretty good considering it’s your first time doing this!

“BUT I AM MERELY JUST FOLLOWING THE SET OF INSTRUCTIONS YOU GAVE ME, IT IS NOT DIFFICULT. IT’S JUST LIKE DANCING WITH THE STARS.”

But since you barely get a chance to dance, even with following my instructions, you did really nicely, although it might be a little jerky, but we can work on that. Oh listen! Here comes the chorus again.

After signing the last few words, Phobos took Havve’s hand and stretched it towards the side, interlacing with his own. He placed his other hand on Havve’s shoulder blade so that they were facing each other,and started swaying gentle to the beat. Havve was confused and asked with his monotone robotic voice,

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Well, since you can dance as one person so easily, we might as well try to dance with two people, it’s more fun this way anyways.

“MORE… FUN?”

Phobos nodded, looking down at their feet so he could slowly show him the steps.

I’ll lead so it’ll be easier for you, do the same as we did before.

Phobos took a step backwards with his left leg, his hand pointing at Havve’s foot to move along as well. For the rest of the song, Havve mimicked Phobos’ steps as they gradually began to speed up. Phobos even tried to make a daring move by twirling the cyborg, it was easy considering the fact that they were nearly the same height.

Seems it never rains in Southern California

To the bright city lights,

It’s all right because tonight’s on me.

It’s never rains in California

But girl don’t they warn you

To the bright city lights

It’s all right because tonight’s on me.

As the song slowly faded away, Havve noticed that Phobos was shaking. He took his hand off his shoulder and stepped back to give Phobos some space.

“LORD PHOBOS ARE YOU OKAY?”

Havve could clearly see Phobos’ eyes through his visor, seeing a layer of water on his eyes.

“DID I DO ANYTHING WRONG?”

Phobos looked at Havve, his red eyes glowing not as brightly and for the first time the robot almost looked, sympathetic? Phobos brushed him off and wiped a tear off his face from under his helmet as he sat on the couch to rest for a while, sinking in between two cushions.

It’s been awhile since I’ve been this happy on Earth, it’s nice to know that I now have someone who can I share my traditions with.

Havve remained silent, but he sat next to him, reaching out for Phobos hand, patting his shoulder awkwardly. Just then, the doorbell rang and Doctor Sung and the Commander barged into the house carrying a bag of takeover as Sung yelled,

“Hey guys we’re back with some food I bought some iced sweet tea for you folks!”

Phobos looked at his band mates who have just burst through the door, and back to Havve, and back to Sung and Meouch once again. There was an awkward five-second silence between the four best friends which felt like a century. Just as Sung was about to point out Phobos’ watery eyes, a loud energetic voice boomed from the radio.

“Heeeerreeee’s Jennifer playing you the greatest hits from the early 2000s, next up we have Digital Love from Daft Punk. I hope you’re having a great day and to those on the road, drive safely!”

A familiar song started to play on the radio. When Meouch heard the first chords, his ears perked up. He basically threw the bag of food onto the kitchen counter as he ignored Sung’s protests, screaming something along the lines of HOLY SHIT GUYS THIS IS MY JAM, and started to make his way to the living room grooving his body shamelessly to the song like nobody was watching. Unfortunately for Sung, Phobos and Havve’s case, they were. With a chuckle, Sung joined the lion on the dance floor and began shuffling and moving his feet to the beat. The atmosphere in that room felt like a dance party, Phobos tapped his fingers on his knee pad with the drum beat as he bobbed his head to the song.

As Phobos watched his dorky friends dance and groove to the music, Havve stood up. Stretching his hand out, he looked at Phobos.

“DANCE?”

He paused for a moment. With a large grin on his face, he reached out and grabbed the robot’s hand firmly, pulling himself off the chair.

Let’s dance.

Constructive criticism is encouraged! Reblogs too!

[undertalesacrifices]

Sacrifices: Fourteen

A/N: That last chapter though. Ah, comic relief chapters. My second favorite to write. x'D

-- 

   I finished my breakfast in silence. The morning's event replayed in my mind. Mercifully, Toriel didn't say anything after the skeleton brothers left. She also didn't object when I told her I was going for a drive to clear my head. I was a bit confused.

     "You're okay with that?" I signed. "Usually you put up a fight and tell me to go do my schoolwork."

     Toriel gave me a sad smile.

     "My child... You're growing up. I need to let you do that."

     With that, she left the room. I stood there for a few moments, trying to process what just happened. Where did over protective goat mother go?! I thought, bewildered.

      "Never mind that. The whole purpose of telling her we were going out was to find Asriel."

     Right, you're right. Let's go. But the little scene still nagged at the back of my mind. I shook my head dismissively. I needed to focus. I grabbed my car keys as I headed out of the house. Shutting the door behind me, I made sure to lock it. I walked over to the car and got in.

     "Do you have an idea of where he might be?" I could hear the anxiousness in Chara's voice. It matched my own. Don't worry, I thought. He's probably where I last saw him. At the beginning...

     The memory came rushing back at me. I could suddenly feel the warmth of his fur from when he hugged me. I remembered the defeated look on his face before he turned away to stare at the patch of golden flowers I had fallen on at the beginning of my journey.  I felt my throat tighten. I hadn't wanted to leave him there. But he refused to come with me. I couldn't save him. I-

     "You'll be saving him now," Chara cut off my thoughts. I smiled weakly. "However, if we don't get on the road, we won't reach Mt. Ebott until nightfall. Let's roll, partner."

     It's not that far, I thought as I put the key in the ignition. As I was doing so, I hummed "Roll, roll, cookie roll!"  inside my head.

     "You did not..."

     I so did. I grinned and pulled out of the drive way. For the rest of the trip, I hummed all the different jingles I had picked up, much to Chara's dismay.

     "Why must you torture me?"

     Because I love you!

     "If you loved me you would stop."

     Never.

     This continued on back and forth until I had run out of jingles. Shortly after, the mountain came into view. The jovial mood dissipated within seconds. I had wondered why most of the monsters stayed rather close to Mt. Ebott. It was their prison. You would've thought they would want to move as far away as possible.

     "For a long time it was also their home."

     "True..." My gaze darkened as I pulled into the parking lot of the mountain trail. The sun had barely begun its descent down the sky. After stepping out of the car, I took a deep breath. I never imagined I would be walking this path ever again. I continued to the entrance of the trail, taking in the scenery around me.

     Suddenly, my surroundings changed. My vision was now filled with varieties of beige and brown, the images slightly blurred. I felt my body still moving, but the steps seemed smaller. Now that I thought about it, everything was taller than me. I stepped on a pile of dry leaves. The season had changed too. Instead of early summer, it was now early fall. Right before all the plant life starts to fade away. I kept on going forward. My body suddenly aching, feeling covered in scratches and bruises.

     "Why was I even born?"

     I recoiled at the thought. This isn't me. What is going on? I felt my feet trudge on, my body growing heavier and heavier.

     "Nobody wants me. Nobody loves me. The only person who might've is gone. And it's all my fault."

     No... This is me, I realized. I was reliving that day. That fateful, dreadful day. I was at the edge of the cliff now. The one I had fallen over all those years ago. There should be a staircase here. One had magically appeared after the barrier was shattered.

     "It's so dark... I can't see the bottom. Maybe... Maybe there's a way to end all of this."

     "No, don't!" I screamed at my younger self. They didn't listen. We took a step forward and... Nothing. My vision suddenly cleared, colour returning. Instead of pitching forward to fall, I had stepped down a step.

     "FRISK!" Chara's voiced boomed into my mind, making my ears ring.

     Whoa, whoa, I thought. Yell any louder and I'll go deaf.

     "Where did you go? I couldn't access your mind."

     Erm, I'm not quite sure. Why? Were you worried about me? I smiled slyly.

     "As if. I just need you to get Asriel back."

     Putting back the tough act on, huh.

     "..."

     I shook off what had happened just a few moments ago and descended the stairs leading into The Underground. At the bottom lied a patch of golden flowers. The same flowers that had saved my life when I had fallen. A little way beyond the flowers stood a larger golden flower. Flowey. I stepped onto the flower patch, the action causing the flowers to rustle. Flowey stiffened and began to turn around. Shock was written in the flower's "face", but it wasn't because I was there. In fact, he was completely ignoring that fact that I was there. He wasn't looking at me. I glanced to my right, where he was staring, and gasped. There stood Chara, her form flickering sporadically, as if the image would give out in any moment.

     "C-Chara?" Flowey's voice sounded breathless. "What are you doing here? I thought I would never see you again!" He could barely contain his joy.

     "Asriel..." Chara smiled. "I can't maintain this for very long. And hopefully, I won't have to."

     Flowey's face fell before his expression turned hard.

     "I'm not Asriel. Asriel is gone," He said, bitterness lacing his voice.

     "Maybe not..." Chara turned to me. "I'll let you explain."

     Flowey turned to me, finally noticing my presence.

     "What is she talking about?"

     I smiled hesitantly.

     "I'm going to share my soul with you two." I signed.

     Flowey's face twisted in confusion, then took on a demonic like expression.

     "YOU IDIOT. THAT'S NEVER GOING TO WORK. WHY EVEN TRY?"

     "Asriel..." Chara spoke softly.

     "MY NAME IS NOT ASRIEL! STOP CALLING ME THAT."

     "Asriel, give it a chance. For m-." Chara's voice cut off as her image disappeared. Flowey's eye widened.

     "No, Chara! Chara, come back! D-don't leave me again..." Flowey bowed his head, stem shaking. Abruptly, he looked up at me, fury in his eyes. He roared, "BRING HER BACK!" Suddenly, several white pellets were surrounding me.

     "Flowey," I signed frantically. "Calm down! Be rational!"

     The fire dimmed from his eyes, pellets dissipating. He hunched over, defeated.

     "You're right, I'm sorry."

     A few moments of silence passed by.

     "Say something."

     I walked up to Flowey. I was going to put my hand on his shoulder, but he doesn't exactly have one right now.

     "Flowey," I began, deciding to speak to get his attention. His gaze snapped up to mine, eyes cautious. "I have to bring you back, make you become Asriel again, before I can bring Chara back."

     "Why won't you bring Chara back first?!"

     I looked to the side, making a face. "She won't let me save her until I save you." Turning back to him I said, "Will you give this a shot?"

     Flowey gave me dubious look. I could see he was still hesitant about it. Since we're back in the Underground, I wondered if I was able to do some of the same things I could back then... I swiped to the left with my right hand and my stats screen came up. 0 EXP 0 LV. I smiled wanly as memories bubbled back up.

     "What are you doing?" Flowey gave me an odd look.

     I ignored him and went over to the items screen, finger hovering over the soul option. I hope this works, I thought. I tapped on it and suddenly the room went black. We were in the void. Flowey was bewildered.

     "How are we here?!"

     He looked at me, then his gaze shifted to my soul. It was a deep red colour, covered in cracks and pulsating to a rhythmic beat. Flowey's mouth gaped a little.

     "What happened to your soul?"

     I smiled sadly.

     "It doesn't matter," I switched back to signing. Talking had taken a toll on me and I would need all the strength I had to do what I was planning. I positioned my hands to tear away a piece of this. This is going to hurt, I mused. A lot.

     "What are you doing?!"

     I ignored him, focusing on the task before me. I made a small tear. I gasped in pain, I could feel blood rushing in my ears.

     "YOU IDIOT! YOU COULD KILL YOURSELF."

     "Worth it," I gritted out.

     I continued to tear the first piece off. White, hot pain flashed through my entire being. I coughed, some blood spewing out. I could sense Chara behind me.

     "You can do it," she whispered. "Stay DETERMINED."

     I tore the piece of my soul with one final pull. I cried out as my knees buckled. Vision blurry, I examined the piece of my soul with disinterest. I shook my head to clear it. It was about a third of my soul. Maybe a little over. Surprisingly, when the fragment had split, all the cracks disappeared.

     "Flowey," I signed. "Take it." Flowey extended a trembling leaf towards me. The moment he touched the soul fragment, he absorbed it. His form disappeared in a burst of light. When the light faded, a familiar goat boy stood in the flower's place.

     "F-Frisk?" Asriel was still shaking.

     "You did it!"

     Yes, I thought tiredly. Now for you.

     "What? Frisk, can you even handle that again?"

     Asriel grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to look at him.

     "F-Frisk, don't do t-that again!" He sobbed. "I don't want you t-too. Chara wouldn't either!"

     "That's not really your choice at this point," I gasped. "I failed to save you two before. I'm not doing it again." I brushed Asriel's hand off my shoulder. I slowly stood up, knees shaking. I was already this far into it. I wasn't going to stop.

     I was filled with DETERMINATION.

     I positioned my hands once again. I wasn't going to do it little by little this time. I would treat it like a band-aid. I ripped the second piece with all the force I could muster. Blinding pain enveloped my body.

     Then I felt nothing.